CORDIALS AND LIQUEURS
A chat about cherry brandy — Cherry gin — And cherry whisky — Sloe gin
— Highland cordial — What King Charles II. swallowed — Poor Charles!
— Ginger brandy — Orange-flower brandy — Employment of carraway
seeds — The school treat — Use and abuse of aniseed — Do not drink
quince whisky — Try orange brandy instead — A hell-broth — Curaçoa —
Cassis — Chartreuse — The monks as benefactors — Some quaint tavern
“refreshers” — Kirschenwasser — Noyeau — Parfait amour — Maraschino —
A valuable ginger cordial.
Let us commence with that grand old British eye-opener,
_Cherry Brandy._
There are more ways than one of making this. Here is an old recipe.
Take six dozen pounds of cherries, half red and half black, and mash
or squeeze them with your hands to pieces, and put to them three
gallons of brandy, and let them stand steeping twenty-four hours. Then
put the mash’d cherries and liquor a little at a time into a canvas
bag, and press it as long as any juice will run; sweeten it to your
taste, and put it into a vessel fit for it, and let it stand a {186}
month, and bottle it out; put a lump of loaf-sugar into every bottle.
Another way, and a nicer; the idea of squeezing cherries to pieces with
the human hands savouring of barbarism—and fingers.
Take Black Geans or Black Morellos—but remember that the former
are sweet, the latter acid and bitter, and there will be a great
difference in the results. They must not be over-ripe. Take off the
stalks, and if you choose prick them with a pin. Fill a bottle with
them three-quarters, pour in brandy to the neck, and cork it up. It
will be ready in a month.
It will be noticed that no mention of sugar is made in the above. The
necessary quantity would naturally vary, according to the description
of cherry employed.
Yet another—my way.
This can either be made from Black Gean cherries, or Morellos, but
the latter are better for the purpose. Every pound of cherries will
require one quarter of a pound of white sugar and one pint of the best
brandy. The cherries, with the sugar well-mixed with them, should be
placed in wide-mouthed bottles, filled up with brandy; and if the
fruit be previously pricked, the mixture will be ready in a month. But
a better blend is procured if the cherries are untouched, and this
principle holds good with all fruit treated in this way, and left
corked for at least three months.
It should be borne in mind that these cordials are far better when
home-made—provided always {187} the best materials be used. The cherry
brandy, sloe gin, etc. etc., which is bought is not always made with
’65 cognac. Remember how many people have to make some sort of profit
out of what can be purchased over the counter.
One more way.
Put six pounds of black cherries, six pounds of Morellos, and two
pounds of strawberries in a cask. Bruise them slightly with a stick,
then add three pounds of sugar, twelve cloves, half an ounce of
powdered cinnamon, and two grated nutmegs, with a quarter of the
kernels of the cherry-stones, and a handful of mint and balm. Pour
over these six quarts of brandy, and let the cask remain open for ten
days. Then close it, and in two months it will be fit for use.
_Cherry Gin_
can be made in the same way as any of the above, merely substituting
Old Tom for cognac. And if you want to make it extra good, use
sugar-candy instead of the ordinary “best lump.”
_Cherry Whisky_
was introduced to the public at the Brewers’ Exhibition in the Royal
Agricultural Hall, London, in 1898. I have not tasted it, but suppose
that the method of making it is similar to any of the above recipes,
substituting Glenlivet. But I fancy brandy or gin would always be
preferable; for whisky does not blend well with fruit. {188}
_Sloe Gin._
The difference between this cordial as made at home, and allowed to
mature gradually, and the stuff retailed in taverns, is marked. ’Tis a
“refresher” which has only become popular within the last few years;
and consequently within a radius of twenty miles from London, the
sloe-bushes are stripped of their fruit, before it is fit to pick, by
the poorer classes, who can obtain sixpence per pound—or something like
that price—for sloes in the market. But the sloe should not be picked
for this purpose until it has experienced at least one night’s frost.
Allow one pound of sugar to one pound of sloes. Half fill an ordinary
quart bottle with sugared sloes, and fill up with gin. If the sloes
have been previously pricked, the liqueur will be fit for use in a
couple of months; but ’tis better _not_ to prick them, but let the gin
do its own work of extraction. In that case the bottle should not be
uncorked within twelve months.
A great deal of the alleged sloe gin sold is light in colour, and
has evidently been hurried in its preparation. A great deal more is
quite innocent of sloe juice, and is merely inferior gin, diluted and
coloured. The orthodox sloe gin should bear the hue of “fruity” port
wine. See that you get it.
_Highland Cordial._
Here is another recipe into which the wine of bonnie Scotland enters.
At one time the {189} cordial was popular with the Scots, who now,
however, prefer their whisky unadorned.
Steep in one bottle of old Scotch whisky one pint of white
currants, stripped of their stalks, the thin rind of a lemon, and
one teaspoonful of essence of ginger. Let the mixture stand for
forty-eight hours, and then strain through a hair sieve. Add one pound
of loaf-sugar, which will take at least a day to thoroughly dissolve.
Then bottle off and cork well. It will be ready for use in three
months, but will keep longer.
A cordial which is but seldom asked for nowadays was known in the
seventeenth century as
_King Charles II.’s Surfeit-Water_.
Take a gallon of the best aqua-vitæ, and a quart of brandy, and
a quart of anniseed-water, a pint of poppy-water, and a pint of
damask-rose-water; put these in a large glass jar, and put to it a
pound of fine powdered sugar, a pound and a half of raisins stoned, a
quarter of a pound of dates stoned and sliced, one ounce of cinnamon
bruised, cloves one ounce, four nutmegs bruised, one stick of licorice
scraped and sliced; let all these stand nine days close covered,
stirring three or four times a day; then add to it three pounds
of fresh poppies, or three handfuls of dried poppies, a sprig of
angelica, two or three of balm; so let it stand a week longer, then
strain it out and bottle it.
And then notify the undertaker, I should think. The Merry Monarch had
his faults, but, surfeit or no surfeit, it is hard to believe that
a king could bring himself to lap such a {190} “hell-broth” as the
above. Pah! Let us take the taste out with
_Ginger Brandy_.
Bruise slightly two pounds of black currants, and mix them with one
ounce and a half of ground ginger. Pour over them one bottle and a
half of best old brandy, and let the mixture stand for two days.
Strain off the liquid, and add one pound of loaf-sugar which has been
boiled to a syrup in a little water. Bottle and cork closely.
_Orange-flower Brandy._
There is not much of this in the market, or the store-cupboard.
Take a gallon of best brandy, and mix with it a pound of
orange-flowers which have been boiled. Save the water, sweeten it, and
bottle off the mixture.
_Carraway Brandy._
Steep an ounce of carraway seeds and six ounces of loaf-sugar in a
quart of brandy. Let this stand nine days, then strain and bottle.
And the author of the above adds: “ ’Tis a good cordial.” Three hundred
years ago carraways invariably figured at the dessert-table in England.
The seeds now appear either in cakes for school-treats, sugar-plums, or
the favourite liqueur known as
_Kümmel_.
This is principally made in Russia, and is an excellent stomachic. Own
brother to the {191} carraway seed is the anise seed, which appears in
a liqueur, made chiefly at Bordeaux, and called
_Anisette_.
Personally, I prefer Kümmel, and the other is more of a drug than an
enlivening potion. Cough remedies for the most part contain anise seed,
which is also largely used at a “drag” hunt, hounds being especially
keen on the scent.
_Apricot Brandy._
This is not often met with away from its home in the United States.
To every pound of fruit (which should not be quite ripe) add one pound
of loaf-sugar. Put the apricots into a preserving-pan, with sufficient
water to cover them. Let them boil up, and then simmer gently until
tender. Remove the skins. Clarify and boil the sugar, then pour it
over the fruit, and let it remain twenty-four hours. Then put the
apricots into wide-mouthed bottles, and fill them up with syrup and
brandy, half and half. Cork tightly, and seal the tops of the corks.
This apricot brandy should be prepared in the month of July, and kept
at least twelve months before using.
_Quince Whisky._
I once superintended the brew of a decoction of quinces and Scotch
whisky. The quinces were treated exactly as the apricots are in the
above recipe, and we kept the stuff bottled up for a year. I don’t
think I ever tasted anything nastier. {192}
_Orange Brandy_
should be made in the month of March, and, well-made, is the best of
all cordials, being especially valuable on a cold morning just before
proceeding with the hounds to draw Newton Wood.
Take the thin rinds of six Seville oranges, and put them into a stone
jar, with half a pint of the strained juice and half a gallon of
good old brandy. Let it remain three days, then add one pound and a
quarter of loaf-sugar—broken, not pounded—and stir till the sugar is
dissolved. Let the liquor stand a day, strain it through paper until
quite clear, pour into bottles, and cork tightly. The longer it is
kept the better.
The ancients apparently interpreted the word “cordial” in a different
way to our later way; and their cordials were chiefly used in the
sick-room.
_The Saffron Cordial_,
for instance, was chiefly employed to cure fainting fits, the ague, and
the smallpox. I think I should have preferred all three complaints at
once.
Fill a large still with marigold flowers, and strew on it an ounce of
ground nutmeg; beat them grosly, and take an ounce of the best English
saffron, pull it, and mix with the flowers; then take three pints of
muscadine or tent, or Malaga sack, and with a sprig of rosemary dash
it on the flowers; then distil it off with a slow fire, and let it
drop on {193} white sugar-candy; draw it off till it begins to be
sowre, save a pint of the first running to mix with other waters on an
extraordinary occasion; mix the rest together to drink by itself. Take
five or six spoonfuls at a time.
As Hamlet observes, on a memorable occasion: “Oh, horrible, horrible,
most horrible!”
_Curaçoa_
is not only the best known of all liqueurs, but the most wholesome.
It will blend equally well with brandy and whisky. The best, in fact
the original brand, is made in Amsterdam, with the peel of a very rare
orange which grows in the island of Curaçoa, and falls from the tree
before it is ripe. The peel of this is dried, and is known in the trade
as the Curaçoa of Holland, to distinguish it from other Curaçoas which
have not the same property, although they are often sold in place of
it. The Dutch distillers naturally keep their process a secret, but the
French imitators declare that the Dutch secret is merely as follows:
that five kilogrammes of dried peel of the Curaçoa of Holland and the
zests of eighty fresh oranges are submitted to the action of sixty
litres of alcohol (85 degrees, French measurement), and that, save in
the colour, there is no real difference between white Curaçoas and
brown. At all events either is very useful in a cocktail, or swizzle;
and there are many restorative compounds, or “tonics” as they are
called, into which the liqueur enters. {194}
_Cassis_,
owing to the ridiculously-high duty imposed upon its importation, is
comparatively unknown in England, although it can be obtained at every
little roadside _cabaret_ in France, cheap enough. The cassis of Dijon
has a great reputation as a cooling drink. There is an infinitesimal
portion of alcohol in it, and it can, I should say, be easily made at
home by anybody who possesses some nice ripe black-currants. Still
the nearest the ordinary English householder gets to cassis is in the
manufacture of so-called “black-currant tea”; and you only get that
when you have a sore throat.
_Chartreuse._
One of the most severe sects of monks manufacture a liqueur which is
the highest prized and priced of all, for the benefit of Sybarites who
deny themselves no luxury in life. St. Bruno the founder of this order
chose for his monastery the most desolate and barren spot he could find
in the mountains of Dauphiné, and forbade his followers to eat the
flesh of bird or beast; the fruit of the vine and strong waters being
likewise defended. But one of them discovered, nevertheless, that a
most seductive liquid could be distilled from plants, chief amongst
them being Angelica Archangelica—a plant which it is probable did not
receive its holy name until trial had been made of the distillation.
The Carthusian monks have the sole right of selling this liqueur—a
right which brings them in a very {195} substantial revenue; for
Chartreuse is esteemed—in France, at all events—above all _chasses_.
The yellow kind is the best, and the white mildest of the three, of
which the green is fiery. Personally, I prefer curaçoa, or, better
still, cognac ’65.
The name of the “little refreshers” consumed at tavern-bars in large
cities is legion. I have heard the following compounds called for, at
different times: sherry-and-bitters—there being at least half a dozen
sorts of bitters—gin-and-ditto, whisky-and-ditto; vermouth (Italian or
French), vermouth-and-sloe-gin, gin-and-sherry, gin-and-orange-gin,
sloe-gin, gin-and-sloe-gin (commonly called “slow-and-quick”),
curaçoa-and-brandy, whisky alone, brandy alone, gin alone. And in the
Borough there is a dreadful mixture known by the appropriate name of
_Twist_.
“This,” says an esteemed correspondent, “is a favourite liqueur of
the porters in the hop-warehouses. You go into the ‘Red Cross,’ for
instance, and ask for a ‘ ’alf-quartern o’ Twist in a three-out glass,’
and you will find that it consists of equal parts of rum and gin, and
is a powerful pick-me-up after a wet night.”
I should question the “pick-me-up” part of this story; therefore shall
not schedule “Twist” in my list of Restoratives, in the next chapter.
_Kirschenwasser._
This is a wholesome and reviving liqueur made from the cherries which
grow in the Black Forest. It is not as potent as maraschino, which
{196} is also made from cherries, in another place. But the Black
Forest cherry-water requires a little treatment to render it palatable.
Put a little in a saucer; take a lump of sugar, set fire to it, and
replace it in the saucer, so that the rest of the liquid may be set
ablaze. When the flame is burnt out and the sugar melted, the liqueur
is fit to drink.
_Noyeau_
is made from white brandy and apricot-kernels, and is the sweetest, as
well as the most pernicious of all liqueurs. I do not know how many
glasses it would take to kill an ordinary man, but most people know
that noyeau contains hydrocyanic acid of which none but those tired of
the world would care to drink too much.
_Parfait Amour_
“What’s in a name?” This is simply bad orange-bitters, and there
is neither love nor perfection in it. But they say that in dear
old England, in the olden time, before oranges could be bought at
three-halfpence per dozen, it was customary for a lover, on New Year’s
Day, to present his sweetheart with an orange stuck all over with
cloves, as an emblem of Perfect Love. The sweetheart of to-day prefers
a bangle, or a bicycle.
One more liqueur,
_Maraschino_.
This is a bitter-sweet liqueur made at Zara from the kernel of
the Marasca cherry, or gean {197} of Dalmatia. The word implies
bitterness, yet the liquid is sweet enough to catch flies. “It is a
curious fact,” says a modern writer, “in natural history that the fair
sex prefer a sweet liqueur to the finest wine; and they have such a
tendency to maraschino that Mr. Hayward has proposed that whereas the
toast most honoured among men is Wine and Women, they should adopt as
their own return toast—Men and Maraschino.”
The French make different imitations of the true liqueur, one of them
from peach-stones, which they call “Marasquin de pêches.” And in the
true Maraschino of Zara there be a few peach-stones mixed with those
of the geans. These are small and quite black, and are fermented first
with honey, then with the leaves and kernels of the fruit, and are last
of all distilled and sweetened with sugar.
One more cordial, to finish the chapter. The recipe was given in
the _Lady’s Pictorial_, by Mrs. C. E. Humphry, the delightful and
ever-welcome “Madge” of _Truth_. I can vouch for the efficacy of the
potion.
_Ginger Cordial._
Two quarts of Scotch whisky, three lemons sliced, one ounce of ground
ginger, half an ounce of carraway seeds, three pounds of lump-sugar,
one ounce of bitter almonds, three ounces of sweet almonds, one pound
of raisins. Put all into a crock, and stir every day for three weeks.
Then strain through three folds of blotting-paper, or one fold of
filtering-paper, and bottle.
{198}