Spring has finally sprung, and my first year teaching at Macalester College has come to an end. In Minneapolis, where I currently live, spring is a welcome sight after what are inevitably very long, very cold winters. Spring means t-shirts and shorts at the first hint of 40+ degree weather. Weeknights are spent around the city’s many lakes, and weekends bring a mass exodus from the city as families take to their cabins out in the woods.

Spring also brings flowers. And pollen. And if you suffer at all from allergies, you’ll want to know about switchel.

Also known as Harvest Drink, Harvest Beer, Swanky, Haymakers Punch, and a host of other aliases, switchel is a refreshing beverage that has been fortifying the American immune system since at least the founding of this nation.

At its most basic, switchel is water, cider vinegar, ginger and a sweetener (molasses, honey, sorghum, etc.). Rum, whiskey, brandy or hard cider can be added to give it a bit more oomph. I’ve seen some recipes, particularly in the south, that add cayenne pepper to the mix as a cold cure.

One of the earliest written references to switchel comes from Philip Freneau, known as the “Poet of the American Revolution,” in his 1789 poem “On the Demolition of an Old College.” Describing an incident at Dartmouth College where a group of students tried to take down an old log building, Freneau suggests switchel is not boozy enough to lead a man to destruction:

Relent, relent! to accomplish such designs “Folks bred on college fare are much too weak;” For such attempts men drink your high-proof wines,
Not spiritless switchel and vile hogo drams, “Scarcely sufficient to digest your Greek–“

Each cook had their own recipe for switchel. The amount of each ingredient depended largely on the personal tastes of those making it, and exact measuring wasn’t necessary – one would simply add more of something until it tasted right. Sweetners depended on what was available. Molasses was more common in New England where the rum trade from the Carribean made the black syrup a staple on pantry shelves. In the frontier, switchel would often be made with honey, and in the south, sorghum would be used to soften the beverage’s bite.

The spicy brew would often be made in large batches, and carried out into the fields in ceramic jugs. To keep it chilled, jugs would be stashed away under the shade of a tree or partially submerged in a cool stream. For centuries, farmers have sworn on switchel – claiming it quenches the thirst, clears the throat and nose of dirt and hay, provides a boost of energy, and keeps the body from getting sick.

Since switchel was mainly for farmers and those who toiled outside, recipes for it were left out of the earlier American cookbooks aimed at higher-class households. One of the earliest comes from Elizabeth Hall’s Practical American Cookery and Domestic Economy (1853).

TIPS AND TRICKS

Powdered ginger is traditional at least into the 19th century, but the powder never completely dissolves. If this bothers you, I’d recommend taking a large, peeled chunk of fresh ginger, cutting it into smaller chunks, and simmering it in six cups of water. Cook it down to five cups to make a strong ginger-infused base. Let it cool completely before adding the remaining ingredients. Note that this method will not produce as strong of a ginger flavor as it does using powdered.

I’ve seen a couple more recent recipes mention heating the mixture to help dissolve the powdered ginger. I doubt most farm cooks would have done this. Not only would you be using up a lot of fuel to cook it down, you’d be making it during the hotter seasons of the year, and you want the finished product as cool as possible. I also think that boiling switchel might kill some of the health benefits of the cider vinegar.

Try to get your hands on raw, unfiltered cider vinegar. You can get it online, as well as in health food stores and natural food co-ops.

If you are trying a sweetner other than molasses, realize it will have a different sugar content and you will need to add more or less to taste. Add a bit at a time and keep testing till you get the right proportion. If you add too much, you can always add more ginger, vinegar and water.

THE TAKE-AWAY

This is a remarkably refreshing beverage that I would easily make any time of the year. The vinegar and the ginger give it a nice bite, while the molasses keeps it from being overpowering. I was afraid it might be cloyingly sweet, or overly spicy, but Hall’s recipe is superbly balanced.

I can see the centuries-old appeal of switchel. You don’t need to heat anything. You’re using ingredients that don’t need to be prepared. It comes together quickly and can be stored for a decent amount of time. Switchel’s simplicity made it the base recipe for so many possible variations. Have company? Add rum and maybe some chopped fruit and a cinnamon stick to make a punch.

Switchel is experiencing something of a come-back in this age of home remedies and craft brewing. I have even heard of some entrepreneurial folks selling it in jars at farmers markets.

The variations on switchel can be plentiful. Let your imagination guide you and once you’ve tried it on its own, play with it. Remember that each household made it to their own tastes. Add muddled berries or sliced citrus fruits. Try it with a splash of bourbon and some crushed mint. Make a couple bottles for a picnic, or put it in mason jars with lids to take camping.

Harvest Drink. Mix with five gallons of good water, half a gallon of molasses, one quart of vinegar, and two ounces of powdered ginger. This will make not only a very pleasant beverage, but one highly invigorating and healthful.

From Practical American Cookery and Domestic Economy, Elizabeth Hall (Miller, Orton & Co: New York, 1853) [Link to 1860 edition]

Reduced Adaptation:
5 cups of cold water
½ cup of blackstrap molasses
¼ cup of apple cider vinegar (preferably raw, unfiltered)
3 tablespoons ground ginger

Mix ingredients thoroughly. Store in jars, jugs or bottles. Shake before serving. Serve cold.

This is the second article in the “Toast” series of classic cocktails.
Check out the first – the Bourbon Old Fashion Cocktail.

Perhaps it is a bit vulgar to post a classic cocktail recipe on the anniversary of Mother Carrie Nation’s first “smashing” at the Dobson Saloon in Kiowa, Kansas in 1899. But it is Friday, after all, and Fridays in the summer demand a refreshing cocktail like the Tom Collins.

And like all good cocktails, the origins of the Tom Collins are steeped in legend. Here’s what we know for certain:

• RECIPE: A Tom Collins is comprised of gin, lemon juice, simple syrup, and soda water. The recipe has its roots in Fizzes, which has essentially the same ingredients.
• FIRST PUBLISHED: The first recipe for a Tom Collins appeared in The Bartender’s Guide by the legendary “Professor” Jerry Thomas in 1876. Much has been written about Thomas, who is considered by many to be the grandfather of the American Cocktail. I recommend to you, in particular, David Wondrich’s excellent book Imbibe, which includes a thoroughly researched depiction of what little we know of the man, and a number of Thomas’ original recipes.
  Some will claim that the name comes from the use of Old Tom Gin (a sweeter gin than London Dry) in the original cocktail, but this isn’t true. Thomas gives several recipes for Tom Collins – one with gin, one with whiskey, and one with brandy.

For the gin Tom Collins, Thomas gives the following recipe:

Take 5 or 6 dashes of gum syrup
Juice of a small lemon
1 large wine-glass of gin
2-3 lumps of ice
Shake well and strain into a large bar-glass. Fill up the glass with plain soda water and drink while it is lively.

• NAME: It is believed that the name comes from a rather obscure joke that circulated some of the more rowdy drinking establishments in New York, referenced at the time as the Great Tom Collins Hoax of 1874. The general idea is that you would go up to a friend or a stranger and ask them if they’d seen Tom Collins. When they said no, you would reply along the lines of “Well, you’d better find him soon, because he’s saying terrible things about you,” and then proceed to tell the person how you heard they would steal anything they could get their hands on, et cetera. Others in the bar would, of course, be in on the gag and would also support your claims regarding this mischievous, but ever-absent, Tom Collins. Now, whenever someone asks you what people did before cell phones and the internet, you can give them a solid answer.

If you’ve never had a true Tom Collins before, think of it as a sparkling gin lemonade. It’s sweeter than a gin and tonic, but still light enough to make this a particularly warm-weather beverage. When you order a Tom Collins today, it is almost universally expected you will get one with gin, though some bars who are delving more into cocktail history will actually ask you if you want a gin, vodka, whiskey or brandy Tom Collins. Some areas of the United States add a splash of grenadine, which I personally dislike (but to each, their own).

The standard glassware is, of course, the Collins glass – a tall, but narrow circular glass. Garnishes are traditionally a lemon wedge with an optional cherry.

I asked the talented Jon Lawson, bartender extraordinaire at Minneapolis’ Eat Street Social, if he would demonstrate the assembly. In a city busting at the seams with amazing cocktail bars that blend traditional and modern tastes, Eat Street Social is my neighborhood spot and a favorite of many. They were kind enough to let me watch them in action.

Fill a Collins glass and a shaker with ice.
Add 3 parts gin, 2 parts fresh lemon juice, and one part simple syrup to the shaker.
Shake vigorously.
Add a splash or two of club soda to the shaker and strain into the glass.
Garnish with a lemon slice and cherry (optional).

Sweet tea. House wine of the South. For the uninitiated, the first taste of sweet tea might be a jarring one. Often containing upwards as much as twice the sugar as a can of soda, sweet tea is among the many traditional recipes contributing to what is now referred to by the Centers for Disease Control as the “Diabetes Belt.”

My philosophy, much like Paula Deen’s, is all things in moderation.

Trying to offer anything resembling an all-inclusive sweet tea recipe is about as contentious as it gets. Everyone has their own way of making it. And in large swaths of the south, it seems like everyone is making it. In the majority of restaurants, you can ask for tea and hear a drawn-out “sweet or ‘un?”

Still, despite the differences of opinion on how to make it, there are certain ground rules,which I’ll get to in a moment. But first, a bit of background.

The first published recipe for sweetened, non-alcoholic iced tea appeared in Marion Campbell Tyree’s 1879 community cookbook Housekeeping in Old Virginia: Containing Contributions from 250 Ladies in Virginia and Her Sister States. Note that the recipe, from a Mrs. S. T. (Mrs Sweet Tea, perhaps?), uses green tea. Prior to 1900, the vast majority of tea in the United States was green tea from Japan, China, and – to a limited degree – green tea grown on American soil in places like South Carolina and Georgia. Black tea became cheaper than green tea around 1900 with British colonialism in India. It was nearly impossible to get green tea in the United States after 1941 when America went to war with Japan.

Already you see some of the signs of sweet tea in this recipe even beyond the sugar. Note, for example, the lengthy steeping time to produce a highly concentrated tea base. Also the use of an astringent – in this case, lemon.

Sweetened iced tea was a rare treat for many years and for a variety of reasons. Sugar was expensive and had to be imported. Before mechanical refrigeration, ice had to be shipped in from mountains or cut out of frozen lakes and ponds to be stored beyond winter. Thus, for the many years in its infancy, iced tea was a status symbol of wealth and decadence.

But sweet tea and sweetened iced tea are two very different things.

The general rules:

1) Since the 1950s, the tea of choice for sweet tea is an orange pekoe blend. Yes, this is usually different from what comes in tea bags generically marked “black tea.” And yes, there is a markedly different taste between orange pekoe and other blends. I find it very difficult to find this kind of tea in grocery stores in the north, and so I order mine online. For about $17 on Amazon, you can get enough tea to last you a substantial amount of time… assuming you drink the tea in moderation, of course.

2) The tea base is a much stronger concentration than what would be brewed for hot tea. The strength balances out the sweetness of the tea, and also accounts for the water from the melting ice.

3) A substantial amount of sugar must be added to the hot tea base. This ensures that the maximum amount of sugar is dissolved into a syrupy consistency. The amount of sugar varies according to taste and region, but a syrupy base is what separates sweet tea from sweetened iced tea.

4) The tannins in tea can make iced tea very bitter. My not-so-secret trick for mellowing out the bitterness is adding a pinch of baking soda to the base. It may sound weird, but I swear it’s magic and it works.

5) Traditionally, sweet tea is served with a garnish, though what the garnish is or whether one is used at all also varies according to taste and region. You can, for example, garnish with wedges, slices and/or peel of lemons, limes and oranges. You can also throw in some mint leaves or a maraschino cherry. Pick one. Two at the most. Anything more would be gaudy. And remember, ‘all things in moderation.’

So, having provided a bit of a background and some general rules, I humbly offer my personal recipe for sweet tea noting once again that everyone has their own way of making it. If this is the first time trying sweet tea, and you find it’s just not your cup of tea so to speak, don’t throw it out! Add some regular-strength lemon juice to the mix and you’ve got an awesome Arnold Palmer.

3 gallon-sized orange pekoe tea bags
1/2 gallon boiling water
1-2 cups sugar
1 pinch of baking soda
3 cups cold water or ice

Bring 1/2 gallon of water to a boil in a medium-sized pot with a lid. Take the pot off the burner and add the tea bags. Steep, covered, about five minutes. Remove tea bags and discard. Return pot to burner and bring to a light simmer. Stir in sugar until dissolved and immediately remove from heat. Add pinch of baking soda to tea base and stir. Add water/ice and stir. Pour into a sturdy container (never pour hot liquids into untempered glass). Refrigerate. Serve chilled over ice with garnish (see rule 5 above).

Way before there was Sex on the Beach and Fuzzy Navels, there was the Old Fashion. Legend credits the Pendennis Club in Louisville, Kentucky for originating the drink in the 1880s, and die-hard cocktail makers will insist it be made as it first was – with bourbon. The sweet drink has a hint of citrus (usually a lemon or orange), and the bitters give it a bit of spice. Depending on how its made, the Old Fashion can pack a surprising whallop, with the sweetness masking the amount of alcohol being consumed.

The Old Fashion became popular across the country after it appeared on the bar menu of the Old Waldorf Astoria in New York. While it can’t be credited for certain, the bartender at the Pendennis Club at the time of its invention was Thomas Bullock, who worked there for over twenty years before becoming the head bartender at the St. Louis Country Club. Unfortunately, not much else is known about Bullock except that he published one of America’s earliest book of bartending recipes; The Ideal Bartender (1917). While this famed book purports to include the authentic recipe for the Kentucky Mint Julep passed down directly to Bullock from the man who invented it, this Bourbon Old Fashion Cocktail recipe from Bullock’s book could be the original:

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