Lavender Gimlets (sort of)

I'm not a big drinker of cocktails in general, and I'm even less of a drinker of gin. That being said, cocktails clearly have their place: Less so with food, and more before - or after, or occasionally instead of; as an alternative to beer, when the weather or environs don't seem conducive to wine; and certainly, as a welcome to guests who have just endured the Bay Area's northbound assault on wine country traffic on the first Saturday in August, a category which counted my wife's brother and his family as victims this past Saturday. Gin, for its part, is still rarely my favorite, but I'm being slowly one over by two things: First, I've had some exceptional gin cocktails, most recently a crisp, refreshing, and generally excellent Cucumber Collins, with just the right balance of aromatic gin, citrus, sweetness and acidity, at the new SpoonBar here in town - in point of fact, the Cuke Collins was so good, I skipped the other 8 pages of the bar menu and ordered another straightaway; second, gin does exceptional things with lime juice and, as a rule, I can't get enough limes in my cocktails. I cannot tell a lie, I do in fact have a lime tree in the yard.

Thus, with guests on the road, the fog burning off, and a small vat of lavender simple syrup in the fridge, I tooled around with the idea of a lavender-infused Gimlet. If you like odd factoids from history, spend a few minutes reading about the history of the Gimlet at the Thinking of Drinking blog, For our purposes, the salient facts are that (a) the Gimlet, named eponymously for a British naval surgeon in the 1860s, Dr. Gimlette, was invented as a means to get sailors in the Royal Navy their ration of lime juice, and thereby to prevent scurvy; (b) the historical use of the Rose's Lime Cordial dates to the same period, when Lauchlan Rose invented Rose's Lime as a means of preserving the citrus juice for long journeys without the use of alcohol. (One can infer the history of the derogative "Limey" easily enough from there.) You have to love the British sense of irony: Mr. Rose patents a means of preserving lime juice for sailors without the use of alcohol, and a Royal Naval surgeon simultaneously invents a cocktail with which to get sailors to drink it.

Long and sundry is the list of arguments and citations to the effect that a Gimlet must contain Rose's, but I can't agree, and I think the argument stops here: The modern-day Rose's is no longer the same stuff as it was in 1867 (it now includes natural flavors other than lime, artificial preservatives, and - in the US, where I would buy mine - high fructose corn syrup in lieu of sugar). The other thing about Rose's is, well, it's kind of disgusting.

Since Rose's is basically just sweetened lime juice with preservatives, and since I'm not subject to the uncertainties of 19th century refrigeration technology, I figured, how hard can it be to make a proper lime cordial from fresh lime juice? Equal parts lavender simple syrup and freshly squeezed lime juice (which I passed through a strainer for seeds and pulp), and voila, a fresh, homemade, lavender-infused lime cordial. Mix with an equal part of your favorite gin or vodka for a Gimlet, or add soda water and serve over ice for a quasi-Rickey, and garnish with sprigs of mint, fresh lavender, a lime peel, and a straw, if it's watered down and over ice. Whichever way go, the perfume of the lavender really plays off of herbal aromatics of the gin; yo just can't go wrong.

Lavender Gimlet

1. Mix about a quarter-cup of chilled lavender simple syrup with your favorite gin. I like Sapphire, as I find it less assertive than some gins, so if you like a more pronounced herbaciousness, try something like Junipero. (Gin, more than most liquors, varies greatly in style from brand to brand, so it really comes down to personal preference.)
2. For a straight up Gimlet, shake over ice and strain into martini glass or tumbler.
3. Or, add 1/2 to 1 cup of water - plain or sparkling (the latter making something like a Ricky) - and serve over ice in a high ball glass or, as I've done here, with the cut up limes in a mason jar. This version is highly recommended for a warm weekend afternoon, and would be well-suited to a by-the-pitcher version. I also made a version of the watered-down, over-ice and cut-limes version with Hanger 1 vodka - maybe not quite as interesting or complex as the gin version, but an outstanding cocktail in its own right.

Kampai, and drink responsibly.

It's Happy Hour Somewhere

Lavender: Looks good, smells good, and makes a mean mixer

It's Friday afternoon, the sun has won its daily battle with the fog, and I'm making cocktails. Never let it be said that the Proximal Kitchen does not count booze as a food group.

We have lavender planted all over the property (wine country residents alternate between delusions of Tuscany and ones of Provence) and I often wonder what to do with all the precious stuff: We occasionally dry it and bundle it for gifts, we often use large quantities as our house-brand air freshener, and my wife has a great eye for incorporating it into our homegrown floral arrangements. However, as a cook, I always feel a bit guilty about not doing more with it - I mean, here we have this beautiful plant that we have paid to plant and water, that commands what strikes us as an absurd price in the marketplace, and that often gets cut and dumped into the green waste recycle bin at the end of the summer. Somehow, that just seems wrong.

My gut reaction is, unsurprisingly, to think of more ways to eat it. Lavender is, after all, a culinary herb: It does wonders for certain salads, I've seen all sorts of interesting lavender desserts (I'm not really a sweets person, but I'll take it on faith that they didn't all suck), and it provides a great touch of color and aroma as a garnish on the plate. But what I've come to learn is, the easiest and arguably best use of lavender is in cocktails: Try it in mojitos, margaritas, or - as I'm planning on doing as soon as I finish this post - just simply mixed with vodka and lots of fresh lime. And it's outstanding in (non-alcoholic, if you must) lemonade. The way to do it is to make a lavender simple syrup, and then use that in lieu of whatever sweet syrup your drink would have otherwise called for. It takes no time at all and can be stored for long periods in the fridge.

Lavender Simple Syrup

1. Combine 2 cups of sugar with 1 cup of water and bring to a low boil (watch it, you don't want to scorch it).
2. Throw in a large handful of lavender blossoms. It doesn't really matter which kind; we grow several, I just grab them all and strip the blossoms from the stems. Simmer gently until the flavor is extracted - maybe 15 minutes, there's plenty of slack here. 
3. Pour through a fine-mesh strainer, pressing gently on the blossoms to get all the goodness out.
4. Use in place of simple syrup in any cocktail or sweetened juice drink.