Help the pour

Herbs are not just the preserve of the cooking pot and the salad bowl, says Richard Ehrlich. Add a leaf here and a frond there to all manner of drinks, and you'll be a convert for life

This article appeared in the Guardian on Saturday June 24 2000 on p57 of the Weekend comment & features section. It was last updated at 01:47 on June 24 2000.
The great Antoine Brillat-Savarin said that he didn't eat grapes because he didn't like to take his wine in capsule form. Some people probably don't like drinking herby drinks for the opposite reason: they don't want to take their herbs in liquid form. They're wrong. The repertoire of herb-based potables is extensive and impressive, and it's one of the few areas in which Britain ranks among world leaders.

If a single nation takes top marks in the drinkable herb field, however, it has to be Italy - herbs were used for their ostensibly medicinal properties long before they were regarded as food, and no one has taken that message to heart more enthusiastically. It was the Italians, remember, who invented (or at least established the credibility of) vermouth. Vermouth has its ultimate origins in artemisia absinthum (or absinthiatum), a herbal gastric remedy supposedly devised by Hippocrates. The modern version dates from the early 17th century, when a Piedmontese herbalist named Alessio devised and published a recipe for vinum absinthiatum. Its fame spread, and Alessio was summoned to make it for the Bavarian court, where it became known as "Wermuth wein", from the German for wormwood. Turin became the centre of production, however, thanks to its supply of Alpine herbs. In the 19th century, companies such as Cinzano, Martini and Riccadonna devised the recipes that eventually made them major international brands.

But vermouth is just part of the Italian love affair with potable herbs. In Gastronomy Of Italy (reissued in September by Pavilion, £40), Anna del Conte writes that there are as many Italian herb-based liqueurs "as there are monks and monasteries". They drink stuff such as Centerbe, a liqueur made from 100 different herbs "gathered on and around the peaks of the Maiella in Abruzzo". And Fernet Branca. And Averna. And Punt e Mes. And, of course, tankers-full of Campari. Italian specialists sell the more obscure of these drinks, if you're interested, as does Gerry's (020-7734 2053), in London.

Many foreigners (though not all, it has to be said) regard this obsession with pungent, bitter herbal drinks as a serious deficiency of taste in a country that invented linguini alle vongole and minestrone. Me, I'm one of them. But I am suspending final judgment until I visit a herbal liqueur producer called Lombardi & Visconti, in Abbadia San Salvatore near Siena, which I read about in Carla Capalbo's Food Lover's Companion To Siena (Pallas Athene, £12.95). I want to try a range that includes a genuine artemisia absinthum and, especially, the Elisir Lucrezia, made with basil and sage.

When the British put herbs in drinks, they usually try to push buttons that are bucolic rather than urban-sophisticated or medically orientated. This is the green and pleasant land of cordials, syrups, punches and herbalised fruit cups. It is the land of Pimm's, a herb-rich drink that I think of as the legal love-drug. When the National Federation of Women's Institutes published Home Made Wine Syrups And Cordials in 1957, those bottles saw frequent use in millions of homes. Today, in the age of McCooking, the number must be significantly lower.

But it's still done - and it's still a relatively simple matter. To make a syrup, you just cover the elderflower florets with water, simmer for 30 minutes and strain, then squeeze out the juice and return it to the pan with around 400g of sugar for each pint of liquid. Simmer again for 10 minutes, cool, bottle and sterilise. For a cordial, you simply use a higher proportion of water to solid matter - or make your cordial by diluting the syrup.

On a commercial scale, the cordial market is dominated by Bottle Green, whose products are very sound, though I have always been a fan of those made by Rocks, a small family firm in Berkshire. Its range is mostly fruit-based, but its elderflower cordial is a particularly delicious specimen (it can be found in some supermarkets, or order from SimplyOrganic, 0845 1000444).

The bulk of sipped herbs in Britain nowadays comes, I suspect, in the form of so-called herb teas. These have nothing to do with tea, apart from being steeped in the same manner. Better to call them tisanes, and better to make your own than buy most commercially available formulations. I've long been a fan of camomile tea, but when I made my own from loose, dried camomile I saw what I had been missing: freshness, pungency - and cost-cutting in spades. Health-food shops and specialist grocers will sell loose stuff in plastic bags, and it is far superior to any bag. And far superior, also, to Aqua Libra, bottled water flavoured with tarragon, among other things - if you like it, you're entitled to your opinion. Just as I'm entitled to mine.

For the rest of the herbal cohort, the range of drinkables is more limited. The recipes here are a mixed bunch. Some are très moderne (the two herby Martinis, for instance), the others are classic: a tisane, a punch, and the great mint julep with which Kentucky gentlemen quench their thirsts on a hot summer's day. All commendable, all delicious, all totally herbed out.

Dillitini

This recipe was suggested by Dick Bradsell, the doyen of London cocktail bartending. There's a stronger dill taste if you macerate the herb in the alcohol for six hours first.

50ml good vodka

20ml Aquavit (plain Aalborg will do)

1 big handful fresh dill

Put all the ingredients in a shaker, along with plenty of ice, and shake for a good 20-30 seconds. Strain into a Martini glass and serve immediately, with a sprig of dill for garnish.

The Detroit Martini

Another Dick Bradsell creation. Gomme (or simple) syrup is made by dissolving sugar in an equal part of water.

50ml vodka

1 sprig fresh mint

1 dash gomme syrup

1 dash orange bitters

Put all the ingredients in a shaker, along with plenty of ice, and shake for a good 20-30 seconds. Strain into a Martini glass and serve immediately, garnished with a sprig of mint.

Anisette

This recipe was passed on to me by the Guardian's Kitchen Doctor, Rosie Sykes, from a book she got in New Zealand, The Herb Cookbook, by Gillian Painter.

2 branches fennel

1 tbsp fennel seed

2 tbsp coriander seed

4 tbsp aniseed

125g caster sugar

500ml good vodka

Wash the fennel leaves and put into a bottle. Crush the seeds, mix with the sugar, add to the vodka, stir well, then pour into the fennel-filled bottle.

Leave to stand for one week, shaking the bottle every day. Filter out the seeds and fronds, and decant into a clean, dry bottle. Serve ice-cold, as an after-dinner drink.

Mint julep

A simplified version of the recipe in The Fine Art Of Mixing Drinks, by David Embury, the best book ever on mixing cocktails (now out of print, sadly).

2 tall glasses

1 glass jug or 1 pint glass

Lots of fresh ice cubes

A few dozen small mint leaves, plus two extra for garnish

2 tbsp sugar syrup

4-5 dashes Angostura bitters (optional but delicious)

150ml good Bourbon

Freeze the glasses and jug for at least an hour. Wrap the cubes in a clean towel and pound them into very small pieces, then transfer to the freezer while you continue with preparing the drinks.

Put the mint, sugar syrup and bitters in the jug, and use a long spoon (if you don't have a barman's muddler) to bruise the leaves gently; do not crush hard, or there may be bitterness in the drink. Now add 100ml of the Bourbon and stir to mix.

Take the glasses and ice out of the freezer, and fill each glass with ice almost to the top. Strain in the mixture from the jug, and 'churn' the ice (ie, in an up-and-down motion, not stirring) for 30 seconds or so, until it has partially melted and settled considerably. Add more ice and churn again briefly, then pour in the remaining Bourbon. Churn quickly, garnish with mint, and relax with your drink.

Camomile and lemon tea

These quantities make two cups.

1 small handful loose camomile

1 tsp sugar (optional)

1 lemon

Put the camomile in a pot of freshly boiled water that has been left to come off the boil for 10-20 seconds. In the meantime, cut off two good strips of lemon zest, and a small wedge of lemon for squeezing.

When the tea in the pot has reached a deep yellow colour, strain it into two cups. Add sugar (if using) and a squeeze of lemon juice, and garnish with the zest. This can also be served cold, with plenty of ice.

Herb garden punch

Adapted from The Times Cookbook, by Frances Bissell (Chatto & Windus, £15).

2 sprigs each French tarragon, mint and basil

600ml water

250g sugar

50ml white rum

25ml orange liqueur

Juice of 1 lime and 1 lemon

Fizzy water, to taste

Put the herbs and water in a saucepan, and boil for three minutes. Strain the liquid into a jug and stir in the sugar. Leave to cool, then refrigerate until needed. To serve, mix with all remaining ingredients and add water to taste.


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