Monthly Archives: May 2011

Homemade Campari

There are few things in life that haven’t been memorialized by Google. Homemade Campari seems to be one of them.

I happen to love Campari and so, like everything else, I wanted to make my own.

There is a short string here on Chowhound boards. Save the trouble clicking, no one has mastered it. The New York Times D.I.Y. Cooking Handbook has a orange wine thing that they claim is a bit of a homemade Campari.  It is OK, it is not homemade Campari. It is a homemade wine cooler, which is serviceable in its own right and makes you think Bartles & Jaymes at least started with a decent idea.

The most instructive is a Savuer post that hints at some core ingredients — alcohol, sugar syrup, distilled water, orange (likely bitter Sevilles), rhubarb, ginsing.  And there are a mysterious number of mysterious herbs. The post goes on to describe the making:

Its dry ingredients are soaked in water for two days, mixed with alcohol and more water, and steeped in huge vats for 15 days. The color of the brew at the end of this period is brown, and the taste is bitter—really bitter, as in undrinkable. The liquid is then drained off into blending tanks and the macerated dregs are pressed for more juice, like a tea bag; the soggy remains are boiled to distill more alcohol. Finally, the sweetening syrup and the coloring—from cochineal dye (a commonly used colorant made from the dried bodies of cochineal insects)—are added.

This is what I did:

Make the requisite wine cooler from the New York Times, sorta following the recipe in the best way I know, which is to get the gist and then move on.

I then took rhubarb syrup I made last Spring and heated it.  To that I added a pile of fresh grated ginsing, fresh ginger root slices, cardamom, pepper, two star anise mostly intact, some broken cinnamon stick bits and removed from the heat.  I left it to sit at room temperature two days.  Then I dumped it into the New York Times wine cooler.

It was pretty good with setzler.

But since this was the first go, I decided to do some more research and found this post.

Although the recipe indicates that you add it all into the alcohol, macerate and filter, when I first made homemade root beer, I discovered that no beverage with strange roots should ever be made by dumping it all together and then waiting to taste the results.

Homemade root beer often contains Spikenard Root, which really must be the worst flavor known to man.  Having not actually tasted angelica root, gentian or calamus root on their own, I opted to macerate each on its own and blend the result.

So, I had a few jars working:  orange peel, cinnamon, aniseed and cloves in one, with 350 ml alcohol.  Then, angelica root in 50 ml alcohol, gentian root in 100ml and calamus root in 100 ml.   I likely could have done the math to really get scientific but clearly that would have been out of character.

After 10 days, I tasted each and then decided to strain the gentian root and leave the angelica and calamus root to macerate another 10 days.  Then I filtered, dumped in the extra alcohol and red wine and I’m not letting it sit downstairs.

I tasted it, and while I am quite sure it is going to evolve over time, I think it needs more orange, possibly whole dried oranges or may a mix of orange, lemon and lime that somehow attempts to approximate the bitter Sevilles.   I also think I am going to add back in that rhubarb. So, I bought a bunch at the market, turned it into juice and put it in the freezer for whenever I get around to making my next batch.


Angelica root has some sort of ancient secret power to ward off pestilence, though I am not sure if the ancients were pestilented by the Stink Bug so if that is your pestilence, I can’t guarantee that drowning yourself in homemade campari will be a solution.

Gentian root is used in a lot of specialty cocktail condiments these days, specifically in bitters. So if you are going to get into homemade booze, it is a good purchase at a pound.  Though it will likely last you the rest of your life.

Calamus root may or may not be a psychotropic drug.  That’s all I’ve got to say about that.  Well, I guess I’d also suggest getting some now before the temperance union finds out and campaigns to ban it.

The Year of the Radish

Twenty-Eleven will go down in history as the Year of the Radish.  We planted too much.  And so we were stuck with eating too many.  Believe it or not, you can begin to feel you ate too many radishes, like anything else you grow too enthusiastically in the garden.  Last year it was bitter spring greens. This year, radishes.

When the season started and the first little red and pink orbs started forming, I started with my go-to seasonal favorite radish dish: on crackers with butter.  I make my own butter, so this is pretty much a no-brainer of deliciousness.  I slice the radishes thinly and maybe, maybe, add a chive to the top if I am having a dreary day.  Then, I sprinkle sea salt on top and I always use Nabisco saltines. I don’t use any other brand.  Only Nabisco.  And only eat them the day I open the sleeve.  You can blow thru a good portion of the sleeve when you have a lot of radishes.  I did. Leftover make good bread crumbs or I feed ‘em to the chickens.

I don’t buy a lot of prepared products but there are a few times I feel you need something specific and nothing else will do. This spring snack is one.  Then there’s Hawaiian Punch when I am really strung out from helping too many people. Wonder Bread for garden tomato ‘n butter sandwiches is another. Don’t judge me until you’ve tried it and, in case you are gonna try it, you are welcome.

This year, the go-to salad for spring was shaved fennel and radish with spinach and honey vinegar dressing.  I bought the fennel, of course, but there’s enough spinach in the garden that I actually started eating this salad for breakfast, but only when I added aged ricotta.  Sometimes, too, dried tangelos on that breakfast salad.

For lunches, I mostly ate it plain, although once I tried preserved kumquats. They were a bit mushy so the texture combinations seemed weird to me.

Sometimes I ate that salad with my fingers. Sometimes with a fork.  I only used Madon sea salt and I occasionally added 1-inch long chives, which I can make without measuring because I worked for a dickhead French chef during a dark time in my life.  He’d throw out your chives if they weren’t an inch long.

He didn’t appreciate it when I asked him how he knew how long an inch was by site, since he grew up metric.

I made Spring Chow Chow. Grate one head cabbage and add in about 15 ramps, finally chopped, about 10 radishes, also finely chopped, and about 2 tablespoons of salt.  Let that drain for about 8 hours for a workday or overnight and then added in a pickle of equal parts apple cider vinegar and sugar, seasoned with dry mustard, dry ginger, dried lovage powder and some brown mustard seeds.  After you dissolve everything in the vinegar, add the drained vegetables and cook about 10 minutes.  Pour into hot canning jars and seal.  I. Don’t. Boil. The. Jars.

Heresy.

I added diced radish to chicken salad. I also made beef tacos so I could add them, slivered, to the tops of the tacos. Those two things were a bit of a bust, radish-wise, because I only used two radishes each. And I really sorta needed to use more.

So, I made some of Mary Klonowski’s Cancer-fighting Kale Salad.  The salad is basically a mix of slivered Tuscan Kale (you can use any Kale by why would you when Tuscan kale tastes so delicious), smashed raw garlic, red pepper flakes, olive oil and lemon juice.  It is ready in 15 minutes and can hold up for 3 days.  You can mix in all sorts of things then, parm and pine nuts, dried lemon chunks and walnuts,  preserved lemon and Marcona almonds, or … radishes!  I added a lot.

But using all these radishes meant that I had a lot of radish greens.

So, the next thing I made was beer- braised chicken thigh with whole radishes and radish greens. You can’t use overgrown radishes for this dish as they will come out tough. But basically you sear off a chicken thigh, at the end of cooking adding in diced garlic and onion so they get a little translucent.  When that is done, fill the pot with water, some dark beer, maybe at about a 1:4 ratio, and bring to a boil then reduce to a simmer.  I used Big John from Goose Island because I had a bottle open and I couldn’t finish it.  Let it cook until it is done.

I also made a quiche with sauteed radish greens subbing in for spinach and lots of gruyere cheese.

By Memorial Day weekend, with radishes growing since about mid-April, I was getting a bit strung out on radishes and it was then that I made  Straccetti di Manzo con la Radish Greens, only subbing in the radish greens for the arugula in this classic Roman dish. Basically, it is super thinly sliced beef sauteed in garlicky oil (I  used green garlic, since it was spring) with wilted arugula. Turns out, the bittery tang of the radish greens is a great foil for the steak.

Everything can be made in one pan, which is always a bonus, and you make it by basically adding one item following the next as you go. By which I mean saute steak, towards the end add a big handful of diced green garlic, saute a bit, add the radish greens, wilt. The radish greens have to saute a bit longer than arugula, so you may want to remove the steak before adding the greens. Finish with a splash of lemon-Bay leaf vinegar.


Homemade Butter:  Seriously, you just take a good quantity of cream that is getting oldish and let it sit out all day.  Then, whip the crap out of it. The liquid is buttermilk. Pour it off.  Then add cold water and whip. Drain. Repeat until the water drains out clear.  Add a little salt and whip that in. Voila.

Lemon-Bay Vinegar: bring lemon rind and Bay leaves to a boil in white vinegar.  Boil for about five minutes then pour it into a bottle and stick it in a dark place to macerate.

Honey vinegar:  Mixing together honey and water in a ratio of about 1:8 and then float a little raft of yeast on toast on the top of the mixture for about a week or two, until the fermenting happens.  You can then take off the toast and let it cure for about 6 months.  The vinegar will keep for about ever, but it doesn’t last that long, so I make it is huge batches of about 4 gallons.

Granty, I Want Backyard Rabbits and I Want Them Now

I want backyard rabbits something fierce.

I want backyard bees too, but I’ve been dragging my feet there so not having them is my own damn fault.

The rabbits, I lay the mantle of blame squarely on the shoulders of my Garden Husband, Grant Kessler. He of the rationality and reason. (Grumble, grumble.)

Grant and I go about things differently. Most things, in fact, most differently, even though our general garden direction seems to mesh and match and thus we would seem well-suited to our outdoor partnership.

Grant likes to plan. And in planning Grant considers outcomes, weighs possibilities, analyzes potential pitfalls. He measures twice, thinks about things, measures again for good measure, then cuts.

Me: I do. Not in the sense of committing to my Garden Husband, although to that, I really do do. In the sense that I just go off and do whatever it is I set my mind to and figure out how to navigate through the consequences, problems, and nightmares later. I just haul off and cut — partially because I forgot where I put the tape measure and don’t feel like spending the time to look for it.

So, a story like the rabbits goes like this:  I read a few books about backyard homesteading and quite a number of them involve rabbits. I experience what it is like to dispatch a chicken and it changes me profoundly (note how I cleverly used the word dispatch to avoid Google searches by The Law and The Hysterics). I remember Koren’s delicious curried rabbit dish from back in the day. And … Decision. Made!  Action!  Let’s Go!

But it really went like this:  Re-read above until the words back in the day. Then: The Great Wall of Grant!

GK: Where are gonna keep them?
Me: In the backyard.
GK: But where.
Me: I dunno, in the backyard.
GK: Yeah, I got that, but where?
Me: In. The. Backyard. *Eyeroll.* WANT. NOW.
And so on.

Well, that was where we left it last year.

But this is a new year and I am a girl who, really, does what she needs to do to get what she wants. Really. I don’t just stop because of a little roadblock or fear.  After all, I have a Buddhist tattoo on my wrist. Where I can see it every day. And it reminds me that roadblocks and fear are to be appreciated for what they are: an opportunity to explore what blocks you so you can understand and move on.

It is occasionally handy to understand Buddhism because it provides you the opportunity to, say, ignore your Garden Husband and get the backyard rabbits — all under the auspices of Spiritual Enlightenment!

So, I am preparing for Backyard Rabbits this year. They are going to live in a hutch I am building (by which I mean I am getting built) under the back stairs.  Did you see that Grant, I have decided “where.”

Now, pretty please Garden Husband, would you help me build the Hutch since you’ll remember to measure twice before cutting and I’ll, well, I’ll just show up with rabbits some day and forget they need a place to live first.

Pretty much just like I did the day I brought home the baby chicks.