Oh sage can you see

Art in the Age's Sage is phenomenal, but the complexity of its flavors presents a challenge for the nascent mixologist.

And as we already know, I am not particularly savvy when it comes to creating cocktails.

If provided with a recipe, I can whip up a mean concoction.

Left to my own devices, however, I yield some fairly rank outcomes.

In a reversal of how I often approach ideas for this blog (capricious approaches to infusions, ill-advised liquor combinations), I thought critically about Sage.

What do I like about Sage? It's herbaceous. In recent years, I have found that I love herbaceous liquors and liqueurs.

What other liquors are herbaceous but lack the lightness of Sage? That is, what are some "heavy" herbaceous liquors that would balance out the flavor profiles? Drambuie, Bénédictine.

I took a shot glass and began mixing miniature combinations: always one part Sage (because I wanted it to be the more prominent flavor) and reduced parts of other liquors. I even splashed around some simple syrup, orgeat, Cointreau in the mix. The kitchen looked like a chemistry experiment that eventually yielded:

Cocktail overlooking Lower Lawrenceville

I call it the Oh Sage Can Your See. Because that's funny to me.

• 1 oz Sage
• 1/2 oz Drambuie
• 3 oz club soda
• Fresh sage

In a lowball, combine first three ingredients and stir, don't shake. Add ice cubes. Take a fresh leaf of sage and smack it in your palm to wake up the scent. Float on top of drink.

And the results? It wasn't mind-blowing, but it wasn't a devastating blow to my ego.

The licorice undertones of Drambuie are really pulled out by the Sage. In fact, it tasted a bit like I put a drop of Pernod in the cocktail (something I would never do because we all know by now that Pernod is literally the worst shit in the world). If anything, I would argue that Sage and Drambuie marry almost too well: the cancel each other out and produce a new liquor that just tastes like lots of herbs in club soda. 

What's really nice is that the drinker smells the fresh sage, which has a totally different scent than the taste of the drink. So your olfactory is tantalized in one capacity, but your tastebuds experience something entirely new. 

Would I make it again? Maybe. But I think Sage is better when it's festooned with ingredients that capitalize on its complexity instead of distracting from it.

Goodbye, Bristol

Dearest Joe,

Other than asides, we don't often talk about our personal lives on this blog,  but I'm breaking that little unwritten rule this afternoon. Sometimes big changes in your life seep into everything, like giving birth, leaving a job, or moving. I'm not giving birth (surprise!), but I am leaving a job that I love and moving to a new town.

It's come time for me to say goodbye to Bristol, VA/TN. I've lived there for several years and have enjoyed it immensely. It's an adorable small town with a main street that is becoming vibrant again after many years of neglect. I'll miss a lot of things about it like the lovely new brewery, Studio Brew, where you and I spent our first Valentine's Day. Or Blackbird Bakery, the bakery where we've eaten a near-lethal number of donuts. Or any of the other great downtown businesses like Machiavelli's, Eatz (where I've never had a bad meal!), or the many great antique shops.

Bristol's historic sign, which straddles
State Street  and lights up at night!

I'll also miss the people I met while working at the Birthplace of Country Music Museum, where I've had the pleasure of working since June 2014 as the first full-time Curator of Collections and Digital Media. The time I spent helping open the museum, writing foundational policy,  creating two special exhibits, planning concerts, and carrying out organization and preservation tasks with volunteers have been incredibly rewarding. I've also loved getting to know my great colleagues.

BCM is an award-winning museum and I have some brilliant
colleagues there. If you haven't visited yet, you should!

Despite missing all of these things, though, I'm excited to start a new chapter in my life in Pittsburgh with you, Joe. Still, it's always hard to leave friends, a place that you know well, and a challenging, rewarding job.

So this cocktail post breaks with our format and doesn't use our featured liquor. Instead, I've tried to find a cocktail that reminds me a bit of Bristol.

The obvious choice, of course, is something with a Tennessee whiskey in it. But we use so much bourbon in our drinks on this blog (and in our regular lives), that I wasn't sure I wanted to drop money on a bottle of whiskey. I've also always been partial to Virginia for many reasons: I was born and raised there, It's absolutely gorgeous year-round, history and culture are literally all around you (Monticello, Mount Vernon, Williamsburg, and all the great stuff in and around D.C.), and it's becoming an increasingly blue state. I could've sprung for a bottle of Bowman's Virginia bourbon, but that also seemed silly -- bourbon, despite what Virginia Tourism will tell you, is not really our thing in the Commonwealth.

So what does Virginia do well? Virginians have been making wine for years, ever since Thomas Jefferson tried (with much difficulty) to grow wine grapes at his home, Monticello. Now there's a thriving wine industry that has lovely semi-dry whites like traminettes and viogniers, other, more familiar whites that taste different than their West coast cousins, and a bevy of reds and red blends.

But even before T.J. tried to grow wine grapes, George Washington was enjoying another, now antiquated spirit at Mount Vernon, his Virginia home: applejack. Applejack, also known as apple brandy, is made from apple cider which is fermented, then heated and distilled, then sometimes aged in oak barrels. The Laird & Company Distillery who still distills applejack, holds the first commercial distillery license issued in the United States. In The Drunken Botanist, Amy Stewart claims that, after receiving a gift of applejack from the Laird family, George Washington wrote them to ask for the recipe, though he may or may not have made his own apple brandy at Mount Vernon. While Laird is based in New Jersey, and has been since the late 1600s, they still use 100% Virginia apples for their apple brandy.

So, wine and apple brandy combine to create a delightful drink (thanks, Internet!) that's slightly sweet, delightfully complex, and perfect for spring and summertime sipping on the porch.

1 1/2 oz. Laird's Apple Brandy
3/4 oz St. Germain
1/2 oz. freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/2 oz. Virginia sauvignon blanc

Shake all the ingredients together then strain into a glass garnished with a slice of a Virginia-grown apple, if you wish.

The finished cocktail next to a Pointer Brand purse made by L.C. King,
who has been manufacturing in Bristol for almost 100 years!

So goodbye, Bristol. I'll miss a lot of great things about you and have lots of fond memories, but it's time to move on.

Hot Sage Toddy

As soon as I tasted the featured liquor this month, I thought how nice it would be warm. The slightly sweet, herbaceous notes in Sage would be heightened, I thought, by warming them up, just like a hot toddy, or the hot gin toddy, which I learned from an old roommate.

This cocktail doesn't have the depth of a hot toddy that uses bourbon or whiskey as a base. It's more floral and lighter than its darker cousin, which would make it perfect for fall or for a chilly summer night on the porch. Either way, I highly recommend it (if I do say so myself!).

I forgot to take a photo of the drink,
so here is a picture of some mountains in Canaan Valley, WV.

Hot Sage Toddy

1 1/2 oz Sage

1-2 tsp honey 

1/2 oz lemon juice

Boiling water

2-3 whole cloves

Cinnamon stick

Lemon

Place honey, lemon juice, and Sage into a mug or heatproof glass. Stir vigorously. Put cloves into mug, and then pour boiling water over them. Stir with cinnamon stick and leave cinnamon stick in the mug. Allow to steep, loosely covered, for several minutes. Stir, and garnish with a lemon slice, if you like. 

July liquor: Sage

Even the most perfect reproduction of a work of art is lacking in one element: its presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be.  

-- Walter Benjamin, "Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction" (1936)

This month it was my (Dave's) turn to choose a liquor, and I've been enchanted by the Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction distillery. They took the same name as a famous essay by Walter Benjamin that, in 1936, began to theorize what kinds of changes reproducability and capitalism would bring upon Art. In the end, Benjamin muses, art wrested from its connection to ritual and tradition becomes inherently political, since it is "designed for reproducability." 

And, in that sense, it is an apt moniker for the Art in the Age distillery, which prides itself on being sustainable and local. They have preserved original buildings on the site of their distillery and use regional grains and local botanicals in their drinks. 

I'd wanted to use their Rhubarb Tea liquor for our April liquor, but alas, they were sold out at the fancy Bristol liquor store. I think, though, that was a stroke of luck, because their Sage liquor (which I got partly because you, Joe, have a thing for sage) is delicious. 

It's not entirely sage-based, though - the name Sage seems to come from the fact that it is based on the writings of Bernard McMahon, who served as a botanical advisor to Thomas Jefferson. The botanical play on words is just right - hipsters like the Art in the Age kids love puns. 

So, this month's liquor, unlike Pernod from May, is delicious and drinkable and, I think, will become a staple of our liquor cabinet. 

Dave's tasting notes:

Smell: Citrusy. Lemony. Although the description of "furniture cleaner - think Pledge™" sounds like a damning condemnation of Sage, it really isn't. The scent is subtle, but certainly citrus - but not an indeterminate citrus - definitely lemon.

Consuela or Dave? You decide, America. You decide. 

Out of the bottle, Sage takes on different properties. It's sweet and herby and minty - a heady combination, a bit like Bénédictine, but less heavy. 

Taste: A boom of herbs. So many herbs with a citrus finish. But the primary flavor is herbs, and it is absolutely delicious. [Joe is typing this for Dave as he dictates. Quoth Dave: "Gosh, I should've written my dissertation like this. 'It's good', but make it sound better than that." Joe considers career as stenographer.]

"I've got 'It's good'. What next?"

Joe's tasting notes:

Smell: "This smells like tea*!" I proclaimed. Dave looked at me like I was batshit crazy. To wit: I do tend to say things that don't, on the surface, seem to be rooted in reality. Upon closer inspection, however, I am often correct in my initial batshit observations. Once poured into a glass, however, Sage takes on an entirely different profile. All its herbaceous qualities bloom, though lavender** is the principle nose for me.

Taste: Go to a plant nursery and direct yourself to the herbs. Take a look at all those herbs. Alllllllll those herbs. So many, right? Imagine that those herbs explode in your mouth, a veritable Hiroshima on your palate. But imagine that instead of your face melting off in the fallout, it feels instead like the most delicious smörgåsbord of herbaceous delight. This is what a sip of Sage is like. The dominant flavor for me is still lavender, but it rounds out into a truly spectacular and complex combination of Every Herb I've Ever Loved***.

Mouth, meet Sage.

* As it turns out, Sage is made with black tea. BOO-YAH.
** Dave also looked at me cockeyed when I swore I smelled lavender. Gentle reader, do you not think I deserve, at the least, a "You're so smart, Joe!" from Dave or, even better, a dozen oatmeal raisin cookies (my favorite!) at the most? Please leave a comment below telling Dave what I deserve. Do not let me down.
*** All The Herbs. ALL OF THEM.