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If you frequent the occasional cocktail bar, you already know that Amari (i.e., the plural of "Amaro") are all the rage these days. We even found Amaro Averna in a teeny tiny little liquor store in rural Maryland the other day. That seems to imply that it’s a growth industry. Have you ever had fantasies of making a homemade version of this hipster cocktail staple? Do you live in North America, the UK, or Europe? Do you know where there’s a walnut tree nearby? If you answered yes to all three of these questions, you should go to the tree (literally right now, the window for this is closing), grab a bunch of the little green, unripe walnuts, and follow the easy recipe below. We prefer black walnuts for making our version, but the regular English or French varieties will work too.  Green nuts fresh from black walnut trees in the backyard All you need is basic caveman-level food prep skills and some patience, and in just two months you will have a complex, spicy amaro to impress all your friends and hand out as personalized presents over the next year. Let’s start with some basics, though, what is this strange elixir called amaro? In a nutshell, it’s a bittersweet liqueur with complex flavors and aromas, often enjoyed as a digestif after heavy meals. The most famous amari hail from the land of the pasta waistband tightener, Italy (of course), but France and many other European countries have their own versions. Though often enjoyed neat or chilled, it can be used to great effect in cocktails.  A quartered green walnut Having literally just gone to the backyard and harvested three Black Walnut trees for their immature nuts, we are well on our way to making one of our favorites called Nocino (Italy) or Liqueur de Noix (France). As this is a multi-part post, we won’t go too far into the tasting notes, but suffice it to say that just a barspoon full of this homemade liqueur can elevate a Manhattan, Old Fashioned, or even standard black coffee to gourmand-level heights. It’s that good.  Day 1 of nocino - fresh from being mixed Recipe -20 green nuts from a Black Walnut tree (or 30 green English/French Walnuts) -2.5 cups sugar -1 liter cheap 80-horsepower vodka -2 sticks of good quality cinnamon -1 whole vanilla bean (don’t use extract – this receipt is worth splurging on the good stuff) Other spices and flavorings. David Lebovitz uses 10 cloves and the zest of one lemon. We’ve used his recipe many times and love it, but wanted to tweek it to our tastes https://www.davidlebovitz.com/liqueur-de-noix-green-walnut-liq/ We used: -1 ts grains of paradise -7 dried cubeb (an aromatic pepper from Java) berries Directions -Mix the sugar with the vodka, doing your best to make a nice solution. Don’t worry if some sugar is on the bottom. It will eventually incorporate. -Quarter the green walnuts with a sharp paring knife. We recommend using gloves as there is a pigment in the walnuts that will turn your skin temporarily black. Place them in the vodka. -Add in the remaining spices and vanilla bean -Shake to incorporate -Set in a cool, dark place and shake every day for two solid months. Yes, you need to be patient here and let the walnuts do their magic.
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There’s really something strange going on in all those ex-Viking countries (e.g., Norway, Sweden, Finland). In addition to having ridiculously tall and stoic people, they also tend to produce good, strange, and (sadly) very expensive liquor. Maybe it’s always been that way. It’s possible that the only way to get yourself through watching the famous “Blood Eagle” torture might be to drink something just a bit more bracing that the usual beer or mead. Regardless, for our money, some of the most unique Viking tipples hail from that slightly out-of-the-way country to the northeast of America, Iceland.  The Sun Voyager in Iceland's capital of Reykjavík We came upon this drink purely by chance. While flying Icelandair for the first time on our way home from the UK, we had some extra time to visit Duty Free at Keflavík International Airport in the capital of Reykjavík. Quickly grabbing up two bottles of Brennivín (i.e., “the black death” – we’ll cover this in a future post), our keen eyes spied an amber bottle with what looked like a chunk of moss floating inside. Though it didn’t exactly look appealing, it was unique, and that was good enough for us. So, we grabbed a bottle of that, too, and raced to our gate before we missed the connecting flight. This was a very good decision. When we finally got around to opening this strange bottle labeled as Fjallagrasa Icelandic Schnapps, we were very surprised. To be honest, we had never considered what alcoholic moss would taste like, but we never imagined that it would taste as good as this (see notes below). Though this may sound strange, it tasted, dare we say, “healthy”. After some quick googling, we learned that this moss has been used in Iceland for centuries as a means to ward off coughs and colds and, interestingly, might even have immunostimulant properties. On the other hand, this could all just be a great rationalization to drink more Schnapps. We’re fine either way.  Icelandic Schnapps in a shot glass purchased from Iceland's world famous Phallological Museum To make this strange Schnapps, special Viking lichen is harvested by hand from the interior of the country, mainly at higher elevations. We can only imagine that horned helmets are de rigeur and that proper sacrifices must be made to Freya and Loki before pulling out any of these choice plants. The liquor-loving mosses are then left to sit in neutral spirits until the flavors are extracted and it morphs into the soft amber liqueur you see in the pics. So back to the cost of drinking in ex-Viking lands… Sadly, getting a bit buzzed in Iceland will set you back some cash. An average beer costs $10-12 with cocktails ranging upwards of $20. This unfortunate fact may put a limit on your personal degeneracy when visiting Iceland’s capital. Necessity, they say, is the mother of invention, though, and there are cheaper options. Our best piece of advice is NOT to rush from the airport, but to spend a good bit of time in the Duty Free store before you leave. You’ll be able to load up on beer, liqueur, wine, and even food at far cheaper prices than anywhere in the Reykjavík region, even at grocery and liquor stores. Then, just have a drink or three before you hit the town and be patient as you nurse those overpriced Icelandic beers while waiting for your $35 vegetarian burger. Please don't let the cost deter you. Iceland is a very cool place with fascinating people, so it is well worth it. Flavor Notes: Fjallagrasa Icelandic Schnapps is a tough drink to describe. The only thing we’ve ever tried that even comes close to this flavor profile would be an Italian liqueur named Zirmol which is made from pinecones. However, Zirmol is more “piney” (obviously) and has hints of menthol that you don’t find in our Icelandic Schnapps. We would describe the Icelandic stuff as soft, a bit earthy and woody, with an almost butterscotch flavor at the end. You may taste white pepper and citrus as well. Unfortunately, all these subtle flavors can easily be overpowered, so care must be taken when using it in cocktails or you’ll miss the moss. At 38% horsepower, it’s certainly not weak, but the flavor makes it feel softer and less powerful than it is.  The Moss Toddy A new cocktail for summer cold season: The Moss Toddy
-2 oz Moss Schnapps -1 oz water -1/2 oz lime juice -1/2 oz Velvet Falernum (we use John D. Taylor's brand) -Shake with ice and strain into rocks glass -Enjoy your subtle and complex drink as that pesky summer cough gently fades into the Northern Lights Nestled in the heart of the East End of London – just a quick 24-minute walk north of the famous Tower – lies The Ten Bells. This pub is not only a great example of Victorian-era drinking decor but is also the place where two of Jack the Ripper’s victims took their last drinks prior to meeting their gruesome ends. The Ten Bells is also believed by those who live in the paranormal world to be the #1 most haunted pub in London. It’s worth a stop the next time you’re trying to kill time in Jolly Old England’s capital.  The street entrance to The Ten Bells.  You can see some of the lovely tiles in this fancy establishment. The location of the bar in the 1880s would have been on the right hand side of the shot. The Ripper and The Ten Bells You’ve all heard of Whitechapel, the section of London made famous from Jack the Ripper movies like From Hell starring Johnny Depp. You can probably even visualize what it was like to walk around there at night in the 1880s: cramped, congested, seedy, and dirty. Rain- and blood-soaked streets were dimly illuminated by yellow street lamps that made everyone and everything look jaundiced. The sound your own footsteps echoing down narrow cobblestoned streets was only occasionally interrupted by a lascivious drunken boast or the death rattle of “an unfortunate” meeting her brutal demise. This was the dark world inhabited by that old laughing boy, Jack the Ripper. Jack the Ripper, AKA Leather Apron (a name far less fitting for Hollywood movies) went on a crazed, necromutilomaniacal killing spree in Whitechapel between 1888 and 1891. There are different accounts of how many local sex workers met their end via the blades of his knives, but most Ripperologists stick to the “Canonical Five” consisting of Annie Chapman, Catherine Eddowes, Mary Jane Kelly, Mary Ann Nichols, and Elizabeth Stride. Three of these women have been linked to the Ten Bells. First, Elizabeth Stride was kicked out of the Ten Bells for drunk and disorderly behavior. The mind boggles at the level of fun (or cockneyed belligerence) that could lead to a person getting kicked out of a Whitechapel pub in 1888, but we sadly lack those critical details. Second, and more tragic, Annie Chapman is said to have been in The Ten Bells right before her murder took place at 29 Hanbury Street. This is a mere three-minute walk from the pub. Last, but certainly not least, that Irish lass Mary Kelly was believed to pick up her clients at both the pub and on the pavement right outside its doors. It’s even possible that she was propositioned by Jack inside the walls of The Ten Bells. Unfortunately for her, Mary’s death (and post-mortem abuse) was the most gruesome of the canonical five. She was not only a later victim – after Jack had refined and intensified his macabre fantasies – but was also the only one to be killed indoors. As a result, the Ripper didn’t have to rush as much as he did when murdering ladies of the evening on cobblestoned streets. He took his time. Poor Mary was killed and mutilated in a simple, one bedroom apartment just a two-minute walk south of The Ten Bells.  What public houses probably looked like in the 1880s. The image is from a very good set of Ripper trading cards titled The Autumn of Fear (Deborah Hyde & Floyd Jones Hughes, 1993). The ”Hauntings” The dark reputation of the pub isn’t limited to the Ripper, though. A baby was supposedly murdered there in the 19th century. “Psychics” supposedly refused to enter a room in the pub where this grisly event took place. Later – and this is surely disturbing if true but the PD team cannot confirm this detail – moldy baby clothes with cut marks on them were being found in a forgotten sack secreted behind a water tank. Then there’s George, a ghost that inhabits the pub. It is supposedly the spirit of George Roberts, a former landlord of the Ten Bells who was murdered with an axe. His untimely demise apparently led him to not only stay in the place where he was murdered, but also to become a poltergeist, and an irritable one at that. Old George (or another ghost – it’s hard to keep track of this supernatural literature) is reputed to wake up visitors staying in the upper floor apartments, lure them into the hallway, and then push them down the stairs. In other versions of the story, people would awake to George lying next to them in bed. Now that’s a bit creepy, George… Visiting The Ten Bells If you’re in London, visiting the pub is barely an inconvenience. It opens at noon every day and closes late in the night (i.e., be careful if you stay until closing). Most of the décor is not the Ripper-era original, as it would not have looked nearly this posh, but it will give you a feel for what it was like to drink in the Victorian age. The blue and white tiles are particularly striking. This is also where the bar would have been when the Ripper was active, not the current location in the center of the room. You will not meet patrons dressed in traditional Victorian garb. However, due to the fact that a number of hipsters frequent the bar, you may very well spot a handlebar moustache. After you have a pint or three, make sure to visit the toilets before you leave. They are downstairs and accessed by a very narrow staircase that will probably give you the most authentically creepy Victorian vibes.  The charming modern bar at The Ten Bells. Ask if they have Old Speckled Hen or Old Thumper on tap if you drop in for a visit. Getting There
The Ten Bells 84 Commercial Street London E1 6LY United Kingdom Side Trips As noted above, the Tower of London is a short walk away, as is the Tower Bridge. You’re also just a short tube ride from The British Museum, Harrod’s, Fortnum & Mason, and thousands of other fun sites. We were once again in Sweden and staying in a flat not too far from Nykoping Castle (i.e., site of the infamous Nykoping banquet). The main reason we were there was not for fun or to see this dark tourist destination, but for work. One of us, not the writer of this tale, needed to visit a Swedish collaborator to do some research. We both knew that it would not be boring or tedious, though. The Swedes – and Scandinavians in general – are very warm and generous hosts. It was therefore not terribly surprising that the collaborator and his wife rolled out the red carpet and treated us like family. They invited us over for a homemade vegetarian meal and were also generous with serving up wee glasses of the local tipple, Akvavit*. As the “water of life” flowed along with good conversation, the patriarch of the family started talking about history and, more specifically, what it was like to live in Sweden after the second World War. As you can imagine, there were some very bad times, but as you can also imagine, the Swedes are a pretty stoic people, so it wasn’t all grim. There was still fun to be had. He then told us about a favorite childhood dessert that was quick, cheap, and easy to make, even with post-war rationing. He mentioned the Swedish phrase for this childhood classic, but I can’t remember it – there was too much akvavit that night, but it sounded pretty good. All you needed to do to make this sweet was get a bunch of fresh or frozen berries and boil them with water and sugar. After the berries start to fall apart and turn into a pie filling–like consistency, you add some potato starch to thicken it up. He said that they often added cream if they had any. This fresh berry pudding sounded pretty good and healthier than most desserts we eat in the states. He also noted that it was also easy enough to make that he and his siblings would help his mother prepare it.  Random castle ruins outside of Gothenburg, Sweden. Not related to our tale, but fun nonetheless. He then started laughing and disclosed that there was another name for this favorite childhood treat: “spit cream”. The story was a little confusing to my English ears, but what I gathered was that cherries and other stone fruits weren’t pitted using one of those fancy metal contraptions we have now. They were instead chewed in the mouth to remove the stones. Then, the stones were spit out. Hence the quaint name: spit cream. I thought this was a really funny and touching memory. It was also a bit unexpected. I know that certain foods and drinks are prepared like this (e.g., chicha, a fermented corn beverage), and we all know about how mama birds feed their young, but I never saw the Swedish Chef preparing food this way on the Muppets. I recall laughing out loud as we all listened to his animated and vivid descriptions of making this dish. Then he said, “You know, I have a bag of frozen cherries from last year. That tree out back had a big harvest. Why don’t I make us all some authentic cherry spit cream?” I gasped inaudibly (at least I hope it was inaudible) and my smile faded faster than a Swedish sunset in January. My mind then exploded in a torrent of nausea-inducing possibilities as I contemplated the bare-bones reality of what it would be like to eat a spoonful of this kindly old man’s mouth-pitted cherries as they floated in a pool of hot sugar water. Cherries - my favorite fruit - now seemed as appealing as a group of gross, sunburnt tourists swimming in an unclean swimming pool on a Riviera holiday. This truly felt just one step below cannibalism in terms of grossness. I quickly said, “No, no! You’ve already been far too kind to us. You just made us a huge meal and we don’t want to put you to any trouble.” He replied, “Nonsense! It won’t take long at all! I must go into the kitchen and get it going.”  Fresh sour cherries from the yard. I gasped inaudibly (at least I hoped no one could hear it) and my smile faded faster than a Swedish sunset in January. My mind then exploded in a torrent of nausea-inducing possibilities as I contemplated the bare-bones reality of what it would be like to eat a spoonful of this kindly old man’s mouth-pitted cherries as they floated in a pool of hot sugar water. The cherries seemed as appealing as the sight of a group of gross, sunburnt American tourists swimming in a pool on a Riviera holiday. This truly felt just one step below cannibalism in terms of grossness. I quickly said, “No, no! You’ve already been far too kind to us. You just made us a huge meal and we don’t want to put you to any trouble.” He replied, “Nonsense! It won’t take long at all! I must go into the kitchen and get it going.” My god. Could this really be happening? My heart sank. I looked over at the the other half of the Proper Degenerate team and didn’t see even a hint of a negative reaction. I know she has a far stronger stomach than mine, but this was really pushing it. I guess I’m on my own… I frantically tried to think of excuses. Could I be too full to eat? No, they’d want me to at least try this local delicacy. Could I be allergic to cherries? No, as they already asked about food allergies before they prepared the meal for us. Who does that!? What happened to that callous Viking spirit… ? But, these random thoughts are merely distracting me from solving this problem. I must admit that I was at a loss. I must have generated at least thirty different reasons for why I couldn’t eat these diabolical cherries, but they were all fruitless (unlike my culinary future). There was apparently NO WAY I was going to be able to avoid putting this drooly dessert into my mouth and swallowing it without being viewed as a very poor guest. These people were just too nice (damn Swedes!). I couldn’t be rude in any way to them, even if it grossed me out. So, my goalposts shifted to how I could (a) accept the fact that I am going to be eating this slobbery sweet and (b) make sure that I could do wo without throwing up, thus becoming an even worse house guest. The kindly chef then came back in the room and said “They’re boiling now. Shouldn’t be too long. Who wants a bit of cream poured on?” As I watched him taking requests, I could swear that I saw a fleck of cherry flesh dangling from his neatly cropped beard like a fishing lure. This was going to be a rough night. I internally steeled myself as best as I could for the forthcoming "dessert" and now wondered whether it would be more or less gross with the addition of cream. ‘Well, on the one hand it would make it thicker and cool it down (i.e., what’s worse? warm or cold spit? Probably the latter), but on the other hand it would at least dilute the saliva.’ I couldn’t decide. I resigned myself to this terrible way to end an otherwise wonderful evening. Then, the moment of truth arrives…. Our host brought out the spit cream and my heart quickened. It was clearly hot, as I could see steam emanating from the top of the ornate serving dish that, like everything in a Swedish kitchen, seems to be both functional and attractive. Our happy host then filled up all of our bowls with this bright red dessert that I had been obsessing about over the past hour. As he finished up the plating he said, “I’m sorry that it took so long to make. It usually only takes about 15-20 minutes, but it took me some extra time to find the cherry pitter.” Alas, I misunderstood our nice host's initial story. Essentially, if they got a bit "lazy" (i.e., if they temporarily became very Un-Swede-like), they would boil the cherries whole and spit out the pits while they were eating the dessert. Small differences can be important... *The quickest way to describe Akvavit is vodka flavored with various spices and/or herbs. Each area, and probably even town, has their own special recipe, but the most common flavors seem to be caraway or dill seed. There is another, very bitter version flavored with wormwood.  Fresh cherry "spit cream" in a fancy glass. RECIPE
Ingredients: -2.5 cups fresh or frozen cherries with the pits removed (it's up to you how you choose to do this) -5 cups water -1 cup + 2 tablespoons of table sugar -3-4 tablespoons of potato starch (more = a thicker dessert) -1-2 pinches of salt (optional) -1-2 ounces of cherry vodka (optional) Directions: -Add cherries and sugar (and salt if desired) to the water in a large enough saucepan --Slowly bring the mixture up to a slight boil. -Reduce heat as need to keep the cherries at a slow simmer, stirring occasssionally -Simmer for 20-30 minutes or until the cherries break apart -Turn off heat -Mix the potato starch with just enough water to make a smooth slurry -Add in the potato starch slurry and stir quickly to prevent lumps; continue stirring every now and then as the spit cream cools down slightly to prevent a skin from forming on the top. -Serve hot or cold with or without fresh cream |
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