Be Still My Heart
Confessions of an affair above all others
Today I want to talk about love but first, a little caveat. In case the fun police are watching, I take no responsibility for what you might do or say or make as a result of reading about my passion for that most blessed of drinks: a long, cool gin.
No really. Different countries have different rules about all sorts of stuff, including the legal age for drinking, making spirits, and what you can do in the privacy of your own home, shed, car or cave. I urge you to follow the law where you live (and pay close attention to safety, sterilised gear and good ventilation), but when the steam starts to rise, you’re on your own. Okay?
Great. Then we’re good to go.
Here’s my first confession: Gin is taking over my life. I’m a tragic: I love making it, refining it, drinking it, sharing it, and starting all over again.
Here’s my second confession: I’m never going to make a fortune from my copper still. I’m a mini-micro-distiller (at best), producing no more than two litres of artisan gin at a time. Yes, I have a nice label (for personal use only, I hasten to add); yes, I use the best and freshest ingredients I can get; and yes, my friends and neighbours are all smiles when happy hour comes round. But I ain’t never gonna get rich on my product.
And I don’t want to; gin-making for me is a joy, not a job.
Welcome home, sweetie
I bought my five-litre alembic copper still two years ago and it was love at first sight. As I freed it from its nest of cardboard and bubble wrap:
The hedonist in me couldn’t help but caress its gleaming pot-bellied curcubit, the Turkic-looking cap, its perky tubes and coils;
The perfectionist in me quivered amid the tall glass beakers, the weights and scales; and
My inner romantic swooned over the sachets of lavender, rosemary, and lime that came with its starter pack.
Could anything be more perfect?
I started cautiously, following precious recipes to the leaf, always measuring twice and pouring once, never spilling a drop. I still take great care, especially when checking alcohol levels and working with heat, because the process is so rewarding.
Even so, moving in together brought certain challenges – not least, the possibility of an accidental explosion.
Don’t blow up the house
Early on I decided not to make my own alcohol (it’s too volatile, unpredictable, and hard to get right). Purists should turn away now: I use commercially distilled neutral spirit as my base for my gins. It’s safer and besides, I live on an island: I don’t have a pharma grade lab, and I certainly don’t want to poison anyone. Let the big guys comply with legislation, production standards, and distribution rules – I much prefer to be the end user. They take all the risks, and I have all the fun.
And what fun.
Botanicals are my passion. Fresh herbs picked from beside my front door; lemons and limes from my neighbour’s backyard; native flowers in spring; kelp and oyster shells from the waters surrounding my home. And for my knock-your-socks-off, once-a-year Resurrection gin, tiny red chilis plucked straight from the bush.
Of course, I need imported and purchased ingredients too: gin isn’t gin without juniper; liquorice and angelica root help to preserve flavour; and freshly ground spices add subtlety or oomph.
Florals are perhaps my favourite. Lavender, chamomile, elderberry and orange blossom – each adds its own distinctive note along with a sort of magical joy.
Take your time
I find micro-scale gin-making to be a sensual, sciencey type of pleasure.
I love the slow, thoughtful ritual of measuring, weighing, and testing combinations. And the thrill of matching heat and time to extract maximum flavour and yield. Then there’s the downtime, while the raw distillate cools and those perky little compounds wear themselves out. Next, it’s out with the calculator and in with pure island rainwater as I juggle ratios to reach my preferred 43% ABV (alcohol by volume, for you techy types). And underneath it all, the exquisite anticipation of my first taste.
Is it a keeper? Did I get it right?
By grace and good luck, yes (most of the time), but I’m still new at this. It helps to keep notes, not to rush, to reprise recipes and try them again. They say it takes two weeks for the flavours to blend and settle in an artisan gin. I wouldn’t know; I love it so much I never can wait.
I drink my gin over ice, usually with a garnish from my garden (maybe basil flowers or a sprig of rosemary) to complement the ingredients I’ve used, along with a splash of a good quality mixer, just to be polite.
Pink summer cocktail (per serve)
20ml apple & elderflower cordial
30ml raspberry-infused pink gin
60ml good quality tonic
Place ice cubes in a chilled coupe glass, add the ingredients and finish with a squeeze of lemon. Garnish with a sprig of fresh mint. Serve immediately.
