I think I've figured out Pernod. It's like that annoying relative - maybe an uncle? - that comes to every Thanksgiving, gets tipsy and loud, trash talks everyone's favorite sports-ball team, belches, farts, and just makes a nuisance of himself.
But...
...if he's at Thanksgiving at say, his mother's house, grandma will threaten to beat him with the rolling pin or make him go outside and grill something if he starts acting too trashy. And then he's pleasant, partly because her personality is so big that she drowns him out and keeps him in line.
So, your farting uncle in this metaphor is Pernod. And Pernod only plays well with others in the right contexts. It's not like slatternly gin or slutty vodka, who will play with anyone and like it. Pernod is pretty picky about who it plays with, and it's always the star, no matter how little of it you use.
Unfortunately, I think this means we're going to have that bottle of Pernod in our lives for a long, long time. On a positive note, though, this month's cocktail is intriguing and, with a few tweaks, could be a great unexpected drink to serve guests in our new apartment. It's not terribly boozy, and has a distinctive, sweet, herbal flavor. It's called the Chrysanthemum and, much like Velveeta cheese fudge and hot dog-marshmallow appetizers, it sounds absolutely revolting on paper, but is actually fairly tasty if you can bring yourself to make it.
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| The chrysanthemum. |
The basic recipe, so far as I can tell from several websites, is as follows:
2 oz. dry vermouth
1 oz. Bénédictine
one or two dashes of Pernod (probably about 1/8 tsp.)
Combine ingredients over ice. Stir and strain into glasses. I suggest pretty, petite ones, since this is definitely a sipping drink.
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| Look! Pretty! |
Now, since this is a pre-prohibition cocktail, it takes a bit of getting used to. It appears to have surfaced in printed form in the early part of the 20th Century. As I discussed briefly in our post about Créme Yvette, pre-prohibition and pre-1950s cocktails were a very different animal than the ones we know today. It seems they were often sweeter and lower in alcohol content; many of the alcohol-forward drinks we know and love today came about post-prohibition, when limited availability to alcohol and clandestine drinking habits changed the way America drank.
This version may be a bit sweet for some palates - we've decided to try it again sometime but dropping back on the Bénédictine just a bit, to about 0.75 oz or so. As is, though, the herbal notes in both the vermouth and Bénédictine are highlighted by the merest hint of Pernod. If you really don't like Pernod, you may even be satisfied with the results if you simply rinse the glass with it before you make the cocktail.
I'm looking forward to our continued adventures with Pernod but, honestly, I'm also glad that May is almost over. We can shove the Pernod in the back of the liquor cabinet all alone and let it think good and long about what it's done while we move on to another - hopefully more agreeable - alcohol.
Yours,
Dave
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