Batter-Splattered

the Great Alaska clean-out-your-freezer potluck / red currant champagne cocktails

As soon as I saw this post about an all-bacon potluck at Gluten Free Girl, I marched right out to my co-worker Angie's desk to point her in its direction. My god, the photos make my mouth water. All bacon... a potluck featuring bacon recipes. How brilliant an idea is that? Did I mention there was bacon?

Soon thereafter, Angie dreamed up the idea for an All Alaska Clean Out Your Freezer potluck, a chance for people to mix it up and meet new people and cook up some of last year's venison and fish and berries cluttering up their deep freeze (guilty) so they'll have plenty of room for this year's hunting and gathering. I mean, what's the point of living here if you aren't going to tromp out into the woods and pluck some berries or tromp on down to the river and catch yourself a king salmon?

It was to be held at my house. Angie created a charming invitation prominently featuring a photo of old Colonel Muktuk Marston:

 

He was quite the character but you knew that just from looking at his photo.

Lots of people we invited had other plans or were sticken with the flu and couldn't come, as will happen with any gathering. Usually when you invite a person to a party and they can't come, they just politely decline without much emotion, but these people... when they heard the idea behind the party, they were crushed. Whole-heartedly disappointed. One young woman rendered her garments in twain. Another thought about calling her parents in Seattle and telling them they'd have to fly in to visit her some other weekend.

For good reason too, because let me tell you what we had:

Pheasant stew served over caramelized shallot mashed potatoes (Alaska grown potatoes, of course)

Creamy halibut dip with the perfect bite of jalopeno served on blue cheese walnut sourdough bread from a local bakery. I just enjoyed some of the leftovers as a brunch-for-one:

A halibut roll that was sort of like a calzone with biscuit dough and a creamy halibut filling

A cream cheese salmon ball

Blueberry muffins made with berries I picked

Blueberry buttermilk tart made with berries Angie picked...

... the list went on and on. I made my own corned venison roast, soaking it in brine for four or five days before cooking it for the party -- more on it later in the week, but it even had people who didn't like corned beef exclaiming how good it was.

I set aside all day Saturday to prepare the house, cleaning, cooking, arranging flowers. I even had enough time leftover to take a little nap in the sun on the couch.

A hostess needs her rest before the onslaught. And if there's anything better than a nap in the sun, it's a nap in the sun with a puppy:

She would need her rest because three other dogs came over to romp in the yard for a few hours during the potluck, playing ring-around-the-greenhouse until they were all exhausted and a muddy mess.

We needed a fancy drink to serve at the party and Angie found this recipe for Red Currant Champagne Cocktails. I still have tons of red currants in my freezer, waiting for me to work up the energy to make another batch of jelly.

I made the puree on Saturday morning...

The results:

You glug a little of this in a fluted glass then pour champagne over it. Sweet and tart. Delicious. Several people brought bottles of champagne and we found that we liked the red currants best when mixed with sweeter champagne to counterbalance the tartness of the berries.

More on those other dishes later but for now here's our version of those cocktails.

Red Currant Champagne Cocktails

Makes enough puree to go with three or four bottles of champagne

1 1/2 pounds (about 3 pints) red currants, fresh or frozen

1/2 c sugar

Extra dry champagne

Cocktail straws for stirring (the puree tends to settle in the flute)

Place currants, sugar and two tablespoons of water in a saucepan over medium heat. Stir to combine and bring to a boil then reduce to a simmer for 15 minutes or so, stirring often, until berries are soft.

Strain mixture through a fine mesh sieve set over a medium bowl, pressing on solids with a spatula or the back of a wooden spoon to extract liquid. Discard solids and chill liquid before using. Red currant puree can be refrigerated in an airtight container for up to 7 days.

Pour about two tablespoons of puree into a champagne flute. Pour in a bit of champagne and stir gently with a straw. Top off with more champagne.

Brandy Ice

Here's recipe number eight from my collection o' favorites.

This is a recipe for a drink-slash-milkshake called a Brandy Ice, a classic on the menu at a restaurant here in Anchorage called Simon and Seaforts. It's a combination of vanilla ice cream and three different kinds of alcohol -- Kahlua, brandy, and creme de cacao. It all adds up to one frosty, frothy, boozy cup of a concoction -- how can you go wrong?

This time around I tried it with a no-sugar-added ice cream and I didn't find it lacking in any way. Going light on the dairy actually allows the flavor of the alcohol to really sing. And if you have yourself a couple of these here Brandy Ices, you'll be singing too.

Brandy Ice

The measurements don't have to be exactly exact or precisely precise. Just get yourself a shot glass and estimate the amounts -- a full shot of brandy, half a shot of kahlua, a third of a shot of creme de cacao...

1 1/2 c vanilla ice cream

1 oz. brandy

1/2 oz. kahlua

1/3 oz dark creme de cacao

Toss it all in a blender and blend.

Basil Vodka Gimlets

This month I thought I'd take part in the Monthly Mingle hosted by Meeta at her lovely blog, What's For Lunch, Honey?

Her assignment this time around? Liquid Dreams. In her own words: "Cocktails, aperitifs, milkshakes, smoothies or lassi. Add a splash of alcohol or keep it pure. Shake it, stir it or blend it - just mix up a refreshing drink. Serve it hot or cold but I need it in a glass."

Perhaps you noticed the basil leaves in the photo above and wondered where the heck I was headed with this? Well, I'll tell you. This Liquid Dreams event was a happy coincidence for me because lately I've laying on the couch after work, staring up at the basil plant on the windowsill -- it's big and getting bigger all the time. Now that I've managed to nurse it into a healthy state, I needed a reason to pluck those buttery-soft green leaves.

Luckily, epicurious obliged me with this recipe for Basil Vodka Gimlets from the July issue of Gourmet. Perfect timing to join in the Monthly Mingle. And the gimlets hit the spot just as perfectly as I cooked dinner tonight.

You boil a pot full of basil and lemon zest and water and sugar to make a basil-spiked simple sugar:

Let it cool and then mix it with nearly-equal parts basil lemon syrup, vodka, and lemon juice. The results are like really naughty lemonade.

So good, I polished off one small glass and quickly myself up another (larger) glass!

Here are the recipes. I stuck my vodka and my glass in the freezer so that they would be extra-cold when I brought all the ingredients together. I divided the gimlet recipe in three to make one extra tall glass for myself... At least I think I divided by three -- after one and a half gimlets, my memory's a little foggy. You're on your own when it comes to dividing and subdividing the following recipes. I do distinctly remember making a half recipe of the syrup and I still have plenty leftover to make more gimlets later. And by later I mean tomorrow. Right after work. 

Basil Vodka Gimlets

Makes 6 drinks

1 c basil lemon syrup (recipe follows)

3/4 c vodka

3/4 c freshly-squeezed lemon juice

1 c ice cubes

Garnish: fresh basil sprigs and lemon zest strips

Stir together all ingredients in a pitcher until cold, then strain into 8 - 10 ounce glass (such as Old-Fashioned) half-filled with ice.

Basil Lemon Syrup

Makes about 5 cups

4 c packed fresh basil sprigs

4 c water

2 cup sugar

9 (4- by 1-inch) strips lemon zest

Bring all ingredients to a boil in a medium saucepan, stirring until sugar is dissolved. Let stand at room temperature, covered, for 1 hour. Transfer to an airtight container and chill until cold, about 1 hour. Strain syrup through a sieve into a bowl, pressing hard on and then discarding the solids.

Syrup keeps, covered and chilled, for 5 days.

Blueberry Ginger Mojitos

The homebuying process is one big fat emotional rollercoaster, I tell you what.

Here's a sampling of my day:

What do you mean the seller doesn't have the funds necessary to close next week??

What do you mean he's trying to 'find' the money??

'Shocking discovery' my ass.

Exactly how much money is he trying to 'find'??

Because I'd like to know where one can miraculously 'find' the money one needs to either buy or sell a house. I could have used that magical fountain-o'-cash, oh, five years ago when my husband and I first began saving to buy a house.

This afternoon at work I was sitting there in the bright sunshine (sunshine? are you kidding me? where are dark clouds when you need them?), my elbows resting on my desk, head cradled in my hands, rocking back and forth, back and forth, a nerve twitching slightly above my left eye, foot tapping, telling myself I definitely should have gone out for a drink at lunch instead of calling around for quotes on homeowner's insurance, because really now, how can I buy a house from a seller who spends all his money on 4-wheelers, guns, taxidermied black bears, xboxes, framed porno cartoons, fishing rods -- that's right! I saw it all while touring your house, Mister. Would it have killed you to take the framed pornographic cartoons down off the walls and hidden them under a bed while showing the house?

My friend Kelly was quick to rush in and reassure me that I shouldn't worry, once he got all his porn out of there, there would be plenty of room for my own porn.

Stopping to listen to Darrell Scott sing I Still Miss Someone on my ipod helped a little -- have you heard him sing that? Because he can sing the hell out of that song.

.... and that's when my cousin Jennifer swooped in at the last minute to save the day. From across the continent, no less.

She emailed me about this mojito recipe she just saw on The Food Network and while she couldn't indulge, what with being a new mom and the breast-feeding and what-not and only a bit of red wine for her, she was more than happy to pass along the mojito-ee goodness to me. If anyone needs a blueberry ginger mojito, it's her with her healing ladybits, or as she calls it, her va-jay-jay. But she selflessly answered my homebuying distress call and offered up this recipe.

You peel and grate some ginger, stir and boil it in a pan with sugar and water to make a gingery simple syrup:

Once strained, this syrup tastes simply exquisite. Take a wooden spoon and 'muddle' some blueberries, lime wedges, and mint leaves in a glass. Stir in some gingery syrup, club soda, vodka -- and hey! Look at how my bottle of vodka-with-a-twist-of-citrus coordinates with the purse I was carrying today:

Nothing's classier than marching (with a purpose!) out of a liquor store on Friday night with a bottle of vodka wrapped in a brown paper bag tucked under one's arm. The bright green tells me this drink was meant to be. Not only that but I am up to my eyeballs in blueberries. Plus, I've been passing by my potted mint for weeks now thinking it was high time to make a mojito or two. Mojitos are the reason I bought the mint in the first place, after all.

Here's the recipe. Consult the link above for the original recipe and making a full pitcher of these babies. Come to think of it, you might want to consult the website no matter how many mojitos you plan to prepare considering the fact I typed the following under the influence of a particularly vodka-friendly version of this delectable drink.

Cheers!

Blueberry Ginger Mojito

Serves two

For ginger simple syrup:

1/4 c fresh ginger

1 c sugar

1 c cold water

For mojito:

1 c fresh blueberries

1 lime, cut into wedges

20 - 24 fresh mint leaves

4 oz. ginger simple syrup

4 oz. vodka

5 oz. club soda

Ice cubes

Blueberries for garnish

Mint leaves for garnish

For simple syrup: Peel and grate the ginger and stir together with sugar and water in a small saucepan. Bring to a boil and stir until sugar is dissolved. Cover and let steep for 15 minutes. Strain and cool in fridge.

For mojito: combine blueberries, lime wedges, and mint leaves in a glass. Muddle with a wooden spoon so blueberries are broken and mint and lime release their juices and flavor.

When ready to serve, add simple syrup, vodka, and top off with club soda. Stir quickly and pour over ice cubes into glasses. Garnish with fresh blueberries and a sprig of mint.

Well, bless your heart, or, lemme get you a glass of sweet tea

There are two scents that always make me swoon ... well, there are plenty more than two but I'm trying to stay focused here so don't distract me. The first is saffron -- no big surprise there. I have expensive tastes in scents, what can I say? In fact, I was just wondering to myself if anyone bottles a saffron perfume. There's a scent I'd be willing to dab behind my ears on a Saturday night. One quick google search later and what do you know? Perfume of saffron pistils -- "a deep, oriental and mystic fragrance." Those Italians, they think of everything.

The second scent that makes me go weak in the knees is that of tea stowed away in a cupboard, even if it's just a good old-fashioned box of Lipton. The flowery scent that wafts out of my cupboard when I open the door is as good, if not better, than any fully-loaded lilac bush on a warm day in June. It's particularly nice in the morning when I reach in for my favorite coffee cup.

Summer is upon us and the other day I found myself with a strong longing for a tall glass of sweet tea. I don't get this itch very often. Ordinarily, I don't have much of a sweet tooth. I'm more of a black coffee with a splash of cream, whiskey-drinking, dark chocolate kind of a gal. But there I was, strolling down the coffee and tea aisle at the market -- I cruise that aisle even if there's nothing coffee- or tea-ish on my shopping list -- the smell alone is worth a detour down aisle 8. I found myself grabbing a box of family-sized Lipton tea bags.

Growing up in the South, sweet tea was everywhere and yet I wasn't allowed to drink it, which of course, added greatly to its allure for me as a child. My mother has always been quite the iced tea drinker but back then, she was more of an unsweetened sun tea kind of a gal. A glass pitcher of tea was always soaking up the sun in our backyard, and in my aunts' yards, and my grandmas' yards...

We took our cold beverages seriously in that house. We even had a hand-cranked ice crusher mounted on the wall above the sink, much like this shiny new one offered by Metrokane. Ours had more of a vintage-look, ribbed metal and painted the color of an old Ford Thunderbird, although I can't seem to remember the exact shade. Was it swimming pool blue-green? Red? My little brother and I would pull one of our old wooden chairs up to the sink and climb up to crush ourselves a glass of ice. We'd leave the lid open so we could look inside and watch the rotating teeth smash the cubes to bits. It was quite the workout for little arms but totally worth it. A cold drink with crushed ice is so much more refreshing than one with those big clunky cubes. 

Our mother was forever warding us away from the evils of sugar and preservatives and white bread, and so sweet tea was sadly and strictly forbidden in our house.

But my best friend Tricia's house was a whole different ballgame. Her mom was never without a pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge. That and sweet pickles. I'm not sure how it's possible that my teeth are cavity-free even in my thirties considering how much sweet tea and gherkins I blasted my way through at Tricia's house. If my mother had only known...

Here's a good and simple recipe for sweet tea using large family-sized tea bags and, of all things, your coffeepot. 'Individual-size' tea bags will work too, of course. Just throw in a few extra. The hardest part is waiting for it to cool off enough to stick it in the fridge. Once it's cold, pour yourself a glass and pretend you're in Louisiana sittin' on a screened porch, rocking to and fro in an old rocking chair, an alligator croaking in the bayou, magnolias blooming all around, a screen door slamming in the distance...

Sweet Tea

3 family-sized tea bags, such as Lipton's

2 cups sugar

Plenty of cold water

Pour the sugar into a large pitcher (one gallon size, or so). Place all three tea bags in the brewing basket of an electric coffeepot. Brew the tea just like you would coffee, pouring in lots of cold water. Pour the first pot of brewed tea into the pitcher and stir well to melt the sugar. Continue to brew more tea using the same tea bags until you've brewed enough to fill the pitcher. Let cool to room temperature, then refrigerate until cold. Serve over ice (crushed, if you're lucky).

a tall drink of water

Oh, what a day to find myself without a tall glass of iced water. Something so simple should be easy to come by and yet, there I sat at my desk at work, ice-less, with only a cup of warm, lifeless, and very boring water by my side.

The sun is blazing. Wildfires are burning to the north and south of me. The last time I checked the weather, it was 75 and rising -- a scorcher for Alaskans. Don't laugh. No, really. Stop it. I've lived in Florida, Mississippi, and Utah. I know whereof I speak. I realize how ludicrous it is to say that a 70-degree day is a scorcher but it's all relative, people! You spend a month or two in sub-zero temperatures and tell me if you don't think 70 or 80 degrees feels like an oven by comparison. My friend Angie had 95 degrees on the thermometer at her house last night. I had 80 degrees. All I can say is thank god for cool, clean, crisp white cotton sheets and silently spinning ceiling fans.

At my office, I've discovered there are two different types of people: there are the ice people and there are the non-ice people. The former doesn't think twice about filling their glass to the top with ice cubes -- it's just automatic, this emptying and filling of the ice trays. Why wouldn't you? The latter fails to understand (and never will understand) why we need four ice trays in the communal freezer. Ice-people such as myself wonder why they even have to ask. For heaven's sake, there must be 50 people sharing that freezer! Is four trays enough? Should we send someone out for more?

In the morning, I like nothing better than a steaming, piping hot Americano with a tall glass of iced water on the side. The combination of hot and cold is divine. Throughout the day, I drink tons more water if it's iced.

Here's one thing I've learned: having ice in one's glass -- even if only drinking water -- is a regional thing. I've made a study of it, having lived in and traveled to so many of different parts of the country. I've found that, much like co-workers, there are two types of places -- you have your ice places and your non-ice places, and where you grow up tends to determine how you feel about ice for the rest of your life. Whenever I find someone in the breakroom bitching and pissing and moaning because there's no room for their frozen entree in the freezer and they're lashing out at the space taken up by my beloved ice trays (never mind those people who insist on cramming an entire's week's worth of frozen entrees into the communal freezer), I like to ask the bitcher/pisser/moaner where they grew up.

Because if someone proclaims that there's no need for ice trays because the water in the water cooler is cold enough already, I know I have a Yankee on my hands. For sure, that person grew up in Michigan or Oregon or perhaps Idaho. Because if they'd grown up in more tropical climes, as I did, the words, "What's with all the ice?" would never cross their lips.

When I look at a map of the US, I can draw lines of demarcation between ice states and no-ice states. I know exactly which regions I have to follow up my order for iced tea or Diet Coke by saying: "Oh, and can I have that with extra ice?... Lots of ice ... Seriously. Don't be shy about it. A couple fistfuls oughta do." Because otherwise, what you get is a tepid and very sad excuse for a cold beverage with only a few rapidly melting, lonely ice cubes bobbing on the surface. Why even bother? That scant amount of ice isn't enough to cool anything off. It's just going to melt immediately. Might as well just pour a little water in there. 

It makes me feel a little queasy just thinking about it.

For those struggling to wrap their minds around this obsession with ice cubes, perhaps a bit of history will help. I spent my elementary school years in Biloxi, Mississippi, in a school too poor to afford air conditioning. Which means I can tell you a thing or two about heat and humidity. This was back before the days of bottled water, so we didn't even have that to tote along with us to class. The only water to be found on store shelves was sold in short supply in one gallon milk jugs, and whenever a hurricane was bearing down on us those jugs got snapped up in a hurry. There was no Evian, Arrowhead, etc, etc. If you wanted to store up water for the storm ahead, you had to be quick about scrubbing out the bathtub and filling it with water.

At school we were forcefully dehydrated on a daily basis. We kids would come in from recess after lunch having spent an hour running around like maniacs in the full sun on the playground. We were hot. We were sticky. We were a little muddy (dust + sticky skin = mud) and we were thirsty. The problem was there were only two water fountains for every eight classes of 20 to 25 kids. You do the math. Our teachers knew if they let each of us drink our fill, we'd be there all afternoon. So they stationed a kid at each water fountain to serve as a monitor, counting to ten, and after you drank for 10 (all too short) seconds you had to stop and let the next kid have a turn or risk being forcefully pried away from the fountain by the little water nazis. 

We took our water fountains seriously at that school. Each fountain had its own character. Some had better water pressure than others which meant you got more water for your ten seconds. Some kept their contents colder. If you were lucky, you'd be towards the front of the line because the water that had been sitting in the fountain was nice and cold. My mouth still waters at the thought of that front-of-the-line water... the cool condensation building up on the stainless steel spout. Hands pressed against the cool metal sides... good lord, that felt good.

After the water train was over, we'd go lay our heads on our desks, the lights off, the backs of our legs sticking to our wooden seats, head throbbing, box fans whirring, trying to cool off before getting back to the books. I used to dream of water fountains that could pump out Kool-Aid, lemonade, Coke, all icy cold. I used to dream of becoming a teacher one day and mercifully showing up every day with a cooler full of ice and a stack of paper cups for my thirsty students. I'd let them fill their cups at the fountain as often as they wanted. Between trips to the fountain and the restroom, I'm pretty sure my students have been one child after another left behind.

All of this to explain why it was the wrong day to have half-frozen ice trays all day long in the communal freezer. Each time I checked them the cubes would be half-frozen, half-liquid. We ice people were part of the problem, I'm sure. Opening the freezer door too often and standing there poking our fingers forlornly into the shards of the half-frozen ice, letting all the cold air pour out of the freezer and thereby prolonging our ice-free state.

All of this to explain why I rarely dignify my co-worker's question with a response when they ask, "What's with all the ice trays?" They don't understand and they probably never will. To me, ice is both a delicacy and a necessity. It's a luxury too simple to go without. I want it. I need it.  I cannot be denied. Because I'm a grown-up now and I can drink as much water with as much ice as I want and there's no one standing over me counting to ten.