Potion Miscibility: Cask-strength Laphroaig

My brother-in-law introduced me to scotch, and to this most strongly flavored variety, all at once. Pronounced something like “la-froyg,” this single-malt Scotch whisky is decidedly an acquired taste. I happened to acquire it on my first sip, but most people have an adversarial relationship with it for a while.

If you come around and learn to like it, though, you’ll probably put it near the top of your Scotch list.

My brother-in-law says drinking Laphroaig is “like drinking a campfire . . . in a good way.” It does taste like you’re pouring ash, cinders, flame, and smoke onto your tongue. But it also tastes as if you mixed all that with honey.

Several varieties of Laphroaig are available for sale in the United States, but I’ve only ever gotten bottles of my preferred kind, cask-strength, from my brother-in-law. He picks it up in duty-free airport shops or asks his coworkers to grab a few bottles when they travel.

The booklet that comes with the cask-strength bottles recommends adding water. In my experiments, I’ve added as little as one drop or as much water as the booklet recommends, diluting one part whisky with three parts water.

It’s always good, but I’m getting more and more partial to the more dilute mixes. At the 1:3 ratio, Laphroaig seems to become a Scotchy wine. Because your taste buds don’t get deadened by the strong alcohol and flavors, you can appreciate every nuance. The color rarefies to a paler amber. I can imagine Tolkein’s elves sipping a wine something like this. And perhaps some more exotic race that favors some fanciful acorn wine would find this pleasing.

I can’t see putting ice in this, ever. And using Laphroaig for a scotch-and-soda would be an abomination.

I do not drink alcohol to get drunk or even for its mild depressant effects when I’m stressed out. I grew up in a family that taught me mental exercises to deal with negative emotions, and those exercises almost never fail me. I do find the process of making a perfect martini very meditative (in fact, I enjoy the process of making one almost more than of drinking it), and I won’t pretend that I don’t sometimes enjoy the effects of strong drink.

But such effects aren’t the reason I drink, and if I ever find myself depending on a chemical such as ethyl alcohol to deal with life troubles, I’ll know I have a problem.

But when I played the “Robbing the Cradle” level of Thief III: Deadly Shadows in a darkened room with a top-notch set of headphones, I had to take a break for a couple of fingers of Laphroaig cask-strength. I credit that one computer game experience with showing me just how immersive a good game can be and, for the first time ever, teaching me to love the horror genre.

I was terrified. I actually trembled as I explored the abandoned insane asylum. And almost all the fear came from the sound itself. The terror of not knowing what was going on, wondering who or what made that noise, wondering why the place was so vast, so empty. And finally uncovering the source of all the madness, even as I became so trapped in it that I just couldn’t escape.

Thief III may have been the worst of the three magnificent Thief games (probably because they bowed to the Xbox restrictions), but it was still a damn good game. And “Robbing the Cradle” is a big part of the reason why.

Even now, sitting here in a brightly lit office, remembering the experience makes me wish I could uncork a bottle of Laphroaig in a warm room with a merry fire and good friends. We’d laugh. We’d sing. And then, as the fire died down, maybe one of us would tell the tale of the Cradle again . . .

Add comment August 24th, 2007

Potion Miscibility: The Mai Tai, Part 2—The Exotic Ingredient

This post continues my discussion of the great cocktail the Mai Tai, which began here.

The Mai Tai exemplifies something that can invigorate tabletop roleplaying campaigns with a sense of verisimilitude: namely, the fact that a single splash of an exotic ingredient can transform something ordinary into an extraordinary delight. Rum punch is nice, but no amount of paper umbrellas and miniature pineapples makes them miraculous. A simple splash of orgeat, though, and you can imagine you’re sitting on a beach in Tahiti.

In any campaign, throw in an ingredient that’s unexpected and rare (or at least apparently rare). Pages have been written on interesting hybrid settings, but this is something simpler. Instead of trying to install cyberpunk hardware in a high fantasy setting (which could be damn fun!), just add a little flavor of technology. Many settings now do this, like including mechanical “life forms”—that is, robots—to a setting loaded with magic. Likewise, the world in the marvelous The Golden Compass by Phillip Pullman takes a pretty standard Victorian setting and throws in “daemons”—externalized animae that everyone has—and creates a vivid and fascinating new world.

When inventing your own campaign, you can do the same. Instead of melding two genres, pick a familiar one and add a foreign element. One of the best ways to do this is set the campaign in your own home town, but add something strange. This not only assists in campaign creation (you already have pre-made maps, NPCs, and a good estimate of how to get around), it also adds a certain eeriness as players encounter mysterious things on familiar streets.

You could make your own town the locus for a vast conspiracy, with neighbors disappearing and sightings of men in black at the street corners. Horror works well, too. If classic black witchcraft is real and attracts the attention of dark powers, then when a neighbor starts dabbling, the PCs may have their hands full fighting off monsters from beyond—in the players own back yards!

And now, at last, the recipe.

Mai Tai

Ingredients

• 1 oz. light rum
• 1 oz. dark rum
• ½ oz. triple sec
• ½ oz. orgeat syrup
• ¼ oz. fresh lime juice

Instructions

Shake all ingredients in a shaker half full of ice. Pour over shaved or crushed ice in a cocktail glass. (I like to use a brandy snifter.)

Garnish with your choice of maraschino cherries, baby pineapples or pineapple slices, and orange slices. If you have one handy, make sure you use a paper umbrella to perfect the drink.

Add comment August 3rd, 2007

Potion Miscibility: The Mai Tai, Part 1—Comments on History and Culture

The great Mai Tai, perhaps the froofiest of froofy drinks. I have so much to say on this that I’ll be breaking the post in two. The first contains a discussion of the Mai Tai itself. Later today, I’ll post my thoughts on how it relates to gaming, along with my own favorite recipe, of course.

There are many competing recipes, and this seems to have been true since the drink was first mixed! In the 1930s and 1940s, the Tiki-culture fad spread like wildfire across America, but the spark was lit in California. Two innovative restaurateurs—Trader Vic and Don the Beachcomber—catering to American’s hunger for a taste of the exotic, opened “Polynesian style” restaurants to dish out tropical drinks and flavorful recipes.

Perhaps the proud edifices of steel and concrete scraping the skies in America’s largest cities, a testament to the country’s emerging preeminence as an emerging superpower, nonetheless created a longing in its citizens for a simpler life. Lounging on tropical beaches with almost nothing to do, and perhaps with almost no clothes, must have seemed wonderful to the hard-working, driven office workers chasing the American dream.

They wouldn’t give up their jobs, of course, but they might pour some of their hard-earned cash into an evening at a restaurant bedecked with palm leaves, reed mats, and strong-and-fruity cocktails. The Tiki-culture restaurants, which actually served mostly Cantonese food and didn’t have all that much to do with actual Polynesian culture, eventually faded, replaced by Chinese restaurants, some of which actually serve food that people might eat in China.

When I was a child, though, most “Chinese” restaurants still had menus chock full of items such as the “pupu platter” and bars ready to shake up cocktails bedecked with pineapple slices and little paper umbrellas. The foodie community is a bit more sophisticated, today, and more concerned with authenticity. But this sophistication has given birth to a new delight in the campy, borderline absurd styling of such restaurants, and now both the Trader Vic’s and Don the Beachcomber chains are experiencing a strong resurgence.

The founders of both these chains claim to have invented the Mai Tai, and of course their recipes differ. Since the Mai Tai was first served, almost as many recipes for it as there are bars that serve it have come to light. Although they all include rum and fruit juice (and almost all include the cute paper umbrella), some are what I consider merely pleasant rum punch recipes.

A true Mai Tai is very sweet, almost heavy, but nonetheless ethereally delicious. The key to this is the ingredient that distinguishes true Mai Tais from all other rum drinks: the sweet, almond-flavored orgeat syrup. Nowadays, this isn’t hard to come by. Even the ubiquitous Torani sells a version. Don’t make the mistake of buying simple almond-flavored syrup. Delicious though that may be, true orgeat syrup is different and distinct, and essential to a good Mai Tai.

Check back later for my thoughts on how the Mai Tai ties into gaming, as well as my favorite recipe for the cocktail. When the article is up, you’ll be able to find it here.

Add comment August 3rd, 2007

Potion Miscibility: Ouzo!

In a far-future science-fiction roleplaying game (it was basically the Traveller universe), I played a Greek starship captain named Sophia Soulis. Unscrupulous doctors had genetically enhanced her to be able to move with blinding speed, but they hadn’t worried about the serious metabolic disadvantages that would result. Sophia was plauged by occasional bouts of epilepsy, a massively increased need for food, and strong dependence on an illegal drug. (Yes, her set of abilities was inspired by Miles Teg from Frank Herbert’s Chapterhouse Dune.)

She drank—often and heavily—as one of the few escapes from the discomforts of her physical disadvantages and the need to keep her illegal genetic modifications hidden. Loyal to the long-dead civilization of her ancestors, the Greeks, influenced her choice of potables. She opted for the strongly anise-flavored ouzo.

I don’t like anise. And I’ve never tasted anything with a stronger anise flavor than ouzo. Inspired by the (apocryphal?) story of method actor Dustin Hoffman insisting on eating garlic soup while he starred in Death of a Salesman simply because that’s what his character would do, I brought along a bottle of the stuff to each session and tippled while we trawled the stars looking for work while avoiding the galactic authorities.

Many countries have a national anise-flavored drink (Sambuca, pastis, raki, anisette, and so on). This Greek variety is very sweet without becoming syrupy. As I said, I’m no fan of anise, but I actually do like ouzo from time to time. (My wife hates olives but love olive tapenade, which tastes more like olives than olives themselves. Perhaps this is a parallel case.)

I’ve never been to an ouzerie (nor to Greece, for that matter), but I can recommend that ouzo is best enjoyed cold, with a small glass lasting a long time.

And I can certainly recommend bringing a character-appropriate snack or drink to the gaming table (with enough to share for those who are interested, of course). For instance, I knew a guy who brought pickled herring in sour cream to any session in which he played his Viking character. This Scandinavian delicacy repulses most people who hear about it (though I loved before I became a vegetarian) energized the roleplaying. The other characters were from more “civilized” parts of the game world, and the rising smell of vinegar-preserved ocean fish and thick sour cream added greatly to their disdained reactions to this northern barbarian.

Next time I play, I think I’ll create a character who enjoys outrageously expensive single-malt scotch!

Add comment July 27th, 2007

Potion Miscibility: The Vesper Martini

Since I’ve been thinking a lot about spy video games, I figure a spy-ish drink is an appropriate drink of the week. It’s not a drink I’d want to have next to me while playing an espionage video game, but it is one I’d want my sophisticated spy avatar to be able to order.

In Ian Flemming’s Casino Royale, the very first Jame Bond story, 007 touted this drink as his own invention. He meant it “to be large and very strong and very cold and very well-made,” and I think it succeeds admirably on all four counts.

The drink made it into the recent Casino Royale movie, too. Personally, I think it was, by a substantial margin, the greatest Bond film of all time. Not the least because it inspired a resurgence of popularity for the Vesper martini.

In the book, Bond instructed the bartender:

“In a deep champagne goblet. . . . Three measures of Gordon’s [gin], one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake it very well until it’s ice-cold, then add a large thin slice of lemon peel.”

The availability of these ingredients—and even the glass itself—can be a problem today. Nowadays, this is made in what’s come to be called a martini glass or cocktail glass. Gordon’s gin has been reformulated to have almost one-fifth less alcohol, and most vodka has similarly reduced alcohol levels. Using Tanqueray for the Gordon’s and Stoli’s 100-proof vodka recaptures the correct alcohol levels and most of the flavor.

And there’s no such thing as Kina Lillet anymore. Most people use Lillet Blanc, but some die-hard fans actually add quinine powder to recapture some of the original. I’ve heard that a dash of bitters works well enough, although I imagine something like Angostura bitters—once used to mask the flavor of quinine—might interfere rather than enhance. If I ever find quinine powder for sale, I’ll give it a try, but the cocktail is great without it.

Here’s one recipe that makes a good stab at simulating the original. By the way, this really is a big, strong drink, just like Bond wanted. By most measures, it counts as two “drinks,” if you’re keeping track of your alcohol consumption, so take your time and go easy. Unless you’re an uber-spy.

As I said above, I don’t think this drink actually goes with spy video games. In fact, it really belongs at a casino table. The original Bond would probably have enjoyed it with Baccarat, but it should complement the new Bond’s Texas Hold ‘Em just as perfectly.

Versper Martini

Ingredients

• 3 oz. Tanqueray gin
• 1 oz. Stolichnaya 100 proof (blue label)
• ½ oz. Lillet Blanc
• twist of lemon peel

Instructions

Put all ingredients but the lemon peel in a shaker half full of ice.

Note that many martini aficionados insist that martinis are both colder and smoother when stirred instead of shaken. They are completely right. But this is James Bond’s drink—James Bond’s. For that reason alone, it must be shaken. Long and hard.

Pour into a martini glass and garnish with the lemon peel.

Add comment July 20th, 2007

Potion Miscibility: The Old Fashioned

A classic drink, and possibly the first to be called a “cocktail,” the Old Fashioned is quite simply my favorite mixed drink. Heck, this drink has a whole category of glassware named after it, so it’s decidedly seminal. A touch of sweet, a touch of bitter, and a splash of water to ease everything down.

Whisky drinks seem, to me, to belong next to a finely polished wooden game board with alabaster and onyx chess pieces arrayed and ready for battle. But chess has never been geeky enough for me. Instead, I prefer to layer strategy games with fantastical—or at least narrative—elements. So I recommend an Old Fashioned (my favorite version is below) in a nice, heavy Old Fashioned glass, with a leisurely Game of Thrones.

As Cersei tells Ned, when you play the game of thrones, you either win . . . or you die. And either way, you’ll want a stiff drink.

Old Fashioned

Ingredients

• 50 ml bourbon
• Angostura bitters
• 1 cube of sugar (or a light teaspoonful if you don’t have cubes)
• water
• 1 maraschino cherry

I like this best with Maker’s Mark bourbon, although I think it’s probably quite good with other good-quality whiskies. If you opt for cheaper whisky, you’ll probably want to garnish it more heavily, perhaps with two thin slices of orange. For the water, I just use the filtered stuff that comes out of my refrigerator.

Instructions

Put the sugar cube in the bottom of an Old Fashioned glass and put one or two dashes of bitters on top. Muddle with a spoon, then add a splash of water to further dissolve the sugar. Add a few cubes of ice (I like to fill the glass), then pour the whisky over the ice. Garnish with the cherry and enjoy.

I note that some people top this off with soda water. I cannot imagine why anyone would want to take a perfectly nice drink and turn it into a bizarre, whisky-flavored soda.

Add comment July 13th, 2007

Potion Miscibility: the Jasmine

The name of this martini-style cocktail led me to expect something flavored with fragrant jasmine flowers, which sounds great for tea but nasty for gin. Instead, though, it’s a haunting combination of familiar ingredients that nonetheless evokes something of the exotic. Whoever named it probably thought of India, but I prefer to geek it up by imagining sipping this while overlooking the beautiful gorge that lies beneath Telaar in Nagrand.

In fact, it does go very well with World of Warcraft, as long as you’re not busy PVPing. Anything that calls for very fast reaction times also calls for stemware to be far from the keyboard!

Jasmine

Ingredients

• 1½ oz. gin
• ¼ oz. Cointreau
• juice of ½ lemon
• spash of Campari
• lemon peel

I have only tried this with Bombay Sapphire (my favorite) for the gin, but I’ve made satisfactory Jasmines with generic triple sec in place of the Cointreau and even lemon juice from concentrate instead of fresh.

Instructions

Combine all ingredients except the lemon peel in a shaker half full of ice, then strain into a martini glass (ideally chilled). Garnish with lemon peel.

Source

My wife found this recipe at Extratasty. I haven’t been to the site before. In fact, I haven’t been off the Jasmine page (except to get the code for the link to the right). I expect I’ll be back, though.

Add comment July 6th, 2007