COMPOUND DRINKS
"Flow wine! Smile woman!
And the universe is consoled."
Derivation of punch--"Five"--The "milk" brand--The best
materials--Various other punches--Bischoff or Bishop--"Halo"
punch--Toddy--The toddy tree of India--Flip--A "peg"--John
Collins--Out of the guard-room.
The subject of PUNCH is such an important one that it may be placed
first on the list of dainty beverages which can be made by the art or
application of man or woman.
First, let us take the origin of the word. DOCTOR KITCHENER, an
acknowledged authority, during his lifetime, on all matters connected
with eating and drinking, has laid it down that punch is of West
Indian origin, and that the word when translated, means "five";
because there be five ingredients necessary in the concoction of the
beverage. But Doctor Kitchener and his disciples (of whom there be
many) may go to the bottom of the cookery class; for although from the
large connection which rum and limes have with the mixture, there
would seem to be a West Indian flavour about it; the word "five,"
when translated into West Indianese, is nothing like "punch." Having
satisfied themselves that this is a fact, modern authorities have
tried the East Indies for the source of the name, and have discovered
that _panch_ in Hindustani really does mean "five." "Therefore," says
one modern authority, "it is named punch from the five ingredients
which compose it--(1) spirit, (2) acid, (3) spice, (4) sugar, (5)
water." Another modern authority calls punch "a beverage introduced
into England from India, and so called from being usually made of
five (Hindi, _panch_) ingredients--arrack, tea, sugar, water, and
lemon juice." This sounds far more like an East Indian concoction than
the other; but at the same time punch--during the latter half of the
nineteenth century at all events--was as rare a drink in Hindustan as
_bhang_ in Great Britain. The _panch_ theory is an ingenious one, but
there are plenty of other combinations (both liquid and solid) of five
to which the word punch is never applied; and about the last beverage
recommended by the faculty for the consumption of the sojourner in the
land of the Great Mogul, would, I should think, be the entrancing,
seductive one which we Britons know under the name of punch. Moreover
it is not every punch-concoctor who uses five ingredients. In the
minds of some--youthful members of the Stock Exchange, for the most
part--water is an altogether unnecessary addition to the alcoholic
mixture which is known by the above name. And what manner of man would
add spice to that delight of old Ireland, "a jug o' punch?" On the
other hand, in many recipes, there are more than five ingredients used.
But after all, the origin of the name is of but secondary importance,
as long as you can make punch. Therefore, we will commence with a few
recipes for
_Milk Punch_.
1. Three bottles of rum.
The most delicately-flavoured rum is the "Liquid Sunshine" brand.
One bottle of sherry.
13 lbs of loaf-sugar.
The rind of six lemons, and the juice of twelve.
One quart of boiling skimmed milk.
Mix together, let the mixture stand eight days, stirring
it each day. Strain and bottle, and let it stand three months.
Then re-bottle, and let the bottles lie on their sides in the
cellar for two years, to mature. The flavour will be much
better than if drunk after the first period of three months.
It is not everybody, however, who would care to wait two years, three
months, and eight days for the result of his efforts in punch-making.
Therefore another recipe may be appended; and in this one no "close
time" is laid down for the consumption of the mixture.
2. Put into a bottle of rum or brandy the thinly-pared
rinds of three Seville oranges, and three lemons. Cork tightly
for two days. Rub off on 2 lbs of lump sugar the rinds of six
lemons, squeeze the juice from the whole of the fruit over
the 2 lbs of sugar, add three quarts of boiling water, one
of boiling milk, half a teaspoonful of nutmeg, and mix all
thoroughly well together until the sugar is dissolved. Pour in
the rum or brandy, stir, and strain till clear; bottle closely.
There is more than one objection to this recipe. (1) Rum, and not
brandy (by itself), should be used for milk punch. (2) There is an
"intolerable amount" of water; and (3) the nutmeg had better remain in
the spice-box.
3. Cut off the thin yellow rind of four lemons and a
Seville orange, taking care not to include even a fragment of
the _white_ rind, and place in a basin. Pour in one pint of
Jamaica rum, and let it stand, covered over, twelve hours.
Then strain, and mix with it one pint of lemon juice, and two
pints of cold water, in which one pound of sugar-candy has
been dissolved; add the whites of two eggs, beaten to a froth,
three pints more of rum, one pint of madeira, one pint of
strong green tea, and a large wine-glassful of maraschino. Mix
thoroughly, and pour over all one pint of boiling milk. Let the
punch stand a little while, then strain through a jelly-bag,
and either use at once, or bottle off.
Here let it be added, lest the precept be forgotten, that the
_Very best Materials_
are absolutely necessary for the manufacture of punch, as of other
compound drinks. In the above recipe for instance by "madeira," is
meant "Rare Old East Indian," and _not_ marsala, which wine, in
French kitchens, is invariably used as the equivalent of madeira.
There must be no inferior sherry, Gladstone claret, cheap champagne,
nor potato-brandy, used for any of my recipes, or I will not be
responsible for the flavour of the beverage. The following is the best
idea of a milk punch known to the writer:--
4. Over the yellow rind of four lemons and one Seville
orange, pour one pint of rum. Let it stand, covered over, for
twelve hours. Strain and mix in two pints more of rum, one pint
of brandy, one pint of sherry, half-a-pint of lemon juice, the
expressed juice of a peeled pine-apple, one pint of green tea,
one pound of sugar dissolved in one quart of boiling water, the
whites of two eggs beaten up, one quart of boiling milk. Mix
well, let it cool, and then strain through a jelly-bag, and
bottle off.
This punch is calculated to make the epicure forget that he has just
been partaking of conger-eel broth instead of clear turtle.
_Cambridge Milk Punch._
This a fairly good boys' beverage, there being absolutely
"no offence in't." Put the rind of half a lemon (small) into
one pint of new milk, with twelve lumps of sugar. Boil very
slowly for fifteen minutes, then remove from the fire, take out
the lemon rind, and mix in the yolk of one egg, which has been
previously blended with one tablespoonful of cold milk, two
tablespoonfuls of brandy, and four of rum. Whisk all together,
and when the mixture is frothed, it is ready to serve.
_Oxford Punch._
There is no milk in this mixture, which sounds like "for'ard on!" for
the undergraduate who for the first time samples it.
Rub off the yellow rind of three lemons with half-a-pound
of loaf sugar. Put the result into a large jug, with the yellow
rind of one Seville orange, the juice of three Seville oranges
and eight lemons, and one pint of liquefied calf's-foot jelly.
Mix thoroughly, then pour over two quarts of boiling water,
and set the jug on the hob for thirty minutes. Strain the
mixture into a punch-bowl, and when cool add one small bottle
of capillaire (an infusion of maidenhair fern, flavoured with
sugar and orange-flower water); one pint of brandy, one pint
of rum, half-a-pint of dry sherry, and one quart of orange
shrub--a mixture of orange-peel, juice, sugar, and rum.
After drinking this, the young student will be in a fit state to
sally forth, with his fellows, and "draw" a Dean, or drown an amateur
journalist.
I have a very old recipe, in MS., for "Bischoff," which I take to
be the original of the better known beverage called "Bishop," for
the manufacture of which I have also directions. For the sake of
comparison I give the two.
_Bischoff._
Cut into four parts each, three Seville oranges, and
slightly score the rinds across with a sharp knife. Roast the
quarters lightly before a slow fire, and put them into a bowl
with two bottles of claret, with a little cinnamon and nutmeg.
Infuse this mixture over a slow heat for five or six hours,
then pass it through a jelly-bag, and sweeten. It may be drunk
hot or cold, but in any case must never be allowed to boil.
_Bishop._
Two drachmas each of cloves, mace, ginger, cinnamon, and
allspice, boiled in half-a-pint of water for thirty minutes.
Strain. Put a bottle of port in a saucepan over the fire, add
the spiced infusion, and a lemon stuck with six cloves. Whilst
this is heating gradually--it must not boil--take four ounces
of loaf sugar, and with the lumps grate off the outer rind of a
lemon into a punch-bowl. Add the sugar, and juice, and the hot
wine, etc. Add another bottle of port, and serve either hot or
cold.
I am prepared to lay a shade of odds on the "op" against the "off."
Another old recipe has been quoted in some of my earlier public
efforts, under different names. I have improved considerably upon the
proportion of the ingredients, and now hand the whole back, under the
name of
_Halo Punch_.
With a quarter pound of loaf sugar rub off the outer rind
of one lemon and two Seville oranges. Put rind and sugar into
a large punch-bowl with the juice and pulp, mix the sugar well
with the juice and one teacupful of boiling water, and stir
till cold. Add half-a-pint of pine-apple syrup, one pint of
strong green tea, a claret-glassful of maraschino, a smaller
glassful of noyeau, half-a-pint of white rum, one pint of
brandy, and one bottle of champagne. Strain and serve, having,
if necessary, added more sugar.
Note well the proportions. This is the same beverage which some
Cleveland friends of mine, having read the recipe, thought _boiling_
would improve. The result was--well, a considerable amount of chaos.
_Glasgow Punch._
The following is from _Peter's Letters to his Kinsfolk_, and is from
the pen of John Gibson Lockhart:--
The sugar being melted with a little _cold_ water, the
artist squeezed about a dozen lemons through a wooden strainer,
and then poured in water enough almost to fill the bowl. In
this state the liquor goes by the name of sherbet, and a few of
the connoisseurs in his immediate neighbourhood were requested
to give their opinion of it--for in the mixing of the sherbet
lies, according to the Glasgow creed, at least one-half of the
whole battle. This being approved of by an audible smack from
the lips of the umpires, the rum was added to the beverage, I
suppose, in something about the proportion from one to seven.
Does this mean one of sherbet and seven of rum, or the converse?
Last of all, the maker cut a few limes, and running each
section rapidly round the rim of his bowl, squeezed in enough
of this more delicate acid to flavour the whole composition. In
this consists the true _tour-de-maitre_ of the punch-maker.
Well, possibly; but it seems a plainish sort of punch; and unless the
rum be allowed to preponderate, most of us would be inclined to call
the mixture lemonade. And I do not believe that since Glasgow has been
a city its citizens ever drank much of _that_.
A few more punches, and then an anecdote.
_Ale Punch._
One quart of mild ale in a bowl, add one wine-glassful of
brown sherry, the same quantity of old brandy, a tablespoonful
of sifted sugar, the peel and juice of one lemon, a grate of
nutmeg, and an iceberg.
_N.B._--Do not insert old ale, by mistake. And for my own
part, I think it a mistake to mix John Barleycorn with wine
(except champagne) and spirits.
_Barbadoes Punch._
A tablespoonful of raspberry syrup, a ditto of sifted
sugar, a wine-glassful of water, double that quantity of
brandy, half a wine-glassful of guava jelly, liquid, the juice
of half a lemon, two slices of orange, one slice of pine-apple,
in a long tumbler. Ice and shake well and drink through straws.
_Curaçoa Punch._
Put into a large tumbler one tablespoonful of sifted
sugar, one wine-glassful of brandy, the same quantity of
water, half a wine-glassful of Jamaica rum, a wine-glassful of
curaçoa, and the juice of half a lemon; fill the tumbler with
crushed ice, shake, and drink through straws.
_Grassot Punch._
This has nothing to do with warm asparagus, so have
no fear. It is simply another big-tumbler mixture, of one
wine-glassful of brandy, a liqueur-glassful of curaçoa, a
squeeze of lemon, two teaspoonfuls sugar, one of syrup of
strawberries, one wine-glassful of water, and the thin rind of
a lemon; fill up the tumbler with crushed ice, shake, and put
slices of ripe apricots atop. Drink how you like.
Most of the above are hot-weather beverages, and the great beauty
of some of them will be found in the small quantity of water in the
mixture. Here is a punch which may be drunk in any weather, and either
hot or cold.
_Regent Punch._
Pour into a bowl a wine-glassful of champagne, the same
quantities of hock, curaçoa, rum, and madeira. Mix well, and
add a pint of boiling tea, sweetened. Stir well and serve.
_Apropos_ of the derivation of "punch," I was unaware until quite
recently that Messrs. Bradbury's & Agnew's little paper had any
connection therewith. But I was assured by one who knew all about it,
that such was the case.
"What?" I exclaimed. "How can the _London Charivari_ possibly have
anything to do with this most seductive of beverages?"
"My dear fellow," was the reply, "have you never heard of Mark
_Lemon_?"
I turned to smite him hip and thigh; but the jester had fled.
And now a word or two as to "TODDY." One of the authorities quoted
in the punch difficulty declares that toddy is also an Indian drink.
So it is. But that drink no more resembles what is known in more
civilised lands as toddy than I resemble the late king Solomon. The
palm-sap which the poor Indian distils into arrack and occasionally
drinks in its natural state for breakfast after risking his neck in
climbing trees to get it, can surely have no connection with hot
whisky and water? Yet the authority says so; but he had best be
careful ere he promulgates his theory in the presence of Scotsmen and
others who possess special toddy-glasses. This is how I make
_Whisky Toddy_.
The Irish call this whisky punch. But do not let us
wrangle over the name. Into an ordinary-sized tumbler which
has been warmed, put one average lump of sugar, a ring of thin
lemon peel, and a silver teaspoon. Fill the tumbler one quarter
full of water as near boiling point as possible. Cover over
until the sugar be dissolved and peel be infused. Then add one
wine-glassful--not a small one--of the best whisky you can
find--the "Pollok" brand, and the "R.B." are both excellent.
Then drink the toddy, or punch; for should you attempt to add
any more water you will incur the lifelong contempt of every
Irishman or Scotsman who may be in the same room. If Irish
whisky be used, of course you will select "John Jameson."
'Twixt ale-flip and egg-flip there is not much more
difference than 'twixt tweedledum and tweedledee. Both are
equally "more-ish" on a cold evening; and no Christmas eve is
complete without a jug of one or the other.
_Ale-flip._
Pour into a saucepan three pints of mild ale, one
tablespoonful of sifted sugar, a blade of mace, a clove, and
a small piece of butter; and bring the liquor to a boil. Beat
up in a basin the white of one egg and the yolks of two, mixed
with about a wine-glassful of cold ale. Mix all together in the
saucepan, then pour into a jug, and thence into another jug,
from a height, for some minutes, to froth the flip thoroughly
but do not let it get cold.
_Egg-flip._
Heat one pint of ale, and pour into a jug. Add two eggs,
beaten with three ounces of sugar, and pour the mixture from
one jug to the other, as in the preceding recipe. Grate a
little nutmeg and ginger over the flip before serving.
Were I to ask What is
_A Peg_?
I should probably be told that a peg was something to hang something
or somebody else on, or that it was something to be driven through or
into something else. And the latter would be the more correct answer,
for at the time of my sojourn in the great continent of India, a peg
meant a large brandy-and-soda. At that time whisky was but little
known in Punkahland, and was only used high up in the Punjaub during
the "cold weather"--and it is cold occasionally in that region, where
for some months they are enabled to make ice--but that is _une autre
histoire_. Rum I once tasted at Simla, and gin will be dealt with
presently. But since the visit of H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, a peg
has always signified a _whisky_-and-soda. And yet we have not heard of
any particular decrease in the death-rate. Despite what those who have
only stayed a month or two in the country have committed to print,
alcohol is _not_ more fatal in a tropical country than a temperate
one. But you must not overdo your alcohol. I have seen a gay young
spark, a fine soldier, and over six feet in height, drink _eight_ pegs
of a morning, ere he got out of bed. There was no such thing as a
"split soda"--or a split brandy either--in those days. We buried him
in the Bay of Bengal just after a cyclone, on our way home.
By the way, the real meaning of "peg" was said to be the peg, or nail,
driven into the coffin of the drinker every time he partook. And the
coffin of many an Anglo-Indian of my acquaintance was all nails. A
_John Collins_
is simply a gin-sling with a little curaçoa in it. That is to say,
soda-water, a slice of lemon, curaçoa--and gin. But by altering the
proportions this can be made a very dangerous potion indeed. The
officers of a certain regiment--which shall be nameless--were in the
habit of putting this potion on tap, after dinner on a guest night.
It was a point of honour in those evil, though poetical, times, to
send no guest empty away, and more than one of those entertained by
this regiment used to complain next morning at breakfast--a peg, or
a swizzle, and a hot pickle sandwich--of the escape of "Private John
Collins" from the regimental guard-room. For towards dawn there would
not be much soda-water in that potion--which was usually served hot at
that hour.