Bénédictine Death Match

This month our alcohol was Bénédictine, a heady mix of different spices and herbs kept a trade secret by the maker.

We've each already created classic Bénédictine drinks, so now we're going out on a limb and trying our own.

Dave's concoction, reviewed by Joe

As above, so below

Holding this drink to my nose, I smell apple cider. That's totally insane, because, as far as I know, there isn't any apple cider in the apartment.

Taking a sip, I realize the smell of apple cider is actually the sugar around the rim that has been imbued with... what, I don't know? The sweat of Dave's efforts?

Here's also what I get when I taste it: tequila.

You know that scene in Pee Wee Herman's Big Adventure when he dances to "Tequila" on the bar? Of course you do. Well. That's kind of what I feel like doing right now. Putting on clogs and dancing. Not, mind you, because I like tequila, but because this is what I always want to do when I have tequila. It goes without saying that I am a mess when I drink tequila.

Which is why I don't drink tequila.

But anyway. This is pretty good. The Benedictine is a little lost in the mix, probably because my brain is too busy working its way through the tequila.

I give this a solid 3.5 stars. It's not bad. Really, Dave. It's not bad.


Joe's drink, reviewed by Dave.

Tufts did not endorse this photo

Joe's drink smells like orange juice. Good, fresh-squeezed orange juice. I'm not getting any alcohol, or any other smells - just a really strong orange scent, almost like those Clorox wipes that are orange-y.

It tastes like there is a lot of Bénédictine in here though. A lot of it - it really comes through. I actually don't really taste orange, except for a bit of bite up front, or a slight aftertaste. Since the Bénédictine is mixed with other things, it's not as viscous and heavy - the orange really lightens it up. But I'm not really getting any melding of the two flavors - there's Bénédictine and orange and Bénédictine and orange and ne'er the two shall meet.

However, it's not bad. I'd be interested - horror of horrors - to see what this tastes like with a hint of orange soda in it, or orange juice. Then it could be called the Sunkist Monk or something.

The hard thing, though, is I'm not sure when I'd want to drink this. The orange makes me feel like I should be wearing lots of flowy linen and swinging on a swing that's hanging from a tree next to the veranda. But the Bénédictine is still so dark and heavy, it makes me feel like there's a storm on its way, or all the leaves are about to turn on the tree that holds the swing and fall to the ground in one big, swift mess. And the linen is certainly not warm enough.

So I'll give this a solid 3, maybe 3.5, if that's how we're doing this. It's, well...

...interesting.

I love you still, even if we're not quite master mixologists - or even Fischer Price-level mixologists - yet.

The Big Reveal
Ingredients for each concoction, so you can try it at home - or, if you have any sense, avoid this combination of ingredients.

Joe's Drink: The Cara-Cara Boo-Boo 

You are an inspiration to us all, Alanna.

1.5 oz. vodka

1 oz. Bénédictine

juice from 1/4 Cara-Cara orange

two dashes Angostura Bitters

splash of créme de cassis

(As with all things créme de cassis, of course, you can't taste it)

Dave's Drink: Untitled, Op. 1, No. 1

1.5 oz. tequila

0.5 oz Bénédictine

One dash grapefruit bitters

Combine all ingredients and pour into a glass rimmed with cinnamon sugar. Garnish with a grapefruit segment, if you wish (mine fell into the drink just before I took the picture). 

Crème de Cassis Death Match

So, we have both learned important lessons about the seeming unimportance of crème de cassis in cocktails. Neither of us thought it added much to the cocktails we tried, so tonight, after a trip to Food City, we set about making our own original cocktails featuring crème de cassis.  

Dave's is on the left, Joe's is on the right.

I call mine Ina's Vineyard:

1 oz vodka
1 oz crème de cassis
1/2 oz lemon juice
Blueberries
Sugar
Club soda

Muddle a small amount of sugar and a small handful of blueberries in the bottom of a cocktail shaker filled with ice. Add vodka, lemon juice, and crème de cassis. Shake vigorously.

Strain mixture into a highball glass over ice. Top with club soda. 

This drink was amazingly okay. It is the first cocktail in which I've been able to taste crème de cassis. That said, it tastes a bit sweet and syrupy - like a starter cocktail for people who really don't like alcohol that much. I might drink it in summer, but it doesn't taste terribly different from the classic crème de cassis and soda with a spritz of lime that Amy Stewart raves about. Final grade: C+

Joe's Take on Dave's Drink:

Before Dave's drink hits your palette, you can smell it. I can't put my finger on it, but I just told Dave it smells like rotting fruit (and I wish you could see his face right now). He's incredulous, but laughing.

But really. It kind of smells like rotting fruit. 

It's confusing, because there's something else that's under there - a smell that is triggering vague memories that I can't fully recall. Grapes? Celery? Bad apples? I honestly don't know. If I were a trained sommelier or food critic, I'm sure I'd be able to pinpoint it immediately. Alas. 

Here's the hitch, though. The drink is actually quite refreshing: it's light and effervescent, mild but tasty. I don't get much of the lemon, but the black currant flavor is a subtle surprise (perhaps because the base liquor is so unassuming). I can imagine drinking it on the beach, one of those adorable cocktail umbrellas jutting from the ice. 

Maybe vodka is the best vehicle for crème de cassis. Maybe it's what we've been missing all this time. If we were to continue experimenting with the liqueur, I think we'd continue in this direction.

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And then there's mine. 

Having already made a crème de cassis cocktail with a clear alcohol, I decided to explore what a darker alcohol would bring to the black currant flavor. 

I call mine Grotesque Démodé. My friend Tricia would roll her eyes at my poorly appropriated French.

2 oz. bourbon
1/2 oz. crème de cassis
orange peel
club soda
sugar

Muddle orange peel and sugar (like you're making an old fashioned). Add bourbon and crème de cassis. Stir. Pour over ice. Wish you were never born. 

Pretend for a moment that you are walking through the woods on a crisp autumn day. The temperature is chilly, but the sun is bright and high in the sky, and its light filters through trees, a kaleidoscope of warm colors. Every time you breathe in deeply, you are filled with the beauty of the season. 

In the distance, you spy a log. A tree has fallen, perhaps decades ago, and it lays in mounds of leaves: some recent, some from years past. There's a fecundity that emanates from the log - it isn't necessarily unpleasant, but it is pungent with age and decay. You kneel before the log, plunge your hands into the rot, and stuff it in your mouth. The oaky fermentation fills your mouth. Your eyes water immediately. You wonder why you didn't resist the impulse to eat that which was clearly inedible. 

You have just tasted the equivalent of my crème de cassis drink.

I have come to the horrible, sinking conclusion that I am a long, long, long way from being a mixologist. In short: this drink is awful. 

Dave's Take on Joe's Drink: Yuck. 

I mean, it smells nice. There are hints of vanilla and berries and orange - it's a very Christmas-y, holiday, let's-get-blitzed-and-make-snow-angels smell. That would all be good and well if we were making potpourri. 

Alas, we have to drink it. 

It's quite alcohol forward and hits your tongue and is immediately dark and pungent, but oddly crisp and sharp as well (the orange, maybe?). 

So, I think I win this death match, but only by being the lesser of two evils. I am like the winner of the Republican National Convention, winning because I am the least disgusting here, the most digestible, and the least likely to make you want to vomit too much.