Whenever you are at a party, make it a point to strike up a conversation with a stranger — you never know what you might learn. A couple of weeks ago, Eliza and I attended a friend's birthday party at the Helix Lounge, a trendy hotel bar in the Logan Circle neighborhood. Over a few of the establishment's fanciful concoctions, we started to discuss the relative merits of various liquors with our table mates. One of our new friends (I can't remember her name — too many "Cool as a Cucumbers", I fear) turned us on to the existence of bacon infused bourbon. "Surely," I thought, "This cannot be real. I am not that good a person." A few days and a little internet research later, I confirmed that, despite my moral failings, the Lord has indeed blessed the world with so grand a creation — nature's two most perfect foods, fused as one!

Of course, the corporate fat cats of Big Liquor are too busy with their acai vodkas and lychee flavored cognacs to see the beauty of baconated bourbon, so if I wanted to indulge, I realized I would have to make it myself. The most prominent recipe on the net is one from the April 2008 edition of New York Magazine. I adapted it as follows:

1. Fry three pieces of bacon until done.
2. Eat bacon, with pancakes.
3. Pour approx. two tablespoons of now cool bacon grease into 375 ml of Jim Beam bourbon.
4. Infuse at room temperature for approx. six hours.
5. Strain mixture through mesh into sealable container, and store in freezer overnight to separate fat.
6. Strain liquor through coffee filter into clean bottle.

The result smelled... interesting, but I felt a bit hollow inside: I was all psyched up for bacon infused bourbon, dammit, not bacon-fat infused! Before jumping in for a taste, I thought I might take some liberties with the process. I purchased a second pint of Beam, and whipped up my own recipe:

1. Fry three pieces of bacon until WELL done.
2. Do not eat bacon (pancakes are permissible).
3. Place three slices of bacon, and pour ALL the grease, into 375 ml of Jim Beam bourbon.
4. Leave on counter. Watch three episodes of Iron Chef Japan.
5. Strain into sealable container, place in freezer overnight.
6. Strain again through coffee filter... and repeat once more, for good measure.

There. Now I had two samples, just enough for a proper experiment. I tasted about one finger of each sample with a single ice cube, and then with a 1:1 ratio with Fever Tree Ginger Ale. Here are my results:

Sample One: New York Magazine Adaptation

Appearance: Slightly cloudy and yellow. Decidedly thicker looking than straight Jim Beam.
Nose: Maple and a savory/fatty component; less evident alcohol than straight.
Taste: Salty and quite heavy on the palate, with a pronounced note of used cooking oil. Alcohol and natural sweetness sublimated by fat. Finish lingers for several minutes with a buttery sensation reminiscent of taking a swig of old whipping cream from the carton.

With Ginger Ale:

Smell: Rancid. Cloying sweetness with the hint of something rotting.
Taste: N/A
(No joke, I actually did vomit when I first tasted this. The combination of fat with the sweet, carbonated liquid was horrifying. I tried again several hours later, but could not help but spit it out as soon as humanly possible).

Sample Two: Rob's Personal Recipe

Appearance: Orange/Yellow. Clear, but with visible particulate matter, despite numerous filtrations.
Nose: Instant aroma of smoke and burnt meat, with just a hint of bitter chocolate.
Taste: Light, with the traditional bourbon texture, though a bit less bite. Breakfast flavors of maple and bacon dominate the front palate, leading to a smoky, clean finish.

With Ginger Ale:

Smell: Spicy, salty, and smoky.
Taste: An odd combination of salty and sweet — almost reminiscent of scotch. Finish is clean, with similar flavors persisting.

Conclusions:

Okay, so the New York recipe was made with a particular cocktail in mind, and I realize now that there is a reason for that. When combined with maple syrup and other flavorful ingredients, this liquor may add a pleasant accent; as the primary player, it is abhorrent. I was quite pleased with the results of my second trial — I think the shorter contact time with the flavoring agent yielded a lighter, more fragrant product with a wider range of applications. Also, it didn't make me throw up like the other one did.

Though this experiment obviously didn't result in the ambrosia I'd anticipated, if you are a fellow fan of booze and meat, I suggest you give it a shot. Also, feel free to explore the wider world of meated beverages — personally, I see great potential in the field of chorizo-infused tequila...

Yeah, yeah. I’m sure all of you out there are pretty pumped about the upcoming DC Restaurant Week—so am I, I assure you. But don’t be so quick to forget another annual week-long extravaganza — Shark Week! Every year since 1987, the Discovery Channel has taken on the summer TV slump with a celebration of the shark, and man, is it some compelling television. Being at the top of the food chain of the planet’s biggest biome, there is much a foodie can respect and empathize with in this merciless killer. Like the foodie, the shark is voracious, but also open minded — from Tuna Sashimi to Seal Tartar, the shark is in, full bore. Also, he is not one to scoff at ethnic cuisine:  whether Australian, Indian, or American, everyone is on the menu. That said, the Discovery Channel pulls no punches, depicting the brutal life of these prehistoric killers in a very visceral manner—your gonna need a drink to steel yourself. Fortunately, there are a couple of producers out there making some great beverages that are appropriate to the occasion, and actually do a little good along the way.

Shark Trust Wines, founded by avid diver Melanie Marks, in San Luis Obispo, California, presents a great line of international wines, labeled with a focus on shark education. Shark Trust pulls its wine from all over the globe, with producers in California, France, and South Africa, each wine embodying the grapes and style of its origin. Right now, I am enjoying a glass of Whale Shark Chenin Blanc 2007, a sturdily made South African wine made from the county’s signature grape. Tropical fruit such as guava and kiwi dominate the nose, giving way more ripe flavors on a full-bodied palate, with a short but appropraitely acidic finish. The line also features a fruit-driven Reef Shark Red from southern France, (which I have tasted and find to be a great fruit-driven Rhone Style red), the Great White Chardonnay, and the  Six Gill Syrah, all of which are well priced at about $10, of which 10% goes to shark charities.

For those that prefer something a bit on the stronger side, "Take Little Bites," a company out of Jupiter, Florida, has released Mako Vodka. Founded by Long Island transplant Michael Politano in 2005, Mako Vodka seeks to "take on the big boys" like Grey Goose and Smirnoff, while donating 10% of their profits to wetlands and coral reef preservation. This three-times distilled, charcoal filtered grain vodka has a very clean profile, including hints of nuts and wheat on the nose. The body is smooth but full, almost oily, with none of that harsh vodka bite so common of spirits in its modest (about $13) price range. Regardless of your drink, this is a surprisingly palatable vodka, appropriate for tonics and martinis, and is even clean enough to drink neat.

Though the Discovery Channel, Shark Trust, and Take Little Bites all take a light-hearted tack on the matter, their underlying ethos needs be noted: that our oceans and their denizens, however large, are vital and fragile, and in desperate need of our assistance. Its good to know that, thanks to certain well minded people, in some small way, we may do something for the greater good while taking our enjoyment. Cheers!

I am an unapologetic fan of gin; consider me outed. Fortunately, there are more and more like me everyday, reveling in a world of colorful spices, eschewing the dull and colorless life of the vodka drinker. The tables are turning, and "mother's ruin" is quickly gaining ground on vodka, which has dominated the American cocktail scene for decades. As gin once again takes its rightful place as King of the White Spirits, we should expect any number of crazy infusions to make their way to the market; just as James Bond's martini gave way over time to the Appletini, I've no doubt that ambitious gin producers will be chomping at the bit release their own freaks of mixology.

With an eye towards influencing the future of the drinking sciences, I decided to conduct a little experiment. Everyone knows any fruit-infused gin is a doomed and foolish endeavor (remember "Beefeater Wet," endorsed by Ms. Britney Spears? Neither does anyone else). Any idiot can tell you that herb-infused gin is the wave of the future, and I am gonna ride that wave all the way to the bank, "Point Break" style. Using about two tablespoons of fresh, chopped herbs, I infused four three-ounce samples of Aviation Gin for 36 hours, then prepped a test Gin and Tonic for each using Fever-Tree Tonic Water, in proportions of two to one. Below are my results; consider the patent pending.

Control Sample: Aviation Gin

Aviation is a great gin in its own right, produced from 100% rye in the Pacific Northwest. Graced with just the right blend of juniper, cardamom, coriander, lavender, anise, sarsaparilla, and orange peel, the gin is spicy and dry, not fruity like Tanqueray. The licorice flavor of anise is definitely the main note in my control G&T, and the finish is refreshingly dry and biting, with an interesting earthy note that blend's well with the Fever Tree's ample quinine. Can I possibly improve on this brilliant classic cocktail?

Sample One: Rosemary-Infused Gin

The lightest of all my samples, the rosemary gin poured a pale yellow-gold, turning, well, urine colored when combined with the tonic. The savory musk of the herb completely overshadowed the once dominate Anise on the nose, and the beverage smelled quite nearly salty. The rosemary definitely brought out the earthy elements present in the base beverage, as it will in a fine Pinot Noir or Chateauneuf-du-Pape. The flavors become remarkably citrusy upon swallowing, after which a striking puckering sensation gripped my palate. All in all, an interesting experiment, and were it not for scientific method, I'd have mixed this in a dirty martini and happily sipped the results.

Sample Two: Mint-Infused Gin

The mint-infused sample was the darkest of the lot, a rich brownish yellow, which, combined with tonic, bore a striking resemblance to ginger ale. While the gin on its own smelled quite distinctly of mint, the odor of my cocktail was surprisingly mute -- just a faint whiff of menthol along with a bit of moist earth (wet Newports, anyone?). On the palate, this stuff was straight up Wrigley's Spearmint Gum, if just a tad less sweet. The finish was far sweeter, and the bitter Quinine combined with the mint flavor to leave my palate with an odd chalky sensation-- again, not unlike a dry stick of gum. This one is a must have for you pack-a-day Wrigley's chewers (you know who you are).

Sample Three: Basil-Infused Gin

The only sample to turn remotely green, the basil sample was chartreuse in color, and became iridescent yellow in the cocktail. I was taken aback when, upon first sniffing the glass, my initial impression was that it smelled like seafood. Further examination proved to me that my beverage smelled very much like Old Bay. Through some amazing confluence of flavors, I wound up with a crab bake in a glass! On the palate the flavors prove uncannily similar, if much more sweet than salty, and not at all spicy in the cayenne sense. The finish proved markedly dryer than I'd imagined, and the aftertaste was all celery and  bell pepper. A fascinating sample, and the only one I drank to the bottom of the glass.

Sample Four: Wormwood-Infused Gin

(Note: I got this herb from our CSA farm share. When I asked as to the herb's uses, our supplier replied "Use it to keep moths out of your closet. It is not a food." Just wanted to put that out there.)

This sample was also golden brown in the bottle, but took on an eerie green glow when mixed with the tonic. The nose was an amalgam of anise, wet bark, and a decidedly astringent chemical agent. The flavors are hard to separate for lack of desire to keep the drink in your mouth; through sheer force of will I was able to pick up nuances of dandelion leaves, lemon, and dirty sugar cane. Immediately upon swallowing, my back palate was assaulted by a combination of mouldering mushrooms and medicinal bitterness, causing uncontrollable grimacing. Shortly thereafter, the color mauve set firmly in my eardrums, which would have been intolerable but for the dancing gnomes and a lovely foot rub from Richard Nixon (Tricky Dick has some magic fingers!).

No, but seriously, I have tasted absinthe, and while it was by no means appealing, this was worse. If you do happen upon this herb, best use it to protect your cardigans, as those gnomes had absolutely no rhythm, anyway, and Mr. Nixon's advances quickly turned uncouth.

Conclusions:

While not as obviously appealing as, say, Green Apple Smirnoff or Stoli Razz, herb-infused gin has a certain intellectual appeal, offering up unexpected flavors for the adventurous drinker. Try some experiments yourselves, but remember whom to credit if Bombay comes a'callin. Now go away, Daddy has a headache and needs a nap.

There are a lot of things we Americans do well, and we know it. From luxury trucks to action flicks to ostentatious Celebutantes, we're number one, baby! Though it may be confidently said that we will never be outpaced in the department of debaucherous, spoiled rich girls, in terms of quality spirits, imports still dominate the market. But with Independence Day hoving into view, our patriotic souls demand that we shun the spirits of our enemies (the enemies of Democracy!) and embrace our fine — nay, superior! — homegrown alternatives!

Vodka:

While traditionally vodka has been associated with Russia, there is no evidence to suggest that we can't make the stuff as well as Emperor Putin and his Neo-Bolshevik Pinko-Commie Comrades. Though they may have beat us to the punch on hyperinflation, we have kept pace with the Ruskies in the production of high end vodkas. For fans of that purest of spirits, Hangar One, from outside Oakland, CA (America's Most Scenic City) is a fantastic buy. Made from a combination of neutral grain spirits and vodka obtained from Viognier wine, Hangar One Straight Vodka (About $30) is extraordinarily smooth and crisp, with a slightly fruity nose and less bite than even the much touted Grey Goose. For fans of fruit flavored vodka, their Kaffir Lime is exquisite, and being infused rather than tainted with flavoring agents like some cheaper vodkas, Hangar's is a full 40% alcohol, completely dry, and subtlety aromatic. In addition, Hangar One offers a Mandarin Orange and several other flavored bottlings, all of which will impress even the most stubborn vodka purist. Whatever your flavor, feel free to mix yourself a Hangar and Ice next Friday, queue up that VHS of the 1980 Olympic Hockey Finals, and revel in the fact that we won the hell out of the Cold War.

Rum:

In the arena of international politics, no one nation has proven a more frequent nit in our democratic fur than Communist Cuba. They may have prevailed in that whole Bay of Pigs debacle (that's what we get for electing a President in the employ of the Pope), but I'll be damned if any enemy of America may claim the title of Best Rums in the World uncontested! In fact, America and it's protectorates are capable of producing some fine distillates of the cane, all the sweeter for their breeding in a land of freedom and liberty.

While most will agree that native rum conglomerate Bacardi is known less for quality than for global saturation, Puerto Rico does produce some great rums — its only that up until recently, they just didn't see fit to send them our way. Ask any Puerto Rican the best base for Rum and Coke or a Mojito, and he will likely say "Don Q." This product of Serralles distillery has been a mainstay in Puerto Rico for over one hundred years, though it is only within the last couple that we have seen it on domestic shelves. Utilizing neutral white oak barrels during its maturation, Don Q is uncharacteristically mellow and round, lacking the sharp bite and cloyingly sweet aroma of its contemporaries, and at about $12 a bottle, it is just as affordable as its more well known cousin. If and when Barak Obama places our economy squarely in Cuban hands, as his opponents attest he will, I am confident that Don Q will win out over its Marxist counterparts in the free and open market.

Gin:

Of all the enemies of America's vision of Democracy, we are most readily negligent of our first and most insidious — Britain. Oh sure, we had a friend in Tony Blair (I don't like the sound of this Brown fellow at ALL), but are we so soon to forget from whom we declared our anointed and glorious independence? Drinking a Tanqueray & Tonic so close to the day of our nation's birth is tantamount to treason, in my book! Fortunately, just as we took Cricket and created the vastly superior sport of Baseball, so too have we improved upon England's native tipple.

For pure indulgently ironic enjoyment, their is no better beverage with which to toast our independence than Bluecoat Gin: Named after our nation's first freedom fighters and made in Philadelphia, our first capital, Bluecoat American Dry Gin is the ultimate "two finger salute" to our erstwhile colonial oppressors. That aside, it also rocks. Made in hand-hammered copper stills in small batches and infused with organic juniper and citrus peels, this gin has an elegantly fruity/peppery nose, backed up by a surprising amalgam of spices on the palate and a full, but not syrupy mouthfeel. This is one of those rare gins which is appropriate for Martinis, G and T's, or just sipping on the rocks, and at about $25 a bottle, is proof that buying American still has value beyond blind patriotism.