Mulled Wine

Mrs Ribeye has one of her oldest Russian friends, Katariya, staying with us over the Christmas period, and we are having a lot of fun introducing her to some of our traditional English customs.

I think she thought she might get to spend the afternoon Underneath the Arches after having eaten a lunch of eel pie and mash, while Doin' the Lambeth Walk and dressing like a pearly queen. Er, actually no. Yesterday was spent wandering around Greenwich market (fab), eating a traditional London lunch of sushi (double fab), and then seeing the new Pre-Raphaelite exhibition at Tate Britain (triple fab). In keeping with me Lahndan roots though, we did eat mince pies at 9am and spent most of the day wandering into pubs to drink mulled wine at every single given opportunity.

Apart from calling it 'muled' wine (as in wine that comes from a mule), Katariya was enchanted by our favouritest winter beverage - or maybe enchanted is too strong a word; pissed maybe better. Pissed enough to organise herself a coach trip for today around Oxford, Warwick, Stratford-upon-Avon and the Cotswolds. IN ONE DAY! Tourists are funny. I myself never succumb to touristy behaviour, of course. I'm looking forward to visiting my Russian in-laws for new year in a few weeks time, and have bought myself a new faux fur ear-flap hat, massive snow boots and padded ski gloves for the trip to -35c Syktyvkar. I am SOOOO going to fit in with the locals! Actually, not really - Mrs Ribeye tells me that her mum wears trainers and a light anorak in winter, which means that I'll be sticking out like a moronic frostbitten thumb. Fun!

Anyway, I'm not sure whether they 'mull' drinks over in Russia, but I'm going to be bringing with me a few essentials to turn the (admittedly delicious as it is) Russian Kabernet into a true winter warmer. Mulled wine is the easiest thing to make, with just a few ingredients. I serve mine in a coffee mug and place any leftovers in a jug in the fridge, ready to be hastily microwaved for emergency doses.

I buy the cheapest red plonk and this drink comes in at a super-reasonable £1 per 200ml dose. Get mulling!

Serves 3-4

INGREDIENTS:

1 bottle of red wine
1 whole clementine
1 clove (the spice - not garlic!)
1 cinammon stick
4-5 tablespoons of demerara or caster sugar (to taste)

Stud the clementine with the clove and place into a pan with the rest of the ingredients. Over a low heat, keep stirring the mixture until the sugar has dissolved and the kitchen is filled with lovely Christmassy aromas. Make sure you do  not boil, otherwise the alcohol will dissipate. Serve hot with mince pies, four times a day throughout December...

'Trade Secrets from the Cocktail Industry' #3 (in a series): Bombs

Had such a fun night, last night.

My friend, Ophelia, asked me to DJ at her 25th birthday party, and, late on, I managed to slip in my favourite mix of thumping house tunes and classic 80's rock. I say late on, because my favourite part of any  DJ'ing sesh, is the point when everyone is so mullered from drinking too much, and dancing to crappy popular tunes, that I get a chance to take advantage of the 3am happy apathy to play whatever I feel like, without the risk of receiving a request for 'My Humps'.

DJ'ing is such a curious pursuit - you are never sure whether you want to be popular and play commercial floor-packing tunes which are dull, overplayed and offend your own tastes, or whether you want to amuse yourself, retain your integrity and mix tunes which represents your own personal style, regardless of the crowd's reaction.

In my fantasy world, the crowd look at me quizzically as I move away from rubbish urban R&B and I start to play interesting obscure tracks, and then they slowly get into the vibe until the dance floor is heaving - and then I receive accolades for educating them about a fantastic, cutting edge new style of mix. It has never ever happened to me, yet. But I live in (possibly misguided) hope. However, last night, the closest I got to my pipe dream was my self indulgent 3am hour slot, where the hardcore nucleus of party animals stuck around, and things got a bit... spicy. Totally brilliant, and as far as I was concerned, worth the wait.

What separates the hardcore nucleus from the 'Sorry guys, gotta go - Tarquin has marathon training in the morning' sad cases, is, er, alcohol of course.

At an unspoken stage of the proceedings, the drinking patterns shift from the 'slowly-sipped glass of Pinot Grigio' crowd, to the 'wholesale consumption of brightly-coloured industrial ethanol' crowd. This mainly happens at 12.07am. Tarquin and his plain, mousey-haired missus, bugger off, leaving the rest of us to self-harm in the name of fun - and the chosen method of Bacchus-inspired masochism is the 'Bomb'.

Bombs are the best way in the world to drink stuff you hate, quickly. If you gave someone Jagermeister to drink, and convinced them it was cough medicine, they would find it bitter and repulsive, and grimace as it burned its way down their throat. But, sink a shot glass of it into a highball glass of Red Bull (that other objectively foul concoction) and neck it as quickly as you can, and it's called a 'Jager-Bomb', and lauded as nectar of the party gods.

Bombs can be made up of a shot glass of any strong liquor, which is then quickly plunged into a highball of a fizzy drink and drunk before: a) the liquor shot dissipates into the highball glass; and b) the fizzy drink erupts out of the glass all over the floor.

Bombs. Are. The. Best. Drinks. EVER!

Try all sorts of combinations - the weirder, the more colourful, the more spectacular, or the more reminiscent of childhood confectionery the better. Here are a few to get you started.

See my notes on alcohol costings here.

Jager Bomb: Jagermeister and Red Bull

Nuclear Bomb: Black Sambuca and Red Bull

Skittle Bomb: Cointreau and Red Bull

Glitter Bomb: Goldschlager and Red Bull

The Alamo (aka The Mexican Boilermaker): Tequila and Beer

Fire Bomb: Red Aftershock and Red Bull

'Trade Secrets from the Cocktail Industry' #2 (in a series): Fire

Why do we vow to never become like our parents?

Most of us have been pretty lucky - no terrible crimes perpetuated against us by our own folks - yet we shudder at some of the things they said (and sometimes still do say) to us: 'Stop acting like the world owes you a living' is a personal favourite, as is: 'Stop showing off' and the timeless classic: 'Stop getting carried away' (all uncannily timed to be said  in public and within earshot of whichever girl I most fancied at the time - funny that).

However, on occasion, the old 'uns did get it bang on. 'Don't play with matches' (often ignored, always with near-disastrous consequences) still holds true today. Except for when it comes to making drinks.

I think it was because I watched Coyote Ugly a few too many times that I decided to open a cocktail bar. You remember the scene - the one where one of the 'Bar Stunnas' pours a bottle of whiskey onto the bar top and lights it, then dances provocatively in the flames until the director says cut, and the bloke in the flame retardant suit rushes over with an extinguisher (probably).

Well anyway, I remember in the early days of the bar when I took a match to a shot glass of sambuca and heard the disproportionately large wail of excitement exude from the punters mouths at such a cheap trick, then felt the ker-ching on my tip plate and I thought: 'That's it! Mum and Dad were dead wrong. I MUST play with matches!'

With sambuca, the reason for lighting it is that it releases the fragrances of the botanicals in the liquor, mellows the flavour and makes the floating coffee bean on its surface all toasty and delicious. However, I didn't stop there, I burnt f**king everything! I would have set orange juice alight if it were physically possible.

So, the moral of the story is: Fire = Tips.

Just don't tell my mum.

The Flaming Lamborghini definitely must be tried, as it has to be the most iconic  'Laaahds on the Town' drink of the 1980's, and the forerunner of the fiery drink movement - as probably enjoyed by our very own PM, David 'Cammo' Cameron and his mate, our very own jolly Mayor of London, Boris 'Bozza' Johnson - in some Chelsea wine bar in 1983. You must serve with it with my Chicken Kiev dish, for a real nostalgia-filled, 1980's themed, night of fun.

Here's some fun maths: In a 70cl standard bottle of spirits priced at about £15, there are twenty eight 25ml shots, which means that a shot of alcohol comes in at just over 50 pence each. Cocktails are about two shots per drink, plus mixer etc, so cost-wise, these drinks are, on average, £1.25 per serving (except for the Flaming Lamborghini, which is four shots - don't forget it's a 'Laaahds' drink). Bottoms up!

Flaming Sambuca

INGREDIENTS:

1 or 2 shots sambuca
Coffee bean

In a shot glass, float the coffee bean on the sambuca. Set the sambuca alight with a match and quickly drink in one gulp (don't wait too long, or the rim of the glass will get too hot and you will burn your mouth).

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The Flaming Lamborghini

INGREDIENTS:

1 shot sambuca
1 shot kahlua or Tia Maria
1 shot Baileys
1 shot blue curacao

Line up a shot glass each of the Baileys and curacao. Mix the sambuca and kahlua in a martini glass and set it alight with a match. Start to drink the mixture with a straw. As the mixture comes to an end, swiftly pour in the Baileys and  curacao - all four shots must be consumed in one gulp (in order to win 'Laaahd' status).

'Trade Secrets from the Cocktail Industry' #1 (in a series): Layering

Forget the boring, age-old chicken/egg debate about whether people either only enjoy doing things they excel at, or that, conversely, they only excel at the things they enjoy doing.

For me, the rule is that I really like doing things that other people would do probably be able to do themselves quite easily if they tried; but either can't be bothered to do, or that the task looks so deceptively complicated that they don't attempt it for fear of failure.

Cocktail layering is a prime example of something which looks impossible to pull off easily, but actually is dead simple, and looks spectacular. When I used to make these drinks as a cocktail barman (many, many moons ago) I would huff and puff around the bar, lining up bottles and shakers, readying the glasswear, ice, fruit garnish and straw, following up with a theatrical piece of bar-orientated showmanship that any five year old with a steady hand could achieve, and then charge a 400% mark-up on the raw ingredients (plus tip).

The three easy rules to successfully layering drinks are these:

1. Place the ice, fruit garnish, straw and/or any other cocktail accoutrement you are using into the glass before you start - you don't want to disturb the drink once it's layered.

2. Place the densest drinks at the bottom, getting lighter the higher up the cocktail you go. Fruit liquors are heavy, spirits mixed with juice are lighter, pure spirits are lightest (you get the idea - just use your senses; cranberry juice is lighter than orange juice etc). N.B. Baileys, which you would imagine to be the heaviest liquor in the world, will float on top of pretty much anything.

3. Do not pour liquid directly onto another liquid - you must deflect the pour of the upper layers onto something solid (this can be ice, a spoon, or down the inside of the glass, depending on the drink), in order to maintain the surface tension of the lower layer.

The two cocktails I have chosen to help you show off your new-found talents, are the 'Traffic Light', which is a tutti frutti flavoured concoction - very popular with the unsophisticated (eg high disposable income, very fun, low inhibitions, short skirt) customer; and the 'Baby Guinness', a classic shooter - befitting the end-of-the-night (eg bit drunk, and in the mood for something non-challenging and easy on the palate) customer.

There are, of course, hundreds of colour and flavour combinations - try a few. Stay within the rules and you'll avoid your drinks all looking and tasting brown, whatever colour they started out at individually.

Shots of booze are about 40 pence each, and I allow between two and three shots per glass. Even with the mixer, ice and garnishes, you'll be hard-pressed to spend more than £1.50 per cocktail.

The Traffic Light:

(In a tall glass or large goblet, filled with ice)

Vodka and cranberry juice, mixed (Top layer)
Malibu coconut rum liquor and orange juice, mixed (Middle layer)
Midori melon liquor, straight (Bottom layer)

Pour a shot (25ml) of Midori into the glass and then carefully fill the glass with ice and add a straw. Mix one shot (25ml) of Malibu and three shots of orange juice in a shaker, pour it gently onto the uppermost ice cube, and watch it gradually sink onto the Midori. Repeat with the vodka and cranberry juice. Serve.

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Baby Guinness:

(In a double shot glass)

Dash of Baileys (Top layer)
Double shot of Kahlua (Bottom layer)

Pour the Kahlua into the glass, and then carefully tilt the glass to pour the dash of Baileys on top, to create the 'head' of the Baby Guinness. Serve.

Brunch, with Bloody Mary and Croque Madame

No, not the name of a weekend transvestite cookery show. This combination is the perfect hangover cure.

About six years ago, before embarking on my current career as a professional know-it-all, I owned a couple of busy cocktail bars in central London; and on a Sunday morning we would do a brunch special with a Bloody Mary.

If you take any international flight, this famous cocktail consists merely of a shot of vodka with a can of pre-mixed tomato and lemon juice, served in a plastic cup, along with a bag of sour cream and onion mini pretzels (I'm not complaining - they're delicious!) on the side. However, in my bars, it was a running competition between the bar staff to see how many ingredients you could conceivably add to a Bloody Mary and yet avoid accusations of inauthenticity.

As far as I am concerned, the recipe here is the perfect combination of ingredients, whatever my old regulars (one of which who is still my excellent friend, Phil) have to say on the matter.

To serve with my ultimate Bloody Mary, I have chosen a Croque Madame. In France (my all-time favourite road trip holiday destination), this delicious toasted ham, cheese, bechamel sauce and egg sandwich has been elevated to the status of national treasure. And why not? If you serve it with my Bloody Mary, you have the perfect 'chevaux du chien' ('hair of the dog,' for you Peter Sellers fans), due to the combination of carbs, protein, fat, vegetables, sugar and alcohol. It's practically medicinal.

Mrs Ribeye and I are contemplating a trip to Nice, on France's Cote d'Azur at the end of June - depending on whether our planned purchase of a soft-top BMW Z3 to get us down there, comes to fruition (our current Smart car doesn't really promise the same fun factor). If we do manage to end up in Nice, I guarantee you that this is the first thing we order at a pavement cafe near the Rue de Rivoli on our first Sunday morning in France; whilst reading the Sunday Times (the British version of course - I can barely speak French, let alone read it). I cannot wait.

A single shot of vodka in your cocktail keeps this whole dish (including the sandwich) down to £3 per serving. Another shot (or two, or three) will take you over the Potless budget. But on a Sunday morning, after a heavy Saturday night, will you REALLY care?

Serves 4

The Ultimate Bloody Mary

INGREDIENTS: (per serving)

A shot (25ml) of vodka
100ml tomato juice
10ml lemon juice
10ml sherry
2 teaspoons of Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon of Tabasco sauce
1 teaspoon of horseradish sauce
Pinches of celery salt and pepper
Celery stick
Lemon wedge, to serve

In a tall glass, filled with ice, mix the ingredients with the celery stick. Serve with a straw pushed down the length of the celery stick, and a lemon wedge.

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Croque Madame

INGREDIENTS:

250ml milk
2 tablespoons of olive oil
2 tablespoons of plain flour
Pinches of salt and pepper
100g grated gruyere or cheddar cheese, plus another 100g for sprinkling
2 tablespoons of Dijon mustard
8 thick slices of white bread
4 thick slices of ham
4 eggs
2 tablespoons of butter

In a pan, on a moderate heat, cook the olive oil and flour together to form a paste. Add the milk bit by bit, until the sauce is lump-free, and then cook, stirring occasionally, until the sauce has thickened (15 minutes approx). Take the sauce off the heat and add the cheese, stirring until melted. Season to taste. On a slice of bread, spread half a tablespoon of mustard and top with a slice of ham. On another slice of bread, spread a spoonful of the cheese sauce, plus a quarter of the reserved grated cheese. Place the two halves together to form a sandwich. In a lightly oiled pan, place the sandwich and cook until golden and crunchy on each side. Meanwhile, fry an egg in another pan and then place on top of the sandwich, followed by another spoonful of the cheese sauce. Repeat, to make three further sandwiches.

Frozen Mint Julep (or Mojito, or Daiquiri, or Caipirinha, or Caipiroska...)

Last September, I went on a trip to visit friends at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill. On one occasion, I was taken to a local restaurant called Crooks Corner, where a  frozen mint julep was served as a dessert. A dish of mint sorbet, liberally doused in bourbon. Incredible.

I got to thinking, as long as you make a sorbet of any kind and keep it in the freezer; any time you fancy a frozen cocktail (or dessert, as the North Carolinans do), then just cleave off a big chunk and pour over any booze you like.

If you use white rum with your mint sorbet, you have a mojito. If you use cachaca, and omit the mint from the sorbet recipe, you have a caiparinha. If you use vodka instead, you have a caipiroska. If you use a fruit-flavoured sorbet with white rum, you have a frozen fruit daiquiri. You get the idea - experiment!

All you need to do, is make a stock syrup with a 1:1 sugar to water ratio, and flavour it, to make your sorbet. It's so easy and cheap to make - only the booze will cause a signifcant dent in your wallet. If you make the frozen mint julep with Wild Turkey whiskey, as I have here, the cost is around £1 per serving.

Serves 4

INGREDIENTS:

200g caster sugar
200ml water
Juice and finely grated zest of 2 limes or 1 lemon
Large handful of mint leaves
4 double (or treble!) shots of Wild Turkey whiskey, to serve

In a pan, over a moderate heat, dissolve the sugar in the water and lime or lemon juice and zest. Add the mint leaves and allow mixture to cool. Once cool, take out the mint leaves and place the mixture in a freezer-proof container. Freeze until there is a 1cm layer of ice on the surface. Mix the surface ice vigorously into the rest of the liquid. Replace back into the freezer and repeat one or two more times until you have a smooth sorbet. Serve with a dousing of the whiskey.