Distill-it-yourself (diy) vermouth
Make it now and you’ll be ready for holiday gift giving and have a tipple to take to get-togethers
WHEN I travel, I am inclined to collect foodstuffs. I scour grocery stores looking for snacks and sweets, and gather honeys and mustards from markets. A few years ago I hauled 4 litres of olive oil back from Italy. These souvenirs inspire me on post-holiday days, keeping the glow going.
In July, we travelled to south-western France, where my good friend, culinary adventurer Kate Hill, lives on a small farm called Camont. As I settled into a familiar chair in the kitchen, watching Kate crack freshly gathered chickens’ eggs for clafoutis, I was distracted by the sight of a large glass jar filled with a slightly rosy liquid, herbs and spices at the far end of the table.
Kate, who had been travelling across Spain, introduced me to her own Catalan-style vermouth.
It is not a vermouth to mix into a Manhattan, wave over a martini or tip into a Negroni. This is a spiced and boozy fortified wine – made to be sipped as an aperitif over ice, with a twist of orange peel. It is refreshing and complex, cosying up to cheese, olives, charcuterie and other salty snacks.
Start making it now and you will be ready for holiday gift giving and have a welcome tipple to take to your next gathering.
The recipe is flexible: an infusion of a base alcohol, citrus rind, sugar, spices and herbs added to wine.
When Kate learnt that some Spaniards use their local sherry as the base alcohol, she opted for Armagnac, since it’s readily available in her part of the world.
For my version, I chose a little of each: some sherry, some brandy.
The orange peel provides a prominent flavour note but is not floral in the least. Rather, it carries a slightly bitter edge, achieved by cooking strips of zest in a deeply bronzed sugar syrup. In testing, I added the brandy while the caramel was warm – and had a moment of deep regret. The caramel broke, sticky and solidly attached to my wooden spoon, and looked impossible to fix. Fortunately, gradually warming the brandy, without boiling, eventually led to melting the caramel back into liquid form.
Kate had her own suggestions on spicing, and I followed her lead. Because the spices are added to the warmed, orangescented brandy, they bloom right away, allowing me to tweak the flavours, adding a pinch of this and that, using my nose to guide me.
This step is strictly personal, so if this recipe includes flavours that aren’t in your cupboard or aren’t your thing, use what appeals. Seeds and large chunks of spices (not ground cinnamon, but cinnamon sticks, for example) are preferred, which will help keep the liquid from turning opaque. After an overnight infusion, I combined the brandy base – strained of the herbs and orange peel – with a white wine.
Vinho verde is crisp and light. Pinot grigio would work as well, as would a French chardonnay – nothing too complex, woody or floral, because the recipe benefits from a wine that is bright and snappy.
Patience is an underrated ingredient. I waited for my concoction to develop (at the back of a closet; Kate does not keep hers in the dark). It was a long month, but now I am appreciating a souvenir of Gascony with every sip of vermouth.