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. 

Hipster Grandma!

So, here's my thinking, Joe: 

Créme Yvette tastes like violets, right? 

Violets. Or, as you say, your grandmother's bathwater.

So, I says to myself, I says: What goes with violets?

Well, there's Smurfs. 

Vanity Smurf, who I always wanted to call
"Violet." But I think he has a violet in his cap.
Or maybe a pansy. Something gay, anyway.

Violets also apparently mean love or truth and they only existing American violet wholesaler sees their sales skyrocket around Valentine's Day, according to the website of the American Violet Society.

But none of those things really help me mix a drink. 

What else do you think of when you think of violets?

Well, violets are a flower. And they grow in dirt. And probably somewhere around them in the dirt there is also grass. 

No, this isn't a marijuana-laced cocktail. 

It's a cocktail featuring the only alcohol that I know that tastes like your lawn: IPA beer. 

Yes, I know the first time that I made you a beer cocktail you said "Oh! You're making a beer cocktail!" in a voice that you wanted to sound sweetly surprised, but instead sounded like this:

A beer cocktail? Bitch, please.

Nonetheless, you drank it. And you liked it. Or else you kept pretending that you liked it. Either way, it is my reality now.

And I predict you'll also like my newest creation: the Hipster Grandma! 

It's simple. Look in your fridge. Is there IPA there? 

Of course there is. You have too many ironic t-shirts, too large a vinyl collection, and too many Bernie Sanders bumper stickers for there not to be. And it's probably some local, hand-crafted, organic, free-range IPA.

Okay, not an IPA. But I wasn't at Joe's house,
so I had to make do with what I had on hand.

Now, does the IPA taste like grass? No, really - does it taste like you just shoved your hand in a bag of lawn clippings, dunked it in some water, and left it in a dark corner of your basement to ferment for a few months?

It does? Good. We're ready. 

Pour a wee bit of Créme Yvette in a pint glass. You'll probably want to use a half ounce. I prefer about three-quarters of an ounce. You don't want too much - it's powerful stuff, like kryptonite or florescent lighting. 

Then open an IPA - I actually used and American Pale Ale from one of our local breweries down here, Yee Haw Brewing - and dump it on top. If you like, add a little twist of lime or lemon. 

You'll get a lovely purple fizzy concoction. 

It's everything hipsters love: local and artisanal with a subtle undertone of something working-class, gritty, and authentic, whatever that means. But also, it has a sweet, floral, Victorian aftertaste. Yes, like your grandma's bathwater. 

So I give you the Hipster Grandma! 

Your hipster grandma, Joe.

Dave, the brandy infusionary

Dave made three brandies because his genius cannot be contained in just one or two infusions.

----------------------

Dave,

I scrawled these notes last weekend while tasting with you. I'm reprinting them here, but with some added commentary for posterity's sake.

Let's break it down, infusion-by-infusion.

Infusion #1

Not sure what the detritus is, and I don't care. 

I didn't try to guess this one since it was the bonus infusion. But it is lovely: pear & clove.

I like how the light shines through it, like an illuminated honey. 

Infusion #2

Someone is quite fond of this infusion

Look: murky, but not unpleasant

Scent: Really intense and (appropriately) intoxicating. There's an exotic earthiness to it.

I was really excited about this. "Maple cinnamon!" I cooed at you. But you arched your eyebrows and shook your head.

Taste: Whoa. What magic is this? I can taste the really strong flavor. It's triggering really vivid memories, but I can't quite place them. I think of snowy days, winter personified. Heaven. Absolute heaven.

My guess: Maple apple

Actually: Cinnamon prune

As you can see from the photo, I'm about a serving away from this ingenious concoction disappearing. I wonder how long it will keep...

Infusion #3

Molasses?

Look: Motor oil. Plain and simple. 

Scent: Raisins! Raisin bran! Raisins and honey! 

I think I shouted these at you while smelling. 

This concoction has a heady, luxurious scent... but there's also something slightly off about it: a heavy ripeness. You can almost see fruit swelled with flavor. My salivary glands go into overdrive, and this is not something that raisins do. 

But I still smell raisins. 

Taste: Whoa. WHOA. Blackberries? Blackberry & vanilla! There's an underbite to it, a cross between something sweet and spicy, but the sweetness wins out. I'm still getting a big hit of raisin. Really big. 

My guess: Raisin & vanilla

Actually: Fig & vanilla

We have decided to dedicate four months of the year to infusions for this blog: February, April, August, and October. 

And dearest, I need to up my game. 

Seriously.

Joe