Palate-to-Pen

hearty little devils

July 1st, 2009 § 9

artichokeheader

Artichokes are sexy little beasts. They tout an armor of jagged, prickly scales to ward off those not in the know of what lies beneath. If one is stealth enough to distract the leaves into submission, tender bits of edible flesh are revealed upon their dainty bottoms. Quick plucks. Tender swipes between teeth. Layer upon layer of sustenance. When naked, all leaves discarded with abandon, a finale beckons. The heart. Camouflaged with a final diversion of inedible choke spindles to ward off those faint of appetite. With a turn of wrist, wielding a tool of choice, the choke’s hairy strands break away and the heart is yours.

artichokeheart

As a child, these thistle flower buds were a staple in our house because Lady is mad about them. Maybe they were a culinary tie to her California roots while residing in New England? Because of her artichoke hankerings, we all learned at a young age how to maneuver around the poky edges of the leaves, to separate the fuzzy choke from the heart, and to gather the thin and delicate innermost leaves for a one-two-three gnaw. When I lived in the North End, I often made dinner of ample artichokes from Alba Produce on Parmenter Street, dipped in mayo flavored with steamed garlic.

Recently, while lunching with Sierra at The Friendly Toast, I ordered a Make Your Own omelette. My stuffing of choice? Artichoke hearts mingled with a blend of brie, goat cheese & avo/lime sauce. As we ate in late-afternoon-hungered-silence, a soupçon of inspiration struck. I knew a recipe was in mind, but it’d be days before lucid formation. First, I considered deviled eggs crafted with bits of artichoke heart and goat cheese. Then, while resting at a red light on my way to work, I flipped everything around. The spotlight would be on my darling artichoke hearts, turned a tad naughty with the fixings of deviled eggs and then some. Devilish Hearts.

Note: If you, like my dear Nils and PerryA, have never eaten an artichoke, please refer to this handy site, as they provide all the info about the health bennies and choke eating instruction you need. I’d hate to have you scraping from the wrong end as those dears did. Dive in like an expert choke eater, and you’ll be happy you took some time out to study.

artichokedip

Hearty Little Devils
Artichoke leaves rise up, ripe for plucking and already full with this devilish dip. As each leaf is tugged from the group, the mixture tumbles onto the leaves beneath—utensil-free, leisurely consumption at its best. Double-dipping is a must. The provocative heart perks up with the shallot, tomatillo, cumin and garlic. Crème fraîche, eggs and avocado are smooth. Feta and spices converse sassy flavors. Serve with a spicy Gwerztraminer, dry rosé or crisp Chardonnay. Make good use of extra dip with a spread across Sourdough bread.

5 artichokes
5 cloves of garlic, unpeeled
6 large eggs
1 cup crème fraîche
1/3 cup light mayonnaise
1 cup crumbled feta cheese
1 avocado, halved, pitted, flesh scooped
1/4 cup finely diced shallot
1/4 cup diced tomatillo
1/4 t celery salt
1/2 t ground cumin
1 t yellow mustard seed
1/2 t sweet paprika
1/2 t dill weed
1/4 t ground pink peppercorns, plus a few pinches for garnish sprinkle

Fill a deep large pot with an inch of cold water. Tuck a steamer basket in bottom of pot, making sure water graces just below the basket’s bottom. Cover with a lid and place over a medium-high heat.

artichokesprep

Prepare the artichokes /

Trim about an inch from the worn ends of stems. Pluck away the first couple rows of leaves clinging closest to the stem. Using a peeler, remove the tough stem exterior, peeling from the base of the leaves toward stem’s bottom, revealing the pale green edible flesh.

artichoke_trim

With a sharp knife, cut off the top inch of the leaves, revealing a hidden blushing yellow and dark magenta blossom. Rinse the artichokes thoroughly with cool water.

When the water on the stove top is boiling, use tongs to carefully place the artichokes into the basket, stems facing upward. When all are snug in the pot, scatter garlic atop the artichokes, away from the water spurting through the basket. Cover and lower the heat to medium. Steam for 45 minutes.

devilishhearts2

Assemble the devilish dip /

Fill halfway a medium pot with cold water. Heat water to a rolling boil. Carefully place eggs in the water with the tongs. Cover and cook over a medium heat for 10 minutes. While the eggs rattle in the water, fill a medium bowl with a cold water bath. Once the eggs are cooked, use the tongs to snatch the eggs from the pot and gently place them in the cold water bath.

tomatillo

In a medium bowl, add crème fraîche, mayonnaise, feta, avocado, shallot, and tomatillo. Using a fork, combine these ingredients by stirring and mashing to break down the avocado and feta crumbles.

Once the artichokes and garlic are steamed tender, grab the artichokes from the pot by securing the tongs around the leaves and not the stem as it’s too tender now. Place the artichokes and garlic on a plate to cool.

boiledeggs

Time for the eggs /

Tap and peel the shell from each egg. Dunk them into the bath to rinse off any lingering shell fragments. Halve each egg and add to the Dip mixture. Pinch each soft garlic clove free from its peel and plop them into the mixture. Sprinkle the mixture with the celery salt, ground cumin, yellow mustard seed, sweet paprika, dill weed and 1/4 t ground pink peppercorns.

pinkpeppercorns

Mash with potato masher until eggs are combined. Stir with a spatula to unite the whole lot.

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Plating /

Each artichoke will plate a single serving. To assemble, peel away the leaves and layer them in a circular pattern around a small bowl. (I used small wooden bowls we inherited from Nils’s granddad.) Once the leaves are thinned out and the heart breaks away easily, spoon away the layer of spindly choke by scraping tenderly in a counterclockwise direction, revealing the heart. Plant a hefty serving of the Dip in the center of the dish. Sprinkle with flecks of pink peppercorns for color. Top with the heart, stem facing upward.

ode to rhode

June 24th, 2009 § 10

autocrat_bird

Coffee milk. Two words whose fusion conjures notions of elementary school hot lunches for $0.75, and my Granny warming a half-cup of milk with a coffee splash and scoop of sugar. As a kid, coffee milk made me feel mischievous. Through its flavor, I fathomed that I’d found the loophole that allowed me to taste the forbidden caffeinated luxury of adulthood.

One summer, when we were teens, my friend LP and I cruised the streets in her white pickup. We jammed that summer with goings on. Multiple jobs. Much music. Crushes on our friends’ bandmates. Stolen drags of Marlboro cigs. Guitar tinkering. Handwritten lyrics. Most of all, flavored iced coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts. New to real coffee, I’d order it extra light with milk and two sugars. A coffee milk mimic? With that iced blend sweating cool drops of condensation, we sang along to Jeff Buckley’s finest blaring through rolled down windows.

I still sing along at the top of my lungs to Last Goodbye while driving. My coffee tastes, however, have changed. No more overly sweetened iced coffee. Instead, I have become a fiend for a fine latte, cappuccino and even a coffee-flavored martini here and there. Nothing speaks a cozy Sunday to me more than catching up with my friends over lattes and warmed savory croissants.

Nils isn’t fond of coffee. His weakness is for the pastries sprawled on display in the glass cases. He’ll do everything to sate my latte craving on the weekends, but never partakes in the caffeinated sips. He’ll drink orange juice, plain and simple.

autocrat_label

Because of his outright aversion to coffee, I was bowled over by his enthusiasm for a bottle of Autocrat coffee syrup discovered when shopping at Walmart. The man abhors coffee. Yet, coffee syrup is worth this fanfare?

Despite my surprise and confusion, his explanation was nonchalant. Simply put, he likes coffee milk. Autocrat was a syrup as familiar to him as my Granny’s homemade concoction was to me. With a twinge of curiosity, I wondered if, like me, the coffee milk would someday lead to his coffee conversion. Soon thereafter, I received a copy of Coffee Love 50 Ways to Drink Your Java by Daniel Young. Recipes span history, tastes and styles from all over the globe. Everything from basic espresso to café au lait and caffé de olla to Greek-style frappé to Slavia macchiato are featured.

coffeelove

Although I fancied the idea of brewing each concoction for admiring and soon-to-be well caffeinated friends, I was instantly drawn to the recipe for Rhode Island coffee milk, apparently “the official state drink.” I never thought that Nils would spring to mind while reading a coffee book, but that’s exactly what happened. I set aside the recipes I craved, deciding instead to craft a coffee-based recipe for the person I know who loves it least. Could a simple cold-brewed syrup win him over? Would he feel the Coffee Love?

I started with the syrup. Although satisfied with Autocrat, I wanted to create a homemade syrup for him to reach for when the hankering strikes. The recipe is short and sweet. I saved it for a Sunday when I visited Uncle Jon’s Coffee & Cafe for a latte and side of freshly ground house blend per the patient teenager’s recommendation. Later that day I combined the coffee and water in jar and took a walk on the beach with Moe. After an overnight cold-brew, I strained the coffee mixture.

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My first attempt was to secure a filter or two between the jar and cap, pouring the dark liquid into a bowl. Too slow. Next, I tried to cup the filters in hand. Very messy.

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Last, a filter-lined sieve graciously separated the pitchy brew from the soggy granules. Success. Soon the liquid withstood a quick simmer with sugar, caressing the kitchen with a toasty caramel aroma. After the batik design of crema and somber liquid thickened, the syrup cooled for a stint before being jarred and refrigerated.

The taste test. I place two shot glasses before Nils, after he rouses from a nap before work. Perfect timing. In each glass I place equal measure of syrup and milk. Autocrat in the first glass. Homemade syrup in the second. Groggy-eyed, he sips tentatively. Strict concentration. The results? He admits that the Coffee Love recipe reminds him of coffee candies. Check. Tastes more “coffeey” than the Autocrat. Check. Pleasantly surprised that the homebrew isn’t bitter. Check. With that, he gulps both down and buzzes to work, leaving a few more affirmative sentiments in his wake. I’m one step closer…

Cold-Brewed Coffee Syrup

1/2 cup (about 30 grams) coarsely ground coffee
1 1/4 cups cold water (preferably filtered water)
1 cup sugar

Combine the coffee and water in a large jar, glass container, or French press, stir well, and cover. Let sit at room temperature for at least 6 hours and up to 12 hours.

To strain the coffee mixture, pour twice through a paper or mesh coffee filter, a Vietnamese coffee filter, or a sieve lined with cheescloth; or push down the plunger of the French press.

Combine the coffee and the sugar in a saucepan over medium-high heat and heat, stirring with a whisk, to just below a boil. Lower the heat to moderately low and simmer, stirring, until the mixture begins to thicken and its volume has been reduced by a quarter for thinner syrup or a third for thicker syrup, about 7 to 10 minutes. Remove from the heat, let cool, cover tightly, and store in the refrigerator for up to 2 weeks.

Young also recommends this syrup as a dessert topping for ice cream or yogurt. Anyone else thinking breakfast?!

Rhode Island Coffee Milk

Makes 1 serving

1 cup milk
2 to 3 tablespoons Coffee Syrup

Pour the milk in a glass, add the coffee syrup, and stir well. Serve immediately.

Both recipes are from Coffee Love 50 Ways to Drink Your Java by Daniel Young. Reprinted with permission.

under the table

June 17th, 2009 § 16

There are the careers we take in stride during the week. Then there are dream jobs that lurk beneath the surface of our days. They may moonlight as hobbies. Obsess our minds. Ache our bones. Not a single ounce of boredom, dull managers, or persnickety patrons may chase these fantasies from mind. Much work. Barrels of sacrifice. Some splinters of pain. All are well worth the smidgen of hope that maybe, someday, we’ll be lucky enough to chase these dreams to fruition. Live them wholly, without interruption.

Food writing. Ah, my dream career. A profitable freelance writing and blogging career alongside a book, perhaps? Cooking and writing together forever at last. Trained as a writer, I’ve sought to hone culinary skills to firm up this union. A few years ago, at the behest of this nagging urge, I attended an information session at a local culinary school. As the sole food writer of the crew, I was the odd woman out. Others were home cooks yearning to become chefs. A few already had drafted business plans for future establishments. Despite our individual objectives, we were all there because we love food and want to discover what makes it tick. As we toured the kitchens amid renovations, listened to the curriculum plan, and picked at tender strawberries and cheese hunks, a spark of energy surged within. Although I left that session eager to sign on the dotted line, I questioned whether the financial and job-quitting-commitments were possible.

To this day, the idea of attending a culinary program warms on a back burner. The flame is turned up every so often. When Le Cordon Bleu launched a campus minutes from where we live. When I interviewed at Cook’s Illustrated. When my dear sister graduated from The Culinary Institute of America (oh, the horror stories she shared…). When I read the culinary creds of my favorite food bloggers. And, most recently, when I finished Katherine Darling’s memoir, Under the Table: Saucy Tales from Culinary School.

underthetable_cover

Darling also felt the culinary school calling. Unlike me, she answered. Took her life by the collar and turned it all around. She quit a successful career in publishing to satiate her urge to study at the French Culinary Institute. Her memoir, just shy of 400 pages, is a tell all tale. Reading like a cookbook, culinary school manual and journal, Darling walks readers through each level of her studies. She relays the tears, cuts, burns, fish guts, affairs, friendships, pretension, recipes successful and those, not so much. All she experiences en route to her grand achievement of graduating top of her class. She writes with wit, humor and candor. She glazes the memoir with a cutting edge detail, so sharp, I often felt a twinge of emotion akin to what she was describing throughout those pages. Even after achieving all she has, she returns with ease to her former culinary newbie self with care and attention.

If you share in this calling, read Darling’s book first. You will be terrified. You will laugh. You will pine for the sort of culinary knowledge Darling has at her disposal. I still remain on the fence, mostly because I can’t afford to leap. Not now. Until the day I may, I’ll read, cook, bake, and sip my way along.

fcc_piece

To share a taste from the memoir, I baked her Flourless Chocolate Cake recipe, one of 24 inspiring recipes Darling shares. Most folks ask, what’s in it if there isn’t any flour?

fcc_chocolate

A small mountain of chocolate, that’s what! I like to think of this cake as the token little black dress (or suit for the gentlemen). It’s a keeper that may be accessorized differently for each occasion and season. Per Darling’s suggestion, I kept it simple this time with a snowfall of confectioners’ sugar and a scatter of plump cherries across the top for good color. The cake is dense, crumbly, rum sweet and intensely chocolate. A sliver does a serving good, as does a hefty glass of milk.

fcc_bite

Flourless Chocolate Cake

Reprinted with permission from Under the Table: Saucy Tales from Culinary School

4 ounces best-quality bittersweet chocolate (the finest you can buy)
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, plus extra for the pan
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon rum
1 teaspoon vanilla paste
3 large eggs
3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
Pinch of ground cinnamon
Pinch of salt
Confectioners’ sugar, for garnish

1. Preheat the oven to 375°F. Butter an 8-inch round cake pan, line the bottom with a round of wax paper, and butter the paper.

2. Chop the chocolate into small pieces. In a double boiler, melt the chocolate with the butter, stirring until smooth. ([She] will occasionally do this in the microwave because it saves time and dishes.) Remove from the heat and gently whisk the granulated sugar into the chocolate mixture. Whisk in the rum and vanilla paste. Separate the eggs, and add the yolks to the chocolate mixture and combine. Whip the egg whites to soft peaks, and gently whisk into the chocolate mixture. Sift the cocoa powder, cinnamon, and salt over the chocolate mixture and whisk until just combined.

3. Pour the batter into the pan and bake in the middle of the oven for about 25 minutes, just until the cake has formed a firm crust.

4. Let the cake cool briefly in the pan on a rack, then invert it onto a serving plate. Remove the wax paper and dust the cake with sifted confectioners’ sugar.

NOTE: Sometimes the cake will fall a bit in the center because it is so dense. Don’t worry! [She] always [throws] a few berries, edible flowers, or even silver dragées on too and it looks gorgeous.

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Makes one 8-inch cake, and can be doubled easily.

squirreling away

June 10th, 2009 § 18

berryspoon

All of us have quirks (not flaws). I possess magpie tendencies. I blame my artistic nature and its optimistic perspective of odd objects and their potential for mutation. I rescue lamps from the curb for decoupaging. Save tea tins with fanciful labels. A romantic teeming with nostalgia, I stash remnants from music festivals and concerts, milestone birthday cards, letters from those no longer living, scraps of paper with poetry scrawls, and two packs of Chiclets my Lady sent with encouraging sentiments for me to continue my pursuit as a writer.

Food and wine magazines are my obnoxious bounty. Piled on shelves. Fanned out across our table. Nestled into a proper magazine basket. All placed with the steadfast scheme of dutiful reading. Saved for superfluous moments that have yet to fall in.

Earlier this year, I arrived home to a curtsy from our commercial strength paper recycling bin. Every so often, the claustrophobic ambiance of our close-knit urban quarters jolts Nils into a cleaning frenzy. This time, he meant business. My magazine inventory, gleaned since I lived in the North End, needed a trim.

Anguished. Understanding. I sorted. CHOW. Food & Wine. Saveur. delicious. magazine. Keepers. Wine Spectator. Split decision. Dual subscriptions to Bon Appétit and Gourmet afforded an abundance of these mags. Regrettably, some remained sealed in plastic. As if to release the unread tension, I ripped each package, shook free the magazine and leafed through months of recipes. They deserved at least this snippet of attention. When I was finished, two manageable piles remained. Now, these goods are cached in two drawers.

Over time, a few must-reads have traveled to Mattapoisett. I place them near my reclining spots. On Sunday, this strategic placement paid off. I woke to a bright day after a marvelous night spent dancing to Phish at Great Woods (yes, I know, it’s the Comcast Center now…) until my legs tired from enthusiasm and glee. Not quite ready to rise physically, I grabbed the July 2005(!) issue of Gourmet reposing within eye-shot. I fancied a Sunday recipe. Something filling, decadent, and downright indulgent.

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The Blueberry Pudding Cake, previously dog-eared, yawned instructions. Beguiled by its blasé attitude, we made a date for later that day, after a four-mile walk with PerryA in the midday sun.

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All assembles and bakes tout de suite. I amended the original recipe with a toss of red raspberries and blackberries in place of blueberries. The blueberries at the shop were looking shabby and my preference is for these seedy partners in crime. Deprived also of a square baking pan, I opted for a round 9-inch ceramic pie dish. In the spirit of weekend extravagance, I sweetened the deal with a drizzle of melted white chocolate over the berries.

When heated, the fresh and plump berries reduced to a cluster of recognizable berry blobs and a pool of stained juice speckled with seeds, which I poured over the mellow yellow pudding cake. White chocolate chips melted into a malleable mass that swirled pristine white zigzags across the scarlet plane. An ambrosial whoosh of berry, vanilla and butter rushed at me when I knelt to retrieve the bronzed cake. I muttered an unstoppable Oh man. Berries plunged their gooey selves into the batter, etching a course of crimson and deep purple jammy and tart lava along the crevices of the moist, spongy cake. Seeds nestled into my teeth as pesky, sweet reminders. A toothsome ending to a Sunday that justifies my squirreling away a magazine.

bountiful berry and white chocolate pudding cake
Adapted from Blueberry Pudding Cake (Gourmet Magazine, July 2005)

1/3 cup plus 1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup water
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon cornstarch
1 5.6 oz package blackberries, rinsed
1 6 oz package of red raspberries, rinsed
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 3/4 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 large egg
1/2 cup whole milk
1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup Ghirardelli Classic White Chips

Place oven rack in middle position and heat oven to 375°F. Butter a 9-inch round baking dish.

In a small saucepan, stir together 1/3 cup sugar with water, lemon juice and cornstarch. Stir in the berries. Bring to a simmer. Continue simmering, stirring occasionally, for 3 minutes. Remove from heat.

In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, salt and remaining 1/2 cup sugar.

In a large bowl, whisk together egg, milk, butter and vanilla. Add the flour mixture, whisking until just combined.

Pour the white chips into a medium microwave-safe bowl. Place in the microwave and heat for 30 seconds. Remove from microwave and stir the chips to coax additional melting from the warmed chocolate. If all chips do not melt, heat for an additional 10 seconds. Stir to melt the remaining chips. Depending on your microwave, the process may take up to a minute. Heat in 10-second intervals, stirring in between, until all chips melt.

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Spoon batter into the baking dish, spreading evenly. Pour berry mixture evenly over batter (berries will sink). With a spoon, drizzle swirls of melted white chocolate evenly over the berries.

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Bake for 25 to 30 minutes or until a knife inserted into center of cake portion comes out clean. Cool in dish on a rack for 5 minutes.

berrpud_1

sangria

June 3rd, 2009 § 21

sangria_kumquats

When I met Sangria, she was a hardcore party girl. Amped up with any alcohol within reach. Carrying the weight of oversized orange and apple chunks. Swimming in a large cooler, foregoing a bowl or pitcher. Jumping into plastic cups gripped by eager med school students. I saw through this bawdy facade, but kept my impressions off the radar. She was the life of the party.

Since, we’ve reunited at gatherings and restaurants. She’s shed her anything goes exterior. A smidgen proper. Less adulterated. She’s still a versatile gal. Sometimes, a light-hearted and zingy blond. Other times, a swarthy and seductive red.

Last year, while PerryA and I were dipping multi-colored tortilla chips into guacamole at No Problemo, Sangria joined us. Although the winds of autumn tingled cold my skin, I greeted her with a full embrace, curious about the flecks of pomegranate seeds and slight blush she sported. Dare I say, she was innocent in appearance?

sangria_basket

Seeing her so natural and joyfully carefree, I was inspired to arrange a mingle with suitable partners. I wondered…Blood orange? Rosé wine? Banyuls? Plum? Busied months passed, laden with snow and inertia. The fix ‘er up mentality halted. Then, a case of POM Wonderful Pomegranate Juice samples graced my doorstep. Sangria sprang to mind immediately.

sangria_apricots

My intentions for Sangria were for a dry, tart and light organic rosé specked with pomegranate seeds, lusted with blood orange and POM Wonderful Pomegranate Juice. Seemed a stupendous match. The market had other plans. No organic rosé in sight. No blood oranges. Pomegranates were on vacation too. My dismay was short lived. A slew of new companions winked at me. Mango. Apricot. Kiwi. Kumquat. Nectarine. Red raspberry. Crisp Chardonnay. Agave nectar. This recipe serenaded Sangria effortlessly. All I did was fill the basket and pay the tab.

sangria_kiwi

All fell into place Memorial Day weekend. I cobbled together a healthy batch and witnessed the ease with which Sangria mingled overnight. The next night, as our crew arrived for after hours, word spread quickly that Sangria was in the kitchen. Before we knew it, the tiny space was humming with old school beats, scattered conversation and Sangria swishing around hefty Ball jars. We danced until the last ladle. Soon thereafter, the party died down and friends trailed off to sleep, sharing fond sentiments about Sangria. She’s just the kinda girl to leave an impression.

sangria

Sangria

Nils refers to this Sangria as “fruit salad with wine in it.” I admit that the variety and amount of fruit is generous, but that’s how I prefer Sangria. Bold and plump. Tart and sweet. Multidimensional. Bitter and adorable Kumquats pop with a soft bite. Nectarines slink out of their overcoats. Agave nectar is mildly sweet and syrupy. POM juice adds tang and colors the white wine red. Oh so mischievous!

A dry and acidic wine with tropical ﬂavors pairs best. La Fortuna 2008 Chardonnay from the Lontue Valley in Chile is made with organically grown grapes. Smells of honey, sea, mineral, zesty lemon, white pepper, lime, and pineapple. A dry, medium acid white—fresh and lively with salt, lemon zest, grapefruit, green apple, mineral, tinge of spice and light pepper. Tactile. Warming ﬁnish. A strong foundation for the fruit and suitable companion for the POM juice and mulled raspberries.

Lazy consumption is best. Slow gulps. Wide brimmed Ball jars are perfect for catching the drenched fruit with a ladle on the way into the glass, and for retrieving with a spoon or finger pinch when the glass is emptied.

3 yellow nectarines, cut crosswise, pitted, diced
3 apricots, cut crosswise, pitted, sliced
1/2 lb kumquats, cut 1/2 into rounds, leave the remainder whole (choose the tiniest of the lot)
2 kiwis, peeled, cut in half lengthwise, sliced
1 yellow mango, peeled, diced
2 juicing oranges, cut crosswise, juiced, quartered
12 red raspberries, mulled
1/2 cup Milagro Organic Agave Nectar (or a similar organic agave nectar)
1 750ml bottle crisp white Chardonnay (minus a splash for taste)
16 oz POM Wonderful pomegranate juice
2 cups ginger ale

In a large pitcher, combine all of the ingredients except for the ginger ale. Stir well and put to rest in the fridge overnight.

Minutes before serving, pour the ginger ale into the pitcher and after its peppy fizzing, stir to combine.