Dog days Can anything stop Brewdog now?
Sipsmith Small is beautiful
Secrets in the attic A half for The story of the lady Zorokovich Beer and women
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A marvellous journey through the extraordinary history of gin
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Words: Liz Longden
illustrations: Dan Seex
A quintessentially English drink, invented by the Dutch. A miraculous health elixir, turned public health scourge. A grandmother’s tipple, become drink of choice for a new generation. We trace the wondrously changing fortunes of gin.
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eligion, war, disease, gangsters, empire and moral dissolution — the history of gin has it all. Rising from sober beginnings in the monasteries and apothecaries of northern Europe, to become the drug of the masses, triggering a national crisis; but also a symbol of sophistication and class, the glittering jewel of the cocktail age. Like a great literary heroine, gin has ridden the waves of fashion and fallen in and out of favour — at times plummeting spectacularly from grace, only to later make a triumphant re-emergence. It has entranced both the poor and the powerful, undergoing many transformations along the way, and remains today one of the most popular spirits in the world. This is the story of the indomitable ‘Slappy Bonita’. The invention of gin is often attributed to Franz de la Boë (16141672), a Dutch chemist, anatomist, and ardent defender of the theory of the circulation of the blood. By infusing spirits with botanicals, and juniper in particular, de la Boë produced an invigorating health tonic, which enjoyed great success, and which he named ‘jenever’ — that is, Dutch for ‘juniper’. In fact, as Davy Jacobs, Co-ordinator of the Belgian National Genever Museum says, jenever, usually spelt ‘genever’ in English, has a much longer ancestry, evolving from a distilling tradition that begins with the medieval Arab scientists of the Islamic Golden Age. It was they who first developed a means of creating high-alcohol spirits, using knowledge gleaned from translations of technical texts from India, Iran and Greece. “The soldiers who fought on the Crusades, together with the monks who went to North Africa on a mission to convert people there to Catholicism, discovered those distilling techniques and took them back with them to Europe. Then in the monasteries and universities in Europe, especially in France and 38
By infusing spirits with botanicals, and juniper in particular, de la Boë produced an invigorating health tonic, which enjoyed great success, and which he named ‘jenever’ — that is, Dutch for ‘juniper’
the Low Countries, those techniques were further developed and refined,” Jacobs explains. “That we have genever is thanks to those monks and also to the soldiers of the Crusades, who very much liked brandy, which was later flavoured with different herbs and spices.” In Flanders, the Cistercian monasteries of Ter Duinen and Ter Doest in particular played an important role in safeguarding and disseminating these techniques, leading to the development of sophisticated distilling expertise in the area that is modernday Belgium and the Netherlands. By the time Franz de la Boë perfected his elixir in the 17th century, grain-distilled brandy was already popular.
Juniper, too, had been long established as a healing botanical, and its berries were commonly employed to treat a vast range of diverse ailments: boiled in wine or water, they were used to treat cramps and stomach ache; set alight, their smoke was thought to cleanse homes struck by the plague; ingested, it was believed they could cure gout and gallstones; baths of rainwater infused with juniper were even believed to cure skin conditions and digestive discomfort. “The oil of the juniper berry was given to people for all kinds of diseases and pains, at first administered in small drops,” Jacobs explains. “Later, when people started to experiment and put juniper oil and berries into alcohol, they found
it gave a very specific taste, very fresh and sweet, which they began to like. And so they then began drinking it for pleasure.” The natural abundance of juniper berries in the Low Countries also helped to make it an obvious and popular addition to local spirits, complemented by other herbs and spices, such as aniseed, coriander and caraway. Towards the end of the 15th century, these ‘brandies’ were already beginning to be taxed in the region, suggesting they were no longer being drunk in drops, but ‘by the shot’. De la Boë therefore perfected rather than invented the drink. Yet even had genever been his own invention, he would be less the ‘father of gin’ than its benevolent uncle; also known as
‘Dutch gin’, genever is distinct from the clear spirit commonly served up with tonic, ice and slice. Instead of the floral, herby taste of London Dry Gin, genever is almost closer to whisky, with malt tastes on the back of the tongue, and a wide variation in colour. “The biggest difference between genever and gin is the strength of the juniper,” Jacobs notes. “The main taste of genever is really the taste of different grains, while in the gin the main flavour that comes through is the distinctive juniper berry.” So how did grain-dominant genever morph into the botanical, juniperheavy gin we know today? The process, Jacobs claims, begins with the religious conflicts which took place in the Low Countries, during the 16th century, which caused many master distillers to emigrate. Some went to France, where they helped to develop cognac; others to Germany, where they distilled schnapps; and others to England, where they distilled what would become the phenomenon of ‘gin’. War had another indirect impact on the drink’s development, and its love affair with the English palate. During the Thirty Years’ War of 1618-1648, and likely during other similar conflicts, English troops garrisoned in the Netherlands noted the native soldiers’ habit of downing genever before battle. Admiring its effect on steadying the nerves and warming the blood, they too developed a taste for the drink and nicknamed their discovery ‘Dutch Courage’.
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rom the Dutch battlefields, the story of gin moves to the teeming, sprawling, metropolis of 18th-century London. It was an age of growth, in which the city boundaries spread rapidly like the contents of an upturned glass; of literacy, where men gathered in coffee houses to exchange new ideas, and the first newspaper presses stuttered into life on Fleet Street; and of squalor, as thousands of people flooded into the capital from the countryside to look for work, living on top of each other www.hotrumcow.co.uk
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ily m a f s hi y b et s d e n y u t g s i del Intr E ch n r a a e D s , y histor e Ukraine in er’s th th a f o d t n ff a en o r l l g A t a r e e gr as r s i F h . y f r o ry lle i a t s n i i d d vodka an extraor iks es ev r h o s l l p o x B e e, z o e o m b i t f f o o e tal ing s s a p e h t d n a ued contin
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Words: Fraser Allen
e careful what you look for in your attic. The last time Dan Edelstyn climbed the loft ladder, he found something that drove him to drink, inspired an attraction to Ukrainian fur hats and created a documentary that will be given its TV premiere on Film4 this autumn. “Finding that suitcase was a defining moment in my life,” he says. “It was amazing, full of treasures. There were wonderful photos of my Granny – and then there was the manuscript.” Edelstyn grew up in Belfast but was always intrigued by the Jewish-Ukrainian roots of his father. It was something that his father, who had embraced his Irish identity, showed no interest in. And Edelstyn had little opportunity to pester him – he was just three when his father passed away. “I asked my Mum if there was anything remaining,” says Edelstyn. “I’d heard that Granny had had quite an exotic life but I’d never even seen a picture of her. Mum told me there was a suitcase in the attic.” Edelstyn’s grandmother was Maroussia Zorokovich. Her memoirs from the attic recounted a privileged life in pre-Bolshevik Ukraine, followed by her experiences of the 1917 Russian Revolution, when she joined a dance troupe to boost the morale of the
pictures: Ant Upton
beleaguered White Army. Together with her husband, she then fled to Britain for safety. It’s evocative stuff, with liberal flourishes of poetic licence. It’s also light on details – for instance, the name and location of Maroussia’s village, where much of the action takes place, is not specified. However, the documents contained enough clues to make Edelstyn determined to find out more. Together with his film-maker wife Hilary, he decided to set off to the Ukraine and make a documentary about his grandmother’s memoirs. It was then that the project took a sharp left turn. Edelstyn discovered that Maroussia’s father had owned a vodka distillery. After much painstaking research, they tracked this down to a village called Douboviazovka – this was the family home. When Edelstyn visited, he was astonished to discover that the distillery was still there. It was in state control but locals confirmed that, prior to the Bolshevik Revolution, it had been owned by Edelstyn’s great-grandfather, Ilya Zorokovich. Edelstyn decided that being a film-maker wasn’t enough for him; he was going to become a vodka baron too. Despite having no experience of the drinks industry, he entered negotiations with the distillery to create Zorokovich 1917, a premium vodka based on his grandfather’s original recipe. It’s this extraordinary tale that unfolds in his film, How To Re-Establish A Vodka Empire (you can also see a series of excellent shorts complementing the film at www.babelgum.com/ vodkaempire).
Opposite: Dan Edelstyn and Zorokovich 1917, outside his north London base
But is it kosher? When he’s not making films or recording music, Edelstyn hopes to launch other Ukrainian spirits – including kosher products for the Jewish market “I was thinking about doing a Ukrainian whisky,” says Edelstyn. “But because of the ageing process, it would be three or four years before I’d be able to launch it. Three or four years from now, I’ll hopefully be in New York making films. I can’t wait around for the bloody whisky to mature, can I?! 16
I was thinking about a kosher angle for the vodka. I don’t yet have kosher certification but, if I can get that, one of the guys here in north London thinks he’d be able to sell 1,000 bottles a year, and that’s just one guy with a little shop. The film is playing into a lot of Jewish film festivals and has generated a lot of interest across the Jewish communities in the US.
We’re also going to be doing some Hasidic Jewish events, which should be really good fun. I’ve been selling to a lot of these guys, they drink a lot of vodka. So I was thinking about gin. It’s all the rage right now. I just wonder if there’s an opportunity for a Jewish-Ukrainian gin – an immigrant on the scene."
fishy business Words: Liz Longden
The nutritional benefits of oily fish are well-documented, but what if someone suggested adding it to your evening cocktails? Surely they must be taking the piscine?
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illustrations: Susie Wright
f you ask someone what qualities they would look for in a vodka, chances are ‘fishy’ won’t be one of them. So how about a vodka that tastes entirely of smoked salmon? This is the brainchild of one Alaskan distillery, which has been producing this piscine spirit for almost two years now. The unoringinally named Alaska Distillery is far from a novelty enterprise. Its first-ever spirit, Permafrost Vodka, was awarded the ‘superlative’ rating by the US Beverage Tasting Institute, beating better-known brands. The company prides itself on using only locally sourced ingredients, right down to the wheat and potatoes needed to make base spirit – even though this proves a logistical nightmare with the harsh Alaskan winters – and water collected from glaciers at the source. The distillery has even boosted its green credentials by composting its used potatoes and producing its own biofuel to run the
distillery’s generator. So… sensible, responsible and quality-driven – why would such a respectable outfit go and pull a stunt like putting fish in its spirits? “Well, salmon is a staple for a lot of families here. As a matter of fact the inuits and many others will go and fish during the summer and catch all of their food for the entire winter, and they actually live off it. Smoked salmon in particular is a huge staple for a lot of families – and Toby happens to really love it,” explains Bella Coley, Alaskan Distillery Chief Operating Officer. Toby is Toby Foster, founder, co-owner and distillery CEO. According to Coley, Foster had been sampling some of his own Permafrost along with a titbit of salmon, was struck by how well they went together, and had an epiphany. One presumably inspired by the effects of the vodka, as well as the gustatory possibilities? “Yeah, probably very much,” Coley concedes. “I don’t know if many people would think of putting fish in vodka.”
Probably not. And it isn’t just the thought that’s off-putting, there are also practical difficulties – despite their initial enthusiasm, Foster and his team found that extracting a palatable salmon extract was no piece of fishcake. “It was such a trial,” Coley admits “As a matter of fact, the first couple of times they did it, they were so violently ill.” The problem was the excessive oil obtained through the essence extraction process. In fact Foster
and his wife, and co-owner, Scotti MacDonald reportedly made close to 50 attempts to perfect a drinkable version of the spirit, before arriving at a not quite top secret process – Coley is a little vague about the finer details, but she explains that the process basically involves smoking, skinning and mashing up the salmon fillets, and then boiling them in a stew of concentrated ethanol to obtain ‘essence of salmon’. That essence is then put
through a custom-designed high power filter to remove impurities, before being added to the vodka. Made on a base of triple-distilled grain vodka, the salmon essence is also filtered five times. It makes for a labour intensive production method, with each batch taking seven days to produce. For this reason, the distillery produces “gigantic” batches. The soaring cost of Alaskan salmon in the winter also means that the vast majority of salmon essence is www.hotrumcow.co.uk
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Minimalist in name and in style, this tonic is one for those who like their furnishings pared down, with painted white walls, and lashings of unpainted chipboard. Subtle yet fizzy, almost ostentatiously un-lemony, and with a hint of liquorice and peppermint on the nose. It’s about what’s not there – the white space of the tonic water world. www.qtonic.com
A reversion back to nature, an embracing of Mother Earth, John’s Premium Tonic is the Mongolian yurt of the tonic world. Handmade in small batches in Arizona, with 100% natural ingredients and organic amber agave nectar as a sweetener, it’s a tonic for those who can afford to ‘rough it’. Strikingly botanical in flavour, it comes packaged in a little brown bottle and hand printed label which tells you this is a tonic, literal and figurative, for an overproduced world. www.johnstonic.weebly.com
John’s Premium Tonic
Fentimans Made with natural juices, cane sugar, and ‘highest quality quinine’, Fever Tree tonic markets itself as the mixer for those who prize authenticity – but still want it to look pretty. Fruity, but not too sweet, and with toned down bubbles, it’s a cosy and warm, yet vibrant and stylish at the same time. It’s richly patterned natural fibres, it’s an open fire, it’s oak panelling and a touch of exposed brick. www.fever-tree.com
Fever Tree
Tonic water
Think Fentiman’s, think lion tamers with top hats and twirly moustaches, ladies in bloomers and elaborate painted signs. Like a character from a Dickens novel, Mr Fentiman’s tonic is a little bit larger than life – big lemon, big fizz, strong taste.. and with a hint of tic tac. If kitsch decor with a hearty slash of pastiche is your kind of thing then roll up, roll up, step this way… www.fentimans.com
Modern gin is serious. Brands are multiplying almost daily, and any self-respecting hipster will have their ‘signature gin’ (preferably little known and hard to find). Less prized, however, are tonic waters – which is ridiculous, given that the ‘G&T’ remains by far the most popular way to enjoy Mother’s Ruin. To remedy this, the Hot Rum Cow team has selected four tonics and tasted them for you, so you don’t have to. Simply follow our guide and find the tonic water that best says ‘You’.
No. 1:
pictures: Luigi Di Pasquale
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“I’m a bit northern about food, I don’t take the piss. I like to give people something good for their money”
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In each issue of Hot Rum Cow, we’ll challenge a leading chef to cook a threecourse meal incorporating a drink of our choice.
Liquid Lunch
GIN
Step forward Tony Borthwick, of Edinburgh’s The Plumed Horse, and unleash the Mother’s Ruin
words: Fraser Allen pictures: David Anderson
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ony Borthwick ruffles the hairs of his magnificently bushy moustache. “Things happen for a reason,” he muses. “Who knows? Maybe it was the best thing that could have happened to me.” 25 years ago, Borthwick was leading his horse when it took fright and kicked him. He broke his neck and was close to being killed yet, against all expectations, he made a full recovery. It was, however, a recovery that entailed nearly six months in hospital – and many more months recovering at home. He was 27 years old. He had a well-paid job repairing pipes for Yorkshire Water, but didn’t enjoy it. Lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, he had a lot of time to think. “It changed my life,” he says. “I decided I was going to cook.” Borthwick always had an interest in food. “I used to have a Saturday job working in a village pub that did fantastic food. I used to trim the Dover sole, make ratatouille, that sort of thing. I loved it. I asked the chef to give me a full-time job but I was already working and he said ‘no – you’d have to go to college to get an apprenticeship, it would be years before you’d earn a decent wage; I couldn’t do that to you’. “After my recovery, I went to London, knocked on doors, got a couple of jobs, and taught myself to cook. I bought some really good pans. I’d eat in places like Le Gavroche, have their set lunch, then buy the ingredients and try to cook it myself. I went to college for about six weeks but soon realised that I knew more than the lecturers. So I spent lot of money on books and just cooked and cooked and cooked.” Borthwick ended up working at the Savoy, an experience that proved invaluable, not so much in terms of what it taught him about food, but what it taught him about organisation and discipline. In 1990, he and his partner Ian Bruce moved to Scotland and, in 1998, he finally took the plunge and opened his own restaurant, The Plumed Horse, in the village of Crossmichael, Dumfries and Galloway. They didn’t get off to the best of starts. Locals were scared off by rumours of fancy food and high prices, but that’s not Borthwick’s style. “I’m a bit northern about food,” he says in his deep Yorkshire brogue. “I don’t take the piss. I like to give people something good for their money.” Nonetheless, Borthwick was close to bankruptcy when salvation arrived in the 68
highly commended Tony Borthwick's accolades in Crossmichael: 2000: Two AA Rosettes 2001: Michelin Star 2002: Good Food Guide's Newcomer of the Year 2005: Scottish Chef of the Year in LEITH: 2008: Three AA Rosettes 2009: Regained Michelin Star 2009-2010: AA Restaurant of The Year - Scotland 2010-2011: CIS Restaurant of The Year
Salmon cured with Hendrick’s Gin, lemon juice, cucumber & dill To make the marinade, mix a couple of splashes of Hendrick’s Gin with a little stock syrup, lemon juice and finely chopped cucumber and dill. Borthwick opts for Hendrick’s because it’s flavoured with cucumber. Cut small slices of raw salmon and marinate for just five minutes, which is long enough to cure the salmon – you will see it turn a slightly lighter shade of pink. Drain the excess liquid, put the salmon on serving plates and top with a little caviar – Borthwick used Avruga. The saltiness of the caviar provides a lovely contrast to the sweetness of the salmon, the freshness of the cucumber and the kick of the gin. Serve with a wellflavoured salad garnish – if you can get hold of it, Borthwick suggests red amaranth, red vein sorrel and celery seedlings.
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