Syrups are a great way to preserve the color and flavor of your wild harvest. They’re easy to make and they store well as canned goods or in the refrigerator. They also simplify cocktail making by transforming wild plants into a readily usable form: it’s much easier to make a big batch of cornelian cherry syrup and use it as a wild grenadine than it is to individually deseed and muddle a few cornelian cherries for a single cocktail. Additionally, many wild fruits are intensely sour and require sweetening to be palatable. Preserving them in syrup form adds the necessary sweetener while streamlining the cocktail-making process.
You can make a syrup from any plant part: flowers, leaves, fruits, nuts, stems, twigs, or roots. And even though mushrooms aren’t technically plants, you can make a tasty syrup from them, too. The processing method differs depending on the plant part. As you might imagine, tough stems and roots require heavier cooking than delicate fruits and flowers.
Syrups can be made from either fresh or dried plant parts. Drying spices concentrates their flavor, so the general rule for adjusting recipes from fresh to dried spices is to use one quarter as much dried material as you would fresh.
You can swap out the sugar in these syrup recipes for your sweetener of choice, but remember that alternative sweeteners may bring their own flavors into the mix. Maple syrup and honey are delicious, but both will change the overall flavor of whatever syrup you use them in.
The delicate tissues of most flowers are well suited to making an infusion, which is essentially a tea: you steep the plant material in hot water to extract its flavor. It’s possible to eke out even more flavor by infusing the sugar with the flower prior to making the syrup. Covering the flowers in sugar in a closed container allows the sugar to absorb the flavor and scent of the flowers more deeply than quickly infusing the flowers in liquid.
Here I give a recipe for milkweed flower syrup, but you can use this basic recipe for any edible flower — try it with pineapple weed, elderflowers, or lavender. If you want to work with lilac blossoms, use the same technique but make a rich syrup instead. The extra-thick silkiness of a rich syrup brings out the full flavor of the lilac blossoms.
It’s possible to eke out even more flavor by infusing the sugar with the flower prior to making the syrup.
Makes 2–2 1 / 2 cups
The nectar of common milkweed flowers is thick and sweet, with a unique flavor. It’s difficult to describe a new flavor in terms of familiar flavors, so I suggest you taste the nectar straight off the plant to see if you like it. When the flowers are ripe, each individual bloom exudes a large, glossy drop of nectar. Dab that with your finger and have a taste. It’s floral (of course), rich, and a little spicy, but not in a hot-spicy way.
Combine the milkweed flowers and the sugar in a glass or plastic container with a tight lid, stir well, and let sit, covered, for 24 hours.
Transfer the milkweed flowers and sugar to a saucepan and add the water. Whisk over medium heat until the sugar is fully dissolved and the liquid just begins to simmer. Remove from the heat and cover. Let the syrup sit overnight.
Strain the syrup and pour it into a pretty glass bottle or a canning jar.
The syrup will keep up to 3 months in the refrigerator. For long-term storage, process half-pint jars in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Leave 1⁄4 inch headspace.
There are many species of milkweed, but only Asclepias syriaca (in the east) and A. speciosa (in the west) are universally acknowledged as edible. To harvest milkweed flowers, wait until they are fully open and dripping with nectar. It’s easy to see when the flowers are ripe. The umbels will be almost fully round and each individual flower will glisten with a drop of sweet nectar. Snip off the whole umbels and shake off any insects. Don’t wash the flowers or you’ll rinse away the nectar.
For years common milkweed has been dismissed as a weed rather than appreciated for its many virtues. Few people know that during World War II, the waterproof fibers inside milkweed seed pods were used to fill life vests when the United States no longer had access to the traditional kapok filling imported from the South Pacific. Today those same fibers are used as an effective material to absorb oil spills.
Lepidopterists appreciate milkweed as the essential food source for the caterpillar stage of the monarch butterfly, and foragers eat the young stems, unopened flower buds, and immature seed pods as delicious green vegetables. The fully ripe blossoms of common milkweed make a naturally pink simple syrup that can be used in sorbets, ice cream, jellies, and cocktails.
Combine the vodka and milkweed flower syrup in a shaker full of ice and shake for 30 seconds. Strain into a coupe and top with seltzer, sparkling water, or club soda. No garnish required.
Many leaves are similar in texture to flower petals, and these tender plant parts taste best when gently infused in hot water, then combined with sugar into a syrup. However, since leaves are generally appreciated for their savory flavor, use them in a less-sweet light syrup. You can skip the sugar infusion stage; these leaves have strong flavors and don’t need the extra infusion time. This basic recipe can be used for any edible leaf, like bee balm or mugwort.
Infusing leaves in hot water
Makes 1–1 1 / 2 cups
Bee balm makes an excellent substitute for oregano, which you may not think of as a cocktail ingredient, but in this light syrup it blends nicely with pisco, tequila, and rum.
Crush dried leaves or spank fresh leaves, then put them in a jar or teapot and pour the boiling water over them. Let steep, covered, for at least 15 minutes, or until the strength of the flavor pleases you. Strain off and discard the bee balm.
Measure the infusion and pour it into a saucepan. Add half as much sugar by volume as you have liquid, and whisk the sugar and the infusion together over medium heat until the sugar has completely dissolved. Pour into a glass bottle or canning jar.
The syrup will keep up to 3 months in the refrigerator. For long-term storage, process half-pint jars in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Leave 1⁄4 inch headspace.
The cobbler was originally a cocktail composed of a base spirit, sugar, and fresh fruit. Sherry was the first base spirit, but whiskey was soon added to the list, as was brandy, wine, and gin. The cobbler was served over crushed ice, which was quite a novelty in the early 1800s when the cocktail was created.
Today it’s pretty much anything goes with cobblers. Gone are the days of plain fruit and sugar. Now cobblers often include fruit juice and herbs. And they are frequently made with vermouth. Are we living in a lawless cocktail society? Are there no rules? Does this drink even qualify to be a cobbler? I don’t know. But it’s delicious and I like the way the name sounds.
Combine all the ingredients in a shaker full of ice and shake for 30 seconds, then strain into a rocks glass filled with crushed ice. Sip your cobbler with a straw.
Bee balm (Monarda spp.) is a common wildflower that is also grown as an ornamental garden plant. It is prone to powdery mildew in late summer and early fall, so be sure to collect only clean, mildew-free leaves for this syrup. Bee balm flowers are equally flavorful and can be used to make a flower syrup, but since their flavor is savory, use a light syrup, rather than the simple syrup method described for flowers. Bonus: red bee balm flowers make an especially pretty sweetener.
Makes 1–1 1 / 2 cups
Because spruce tips are tougher than deciduous foliage like bee balm leaves, you’ll need to simmer them rather than just steep them in boiled water. Combined with spruce tip vodka, this syrup makes a fresh, spicy Merry Woodsman that’s almost better than a walk in the woods.
Combine all three ingredients in a saucepan, bring to a gentle boil, and whisk to blend in sugar. Remove from the heat, cover, and let the syrup sit overnight. Strain and seal in a glass bottle or canning jar.
The syrup will keep up to 3 months in the refrigerator. For long-term storage, process half-pint jars in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Leave 1⁄4 inch headspace.
Young spruce tips (Juniperus spp.) are soft and feathery; it’s easy to twist them off with your fingertips, although you can also use pruners if you don’t want sticky fingers. The difference between the tender young tips and the stiff older spruce foliage is clear. Harvest your spruce tips evenly from around the circumference of the tree. If you harvest from only one side of the tree, you’ll end up with an oddly shaped spruce.
Syrups can be made from all kinds of fruits. For fresh fruit syrups, the first step is to juice the fruit and strain off the solids. The resulting juice is used instead of water in making a fruit simple syrup. This method can be used for both soft and firm fruits, although firm fruits will require more chopping and more cooking to release their juices. Grapes, prickly pear, elderberries, Oregon grapes, and cornelian cherries fall into the soft fruit category, while rose hips, flowering quince, and crab apples fall into the firm fruit category.
You’ll need a jelly bag or several layers of cheesecloth to strain the fruit juice. A mesh strainer isn’t fine enough to catch all the solids and a coffee filter won’t let the juice flow through.
Soft fruits require only a brief cooking time to release their flavorful juices. This recipe calls specifically for cornelian cherries, but the method works with any soft fruit.
The ingredient amounts are scalable, as your yield will depend on the amount of fruit you gather. Having at least 2 cups of fruit is a good start.
Put the fruit in a saucepan and barely cover with water. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and let simmer for 5 minutes, mashing occasionally with a potato masher to release the juices.
Pour the fruit into a jelly bag set over a bowl and let it hang until all the juice has been extracted. Resist the temptation to squeeze the jelly bag or the liquid may turn cloudy; it will still taste good but it will be less gorgeous.
Measure the juice and return it to your saucepan. Add an equal amount of sugar, and whisk the juice and sugar together over medium heat to combine. You want the sugar to be fully dissolved; when you rub a little liquid between your fingers, it should feel smooth.
It’s important not to overcook the syrup. Cornelian cherries have more pectin than any other fruit I know, and overcooking the syrup will turn it to jelly in a flash. As soon as the sugar has dissolved, remove the syrup from the heat, skim any foam from the surface of the syrup, let it cool, then pour into bottles or canning jars.
The syrup will keep up to 3 months in the refrigerator. For long-term storage, process half-pint jars in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Leave 1⁄4 inch headspace.
Cornelian cherries (Cornus mas) are native to southern Europe and the Middle East, where they’re a valued fruit crop. Elsewhere they are grown as an ornamental, planted for their delicate yellow spring flowers. You’ll find cornelian cherries in parks and botanic gardens where they’re used as hedges, allées, or specimen trees. Cornelian cherry fruit ripens in late summer to early fall. However, it looks ripe long before it’s ready to pick. Leave the fruit on the tree until it’s dark red and falls into your hand at the slightest touch. You can even harvest fruit from the ground, a sure sign it’s ripe. If you’re collecting in a public place where picking from trees might be frowned upon, it’s an especially good idea to harvest fallen fruit.
The word scofflaw was created during Prohibition to describe someone who drank illegally. (That person scoffed at the law.) Soon after, the scofflaw cocktail was created in Paris, either to taunt or to encourage the scofflaws back in the States. Traditionally, it includes rye, vermouth (white or red), lemon juice, and grenadine.
I kept rye as the base spirit, then spun off into foraged ingredients. Rye is a lovely whiskey, leaner and less sweet than bourbon, subtler than Scotch. Rye makes me think of severity and cold climates, where a delicious cocktail is just what you need to warm up from the inside.
Why Shohola, you ask? Because I have a home in Shohola, Pennsylvania, and it’s where I made both the cherry plum ratafia (standing in for vermouth) and the cornelian cherry syrup (taking the place of grenadine). And while I always encourage ethical foraging, it would not be entirely inaccurate to say there was some law scoffing involved in obtaining the plums that flavored the first versions of this drink. That’s all I’m saying.
I’ve left out the lemon juice because cornelian cherries are very tart, and the acidity carries through to the syrup. Grenadine, made from pomegranate juice, is less tart than cornelian cherries and needs the acidic edge that lemon juice brings to the party.
Combine all the ingredients in a cocktail shaker full of ice and shake for 30 seconds. Strain into a chilled rocks glass.
Makes 4–5 cups
This recipe calls specifically for rose hips, but the method works with any firm fruit. Basically the juicing process is the same as it is for soft fruits, but since the fruit is less juicy to begin with, there are a few extra steps. Chopping the fruit in advance helps release the juices. Rose hips and crab apples can be roughly chopped in a blender. Flowering quince should be chopped by hand; the fruit is too large and too hard for a normal blender.
Also, to extract as much juice as possible from firm fruits, use the pulp twice: after straining the fruit the first time, return the pulp to the pan with more water and process it a second time.
Rinse the rose hips and twist off the dried calyx (the thing that looks like a star attached to one end). Put the rose hips in your blender and add enough water to cover them halfway. Pulse your blender to roughly chop the rose hips. You’re not trying to purée them; you just want to break them up to let the juices out.
Transfer the chopped rose hips to a saucepan and add enough water to barely cover them. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for 5 minutes. If there are any hips that didn’t get chopped, mash them with a potato masher. After 5 minutes, turn off the heat and let the rose hips sit in the hot water for 15 minutes.
Pour the hips into a jelly bag set over a bowl and let the juice drain. Don’t squeeze the jelly bag as the juice is draining, or your syrup may be cloudy.
Return the hips to the pan and, again, add just enough water to cover the fruit. Repeat the simmering/draining process as described above.
Measure your strained juice, and for every cup of juice, add 1 cup of sugar. Whisk the sugar and juice together in the saucepan over medium heat, until the sugar is completely dissolved. If the liquid starts to boil, reduce the heat to a simmer. Cook for 5 minutes, then remove from the heat and allow it to cool. Pour the cooled syrup into bottles or canning jars.
The syrup will keep up to 3 months in the refrigerator. For long-term storage, process half-pint jars in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Leave 1⁄4 inch headspace.
Ripe rose hips (Rosa spp.) may be red or orange and should be harvested when they’re plump and firm, with just a little give to them when you squeeze. You may hear that rose hips are sweeter after a frost, but you run the risk of them drying or rotting if you wait that long. Since you’ll add sugar to the rose hips to make this syrup, their sweetness is less of a worry, and I suggest you harvest your rose hips as soon as they’re ripe. If you plan to use the rose hips without additional sugar, waiting until later in the season will provide a sweeter fruit.
If it’s not rose hip season where you live, you can rehydrate dried rose hips to use as a garnish. Steep them in distilled rose water for a little extra flavor.
Rachel Ford, CEO of FML (Ford Marketing Lab), is the national gin ambassador for Diageo, representing Tanqueray, Booth’s, and Gordon’s gin. She earned her bachelor’s degree in business administration, but the lure of the cocktail proved irresistible and Rachel soon left the world of business for the world of craft cocktails. She has won national cocktail competitions, designed innovative cocktail menus for bars on both coasts, and crisscrossed the country educating the public about Diageo gins.
She especially enjoys teaching nonbartenders about mixology. “Bartending should be exciting, friendly, and never intimidating. We should make it accessible to everyone. My favorite guests, when working behind the bar, are the ones who know very little but have that curiosity and are happy to learn and try. Making someone’s world open up to new experiences and offering a drink that caters to their individual palate is the most exciting thing about bartending for me.”
Rachel is drawn to gin for its depth, complexity, and mixability in cocktails. When creating a new cocktail, she likes to start with something familiar, then give it a twist, or three. The traditional French 75 cocktail is made from gin, champagne, lemon juice, and sugar. It’s named after the World War II French 75 mm field gun because drinkers thought it packed a similar wallop.
Rachel’s take on this classic is smooth, balanced, and clever. She uses rose hips in two different forms (syrup and actual fruit) and substitutes sparkling rosé for the champagne to give the cocktail an extra layer of rosiness.
Combine the gin, rose hip syrup, and sumac-ade in a shaker full of ice and shake for 30 seconds. Strain into a champagne flute and top with the sparkling rosé. Garnish with rose hips.
This category includes some wild edibles you might not think of as fruits, such as juniper berries, pink peppercorns, spicebush berries, and schisandra fruit. These small, hard fruits may feel dry even when they’re fresh. They are most often used as spices, but technically they’re fruits, and they have lots of flavor to offer.
You can use these fruits fresh or dried to make a syrup. Either way, because they’re not juicy, you need to cook them longer to extract their flavor, making what is called a decoction. A decoction is similar to an infusion in that it uses hot water to extract flavor from a plant. The difference is that a decoction requires you to actually boil the plant in the water. Decocting is reserved for tougher plant parts, like roots, woody stems, and dry fruits and seeds.
Makes 1 1 / 2 cups
Juniper syrup combines the bitter flavor of concentrated juniper berries with the sweetness of a simple syrup. In the Santa Fe Sundowner, that plays well against the floral lavender and also reinforces the juniper flavor typical of gin.
Roughly break up the juniper berries in a spice grinder or mortar and pestle. Combine with the water and sugar in a saucepan and bring to a boil, whisking to dissolve the sugar. Reduce the heat and simmer gently for 20 minutes. Remove the syrup from the heat, cover, and allow it to steep overnight. Strain the liquid into a glass bottle or canning jar.
The syrup will keep up to 3 months in the refrigerator. For long-term storage, process half-pint jars in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Leave 1⁄4 inch headspace.
Many species of juniper produce edible berries (technically, fleshy cones), but the fruit of common juniper (Juniperus communis) is generally considered to be the most flavorful. Common juniper may be a low-growing shrub or a tall tree. Eastern red cedar (J. virginiana) also produces tasty, edible berries and is the most common juniper in the eastern United States.
There’s some controversy about whether it’s safe to eat juniper berries, but for most species this relates to quantity. If eaten in giant handfuls over an extended period of time, juniper berries may be toxic. Or not.
Juniper berries take 2 to 3 years to ripen, so you’ll often find both green (unripe) and purple/blue (ripe) fruit on the tree at the same time. Only pick ripe, dark blue or purple berries. Unripe berries taste terrible. To preserve your harvest for up to a year, dry juniper berries in a dehydrator at about 95°F (35°C), until they are hard and brittle.
Juniper and lavender both grow well in hot, dry climates like New Mexico, where this cocktail was conceived. Lavender’s flavor is strongest when the buds haven’t quite opened, so you’ll have to sacrifice a little beauty in your garden to create some magic behind the bar. (Or you can order dried lavender buds online.)
With its strong scent and flavor, lavender quickly infuses the gin that is used as the base. Making ice cubes with a sprig of it adds a surprise finishing touch to the composed drink.
Boil enough water to fill an ice cube tray, then let it cool. (Boiling ensures a clear ice cube, which doesn’t taste better but is prettier to look at.) Fill the tray with water, place a lavender flower spike in each cube, cover the tray with plastic wrap, and freeze.
Combine the gin and juniper syrup in a shaker full of ice and shake for 30 seconds. Strain into a rocks glass, add the seltzer, and finish with a lavender ice cube.
Makes 1–1 1 / 2 cups
Schisandra syrup adds layers of spicy flavors to everything it touches. They don’t call it five-flavor berry for nothing.
Combine the crushed berries with the water and sugar in a saucepan and bring to a boil, whisking to dissolve the sugar. Reduce the heat and simmer, uncovered, for 20 minutes, then remove from the heat, cover, and let sit overnight.
Strain the cooled liquid into a bottle or jar, seal, and refrigerate.
The syrup will keep up to 3 months in the refrigerator. For long-term storage, process half-pint jars in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Leave 1⁄4 inch headspace.
Schisandra chinensis is a temperate woody vine with beautiful, bright red berries. Its common name, five-flavor berry, refers to the fact that the fruit is salty, sweet, sour, spicy, and bitter all at the same time. It’s used in Chinese medicine, but in the United States schisandra is a popular ornamental plant. Most people ignore the pendant clusters of fruit, but I find their flavor irresistible; it’s sharp, tart, and penetrating.
Schisandra berries ripen in mid- to late summer (depending on where you live). You can eat them fresh, but drying the fruit preserves the flavor for year-round cocktail enjoyment.
I first wanted to call this cocktail Two Strippers because I thought the names Carissa and Schisandra sounded very stripper-esque. In the end I decided on Two Sisters because the flavors, while very different, work together so well.
The sweet and mild pulp of carissa, a.k.a. Natal plum, cries out to be paired with rum, another tropical treat. The pungency of schisandra unites and brightens the carissa and rum, giving us a sweet-tart cocktail full of fresh fruit and complex flavor.
Combine the rum, carissa purée, and syrup in a shaker full of ice and shake for 30 seconds. As with all cocktails that use fruit pulp, this drink has a thick texture. Strain into a coupe glass and enjoy.
Carissa macrocarpa, also known as Natal plum (because it’s native to the Natal province of South Africa), is a popular hedge plant in southern Florida and California. Most people plant the shrub for its shiny evergreen foliage and fragrant white flowers, never imagining that the fruit is quite sweet.
Natal plum fruit ripens to a deep cherry red and should be picked when the fruit is soft and slightly squishy to the touch. The skins are edible, and you can run the whole fruits through a food mill to remove the seeds.
Orgeat (pronounced OR-zhea) is the name of a classic cocktail ingredient. It’s essentially a syrup made from blanched almonds, with a little rose or orange flower water and a little cognac added to it. Orgeat adds a milky sweetness to cocktails and is often used in tiki drinks, elaborate cocktails that combine fruit juices and syrups, usually with different styles of rum. They are often served in kitschy Polynesian-style glasses and garnished with little umbrellas. Orgeat can also be enjoyed in mocktails and combines well with tart fruit juices.
Many types of nuts can be used to make nut milks and syrups, and all require a little extra processing since the hard nuts need to be broken up and steeped for hours to extract their flavors. You can use this basic recipe for acorns, hazelnuts, or almonds. Because acorns are bitter and have high levels of tannins, they must be leached before they can be used. Hazelnuts and almonds do not require leaching.
Makes approximately 3 cups
Unleached acorns range from mildly bitter to horribly astringent, but once the tannins have been leached from the nuts they are mild, rich, and nutty.
Acorns can be leached in either hot or cold water. Cold water leaching takes longer but leaves the starch intact, which is essential if you’re going to bake with acorns. Since we’re not baking here, we can use hot water, which is quicker.
Keep some leached acorns on hand for infusing in bourbon or making liqueur. They’ll keep best in the freezer and can be ground up as needed before steeping them in your base spirit.
Combine the acorns in a pot with enough water to cover them by several inches. Bring to a boil, and boil until the water turns dark brown. This may take up to 30 minutes. Pour off the water and repeat the process several times. After the third or fourth boil, taste an acorn. If it’s not bitter, you’re ready to make the syrup. You may have read that the acorns are fully leached when the boiling water is clear, but sometimes the water never clears, even after 10 boilings. Go by the taste of the acorn rather than the color of the water.
Combine the leached acorns with 2 cups water in a heavy-duty blender and blend until you have a smooth slurry. Pour into a bowl, cover it, and let it sit overnight. (Grinding the acorns in water releases their oils intact to make a nut milk.)
Strain the slurry through a jelly bag, squeezing every last drop of liquid out of the mix. Discard the solids and measure the liquid. Put the liquid in a saucepan with an equal amount of sugar and whisk to combine over medium heat. When the sugar is thoroughly dissolved, remove the syrup from the heat and allow it to cool.
Add the cognac and rose water or orange flower water to the syrup. The cognac acts as both a flavoring and a preservative. The flower water adds a subtle but definite flavor.
Acorn orgeat will keep in the refrigerator for up to a month. This is an emulsion, not a solution, which means the liquid will separate over time. A quick shake will blend everything together again and render the orgeat ready to use.
I’m often asked what kind of acorns (Quercus spp.) I prefer to cook with, those from red oaks or those from white oaks. White oak acorns are generally considered less bitter than red oak acorns, but that makes no difference to me, since I’m going to leach them anyway. I simply gather the biggest acorns I can find because the most labor-intensive part of processing acorns is the shelling.
Acorns can easily be cracked by placing them between layers of a dish towel, then smacking them with a rubber mallet. You can also use a nut cracker. Either way, you have to pry the nut meat out of the shell with your fingers or a nut pick. You may have to leach red oak acorns longer than you would white oak acorns, but leaching is a piece of cake compared to shelling.
Gather large acorns as soon as possible after they’ve fallen from the trees. Discard any acorns with a small hole in them. This is the exit hole of an oak weevil larva that has been feeding on the nut all summer.
The beer cocktail might sound like a novelty item, but it’s been around for centuries. Combinations of beer, rum, eggs, and spices were popular among sailors in the 1700s. The name of this drink was inspired by both the woodland ingredients (mushrooms and acorns) and the colloquial meaning of the word hollow, a rural valley where you might find hobbits, moonshiners, or both.
Take into consideration the flavors of both the beer and the spirit you want to work with. Then ask yourself whether you want them to complement or contrast with each other. This cocktail was born after I infused some bourbon with candy cap mushrooms. The dried mushrooms have a strong maple syrup scent, but the infusion wasn’t sweet, as I expected. In fact, it was almost bitter in a beery kind of way.
I tried several beers, some that shared the bitter flavor profile of the infused bourbon, some that contrasted with it. In the end I chose one with hints of fruit and a little sweetness. It balanced the bourbon and the carbonation brightened and lightened the drink as a whole.
The inclusion of egg makes this drink a flip, a category of cocktails that uses eggs to produce a creamy texture. If you’re uncomfortable with raw eggs, you can leave it out.
Combine the bourbon, orgeat, verjuice, and half of an egg in a shaker and dry-shake for 30 seconds. Add ice and shake again for 30 seconds to thoroughly chill the cocktail. Strain into a rocks glass, add the beer, and give it a gentle stir.
Both herbaceous and woody stems can be used to make syrups. As with fleshy and dry fruits, the difference in the processing is how long you’ll need to cook the plants to get them to release their flavors.
Herbaceous stems like those of Japanese knotweed can be processed like fleshy fruit. The young stems have a lemony flavor and serve equally well as a vegetable (a sorrel substitute) or a fruit (think rhubarb). While the stems cook down to a green color, the juice, when separated from the stem, makes a lovely pink syrup. (See Picking Japanese Knotweed.) Japanese knotweed syrup is an essential ingredient in a Samurai Sour (below).
The ingredient amounts are scalable, as your yield will depend on the amount of stems you gather. Having at least 2 cups is a good start.
Put the stems in a saucepan and barely cover with water. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and let simmer for 5 minutes, mashing occasionally with a potato masher to release the juices.
Pour the softened stems into a jelly bag set over a bowl and let it hang until all the juice has been extracted. Resist the temptation to squeeze the jelly bag or the liquid may turn cloudy; it will still taste good but it will be less attractive.
Measure the juice and return it to your saucepan. Add an equal amount of sugar, and whisk the juice and sugar together over medium heat to combine. You want the sugar to be fully dissolved; when you rub a little liquid between your fingers, it should feel smooth.
The syrup will keep up to 3 months in the refrigerator. For long-term storage, process half-pint jars in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Leave 1⁄4 inch headspace.
Japanese knotweed is despised as an invasive weed, yet even this plant has its virtues. The root is recognized as an easily renewable source of resveratrol, an antioxidant that is being tested for its anticarcinogenic properties.
Not being a medical researcher or a chemist, I focus on the tastier aspects of this plant. Its tart, bright, slightly vegetal flavor works well in a simple syrup, and that, in turn, is an excellent mixer for a light, unpeated whiskey. You could use any quality blend or single malt, but using a Japanese whisky lets me call this a Samurai Sour. Who would have thought that a tribute cocktail to the Japanese warrior caste would be pink? Keep an open mind, gentlemen.
If you have an aversion to raw egg whites, you can skip that part, but you’ll be missing out. The egg whites, when properly shaken, add a silkiness to the drink, creating an emulsion that is slightly thick and very smooth. The bitters are a finishing touch, not only adding another layer of complexity but also keeping the egg whites smelling fresh (see Using Egg Whites). Use homemade bitters (see chapter 5), or try a store-bought grapefruit bitters to add an edge of citrus to the cocktail.
Combine the whisky, knotweed syrup, and egg white in a shaker and dry-shake for 30 seconds. Add ice to the shaker and shake again for 30 seconds to thoroughly chill the cocktail. Strain into a chilled rocks glass and top with a few drops of bitters.
Makes approximately 3 cups
Woody stems, like sassafras twigs, require longer cooking but are just as easy to make into syrups as soft stems. Prune off enough twigs to fill a cup measure when the twigs are cut into 1-inch pieces. An estimate is fine. My favorite way to use sassafras twig syrup is combined with Scotch in a Don’t Sass Me.
Combine the water, sugar, and sassafras twigs in a pot. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer, covered, for 20 minutes. Strain off and discard the twigs. The end result will be pale yellow and generally fruity, with overtones of lemon. Store in a glass bottle or canning jar.
The syrup will keep up to 3 months in the refrigerator. For long-term storage, process half-pint jars in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Leave 1⁄4 inch headspace.
Two parts of the sassafras tree (Sassafras albidum) make excellent cocktail ingredients: the fresh young twigs and the roots. Sassafras twigs are one of my favorite things to forage in winter because they’re so easy to identify in the landscape and not much else is available when you’re blanketed in snow. Sassafras twigs stay green all year round, so even if you’ve forgotten exactly where the sassafras trees are, you can find them easily. (See also Picking Sassafras Root.)
I started this recipe looking to riff on a classic rickey. A rickey is a highball cocktail containing a base spirit (usually gin, bourbon, or rye) with lime and sparkling water. No sugar. It’s a refreshing drink and a great alternative to a gin and tonic. But I wanted something a little more spirit forward, so I decided to reduce the sparkling water and try Scotch as a base spirit.
Sassafras twig syrup is thick and smooth, with a spicy, lemony flavor. Combine that with the tart verjuice and you have two layers of lemon in this glass. It’s a great combination with the Scotch whisky, and it’s delicious without any seltzer at all. Try a sip and see what you think. If it’s a little too strong for your taste, stir in an ounce of seltzer after shaking and straining the base of the cocktail. Equally delicious.
If you like the flavor combination but want something a little lighter and more casually sippable, strain the base ingredients into a highball glass and top off with 3 ounces of seltzer for a closer approximation of a classic rickey.
Combine the whisky, sassafras twig syrup, and verjuice in a shaker full of ice and shake for 30 seconds. Strain into a coupe and add seltzer, if desired.
Like woody twigs, roots and rhizomes require longer cooking to release their flavors. The recipe that follows can be used for both wild ginger rhizomes and sassafras roots, and both roots can be used fresh or dried. Wild ginger has a darker flavor than tropical ginger, but that flavor is complex, spicy, and delicious. Sassafras root produces a syrup with a wonderful pink color and a flavor reminiscent of root beer, for which it was one of the original flavorings.
Makes approximately 1 cup
This versatile syrup enlivens many beverages. To make homemade wild ginger ale, mix 1 tablespoon of syrup into 8 ounces of club soda, add ice, and stir. You may never buy bottled ginger ale again. If you’d like a more adult beverage, use the syrup with tequila, rum, bourbon, or vodka.
You can give the leftover rhizomes a second life by dehydrating or freezing them to use for baking or in a dry rub.
Roughly chop the wild ginger rhizomes into pieces 1⁄4 to 1⁄2 inch long, to expose as much surface area as possible. Combine the water and sugar in a saucepan over medium heat, whisking until the sugar is fully dissolved. Continue whisking and bring the syrup to a boil. Add the ginger rhizomes and reduce the heat to a low simmer. Let the syrup cook for 20 to 30 minutes, until its volume is reduced by half and the liquid has the consistency of thin pancake syrup.
Remove the syrup from the heat and let it cool for 4 hours. Strain the syrup into a glass bottle or canning jar.
The syrup will keep up to 3 months in the refrigerator. For long-term storage, process half-pint jars in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes, leaving 1⁄4 inch headspace.
Wild ginger (Asarum canadense, A. caudatum) has a darker flavor than tropical ginger; it’s complex, spicy, and delicious. It spreads by underground runners called rhizomes. If you harvest the rhizomes carefully, you won’t kill the plant.
Gently dig up several ginger plants, using a shovel or trowel to lift the clump of interconnected plants. Notice how the plants are linked by their rhizomes. Make a cut near the base of each plant, severing the rhizome that connects them but leaving some roots at the base of each ginger. Then, replant the individual plants.
If you’re using fresh rhizomes, rinse off the dirt before cooking. If you’re using dried rhizomes, we’ll assume you cleaned them before drying.
This is a flavor combination made in heaven. If only you could order it in your neighborhood bar. The closest you’re likely to find is a rye and root beer, but that’s like comparing a McDonald’s Quarter Pounder to a grass-fed rib eye steak.
It’s worth getting to know the flavor of sassafras root. It was a primary flavor in the original root beer recipe (though it hasn’t been used commercially since it was banned by the FDA in 1960; see below). So it’ll be familiar, if you’ve ever drunk a root beer, but superior, with layers of vanilla and anise. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t say “Wow, that’s delicious!” after tasting sassafras root for the first time.
Bitters are the finishing touch for this cocktail. It’s a perfect example of what bitters can bring to a drink, balancing the sweetness in a way that lets the subtler flavors of both the rye and the sassafras shine. Sumac bitters are lighter than commercial bitters, so you’ll need to use more than you may be used to if you’re accustomed to Angostura or Peychaud’s.
Combine the rye and sassafras root syrup in a shaker full of ice and shake for 30 seconds. Strain into a rocks glass and finish with the bitters.
Sassafras root has been banned as a food additive by the USDA, purportedly because it’s carcinogenic. Most foragers are not convinced. No human case of cancer has ever been attributed to safrole, the active ingredient in sassafras, and the amounts fed to lab rats to produce cancer are so great as to be ridiculous when translated to human consumption. Safrole is, however, an essential ingredient in the manufacture of ecstasy (MDMA). You do the math.
Mature sassafras trees (Sassafras albidum) are often surrounded by young clones, which grow from the roots of the mother tree. Grasp the stems of 18- to 24-inch trees as close to the ground as possible and pull hard. You may need to loosen the soil. Rinse off the root portion (but don’t scrub too hard; you want that fragrant root bark), chop it into pieces about 1 inch long, and decoct it according to the instructions for wild ginger syrup. If you don’t find sassafras where you forage, you can often find the dried root in health food stores or herb shops.
I wasn’t kidding when I said you could make a syrup out of almost everything. Mushrooms and seed pods are unusual syrup ingredients and require slightly different cooking methods than those described for leaves and roots. But the unique flavors make them well worth the effort.
Makes 1–1 1 / 2 cups
Mushrooms might seem like an unlikely cocktail ingredient, but they work well in both sweet and savory drinks. Mushroom syrups can be made from fresh, frozen, or dried mushrooms. The proportions for fresh and frozen mushrooms will be the same. If you’re using dried mushrooms, use half as many as you would fresh. Wendy Petty devised this clever method for coaxing maximum flavor out of chanterelle mushrooms, then used the results in her La Chanterelle cocktail.
Combine the water and sugar in a small pan over medium heat and whisk until the sugar has completely dissolved. Add the chanterelles and cook over very low heat, stirring occasionally, for 15 minutes. Do not allow the syrup to simmer. Remove from the heat and let the mixture cool, then reheat for another 15 minutes, again not allowing the syrup to boil. Remove the pan from the heat, cover, and let the liquid infuse overnight.
The next morning, strain the syrup into a glass bottle or canning jar. Save the candied mushroom pieces to garnish your La Chanterelle cocktail.
The syrup will keep up to 3 months in the refrigerator. For long-term storage, process half-pint jars in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Leave 1⁄4 inch headspace.
People go crazy for chanterelles (Cantharellus cibarius). Is it the color, the fruity aroma, the superb taste and texture, or all of the above? (Hint: it’s all of the above.) Depending on where you live, chanterelle season may be anywhere from June through September. They’re easy to spot because of their bright orange color and may be anywhere from the size of your palm to the size of your fingernail. Most people go for the large meaty mushrooms, which are certainly delicious. But small, juicy, tender chanterelles are perfect for this syrup recipe.
Wendy Petty is an extraordinary forager who lives in Denver, Colorado. She walks the walk: teaching, writing, and using wild edibles on a daily basis. Foraging connects Wendy to the land she loves and strengthens her bonds with her community. “It’s no longer just a playful thing for me to cook with found foods,” she says. “It’s an expression of who I am, because I am so very much of this place. My cells are made of these Rocky Mountains; my compass always points me back home.”
Wendy is a sensualist, reveling in the flavors, smells, and textures of wild edibles. She is also a consummate professional; foraging is both her work and her passion. Wendy cares deeply about passing on this knowledge, spotlighting plants that are weedy and abundant and showing others how to translate those wild edibles into recipes that can be a real part of their everyday kitchen repertoire.
While Wendy writes about all types of wild edibles on her blog, Hunger and Thirst, she admits to having a special love for mushrooms and would never turn down a good cocktail.
Originally Wendy made candied chanterelles to decorate a cake, but when faced with the leftover syrup, she began to consider cocktail possibilities and thought the fruity, sweet flavor of chanterelles was a natural to pair with white rum.
Combine the rum, syrup, and sherry in a shaker full of ice and shake for 30 seconds. Strain into a small glass and garnish with several candied chanterelles.
You can buy carob syrup in health food stores if you want to explore the taste, but making your own, from homemade carob powder, gives you the fresh, pure flavor of this naturally sweet seed pod. It’s the flesh of the pod that’s tasty — the seeds are discarded in the process of making the powder.
Makes about 1 / 2 cup
Place three or four whole carob pods in a large pot and completely cover them with water. Bring the pot to a boil and simmer for 10 to 15 minutes, then turn off the heat and let the pods soak for 5 to 6 hours.
Slice each softened pod along the seam and remove the seeds inside. If you have a dehydrator, dry the split pods at 125°F (50°C). If you don’t have a dehydrator, place the pieces in a single layer on a cookie sheet in the oven at the lowest possible setting. Dry the pods until they are easy to snap in two.
Grind the dried pods in a Vitamix or blender, or in small batches in a spice grinder. You can use your carob powder for baking, but for cocktails it’s more versatile as a syrup.
Makes approximately 10 ounces
Warm 1⁄4 cup of the water, then add the carob powder and stir well to make a paste. Carob does not dissolve in water like chocolate does, and making this paste creates a smoother syrup. Still, you will always feel the grain of the carob.
Transfer the paste to a saucepan and add the remaining 3⁄4 cup water and the agave nectar. Bring the mixture to a boil, whisking to combine, then reduce the heat and simmer for 3 to 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the vanilla.
In the refrigerator the syrup will last for several weeks. For long-term storage, process half-pint jars for 10 minutes in a boiling water bath, leaving 1⁄4 inch headspace.
Carob (Ceratonia siliqua) grows best in warm, dry climates. In the United States, that translates to USDA hardiness zones 9 to 11, including southern Florida, the Gulf states, Southern California, Arizona, and New Mexico. (You can also purchase whole pods if they don’t grow near you.) Carob pods dry on the tree and then fall to the ground. After you’ve gathered the pods, bring them back to the kitchen and rinse them off; they’re often a little dusty.
I love bringing home unusual ingredients I’ve been able to forage while traveling. It’s an opportunity to work with new flavors from distant parts of the world. After a trip to Jerusalem I became obsessed with carob — and more than a little envious of wildcrafters in warmer climates who can forage for it at home.
The inspiration for this cocktail came from the Peruvian Algarrobina cocktail, named after its key ingredient, carob syrup (which is also called algarrobina). Most Algarrobina recipes are for frozen, blended drinks, and while those are certainly refreshing, the large quantity of ice dilutes the alcohol. Traditional Algarrobina recipes call for cinnamon and evaporated milk, in addition to the carob syrup.
That’s the jumping-off point. Here’s where we’re going: Swap out the cinnamon for spicebush dram, which adds spice and a little rum to the drink. Use fresh cream instead of evaporated milk. And make your own carob syrup from homemade carob powder.
Combine all the ingredients in a shaker and dry-shake for 30 seconds. Add ice and shake again for 30 seconds to thoroughly chill the cocktail. Strain into a glass. You’d expect this drink to be heavy, with the cream and egg, but it’s surprisingly refreshing. And very festive.
Jams and jellies are closely related to syrups. And believe it or not, there is an entire category of cocktails known as jam cocktails. They are exactly what they sound like: cocktails with a dollop of jam. You can use jellies, too, but a stiff jelly may be hard to distribute throughout a cocktail even with very vigorous shaking. If you make your own jelly, aim for a soft set, or use it in a blended drink.
Jam cocktails are supremely adaptable creations. Just think about which jam flavors combine with which spirits and go where your taste buds lead you.
Makes approximately 5 cups
No matter how many times I cut open a prickly pear fruit I’m surprised by its color. On the outside they’re a pretty pink, but cut the fruit open and the vibrant magenta color is truly outstanding. Of course I don’t eat prickly pear fruit just because it’s pretty. The fruit has a unique flavor, sort of a combination of watermelon and apple.
When I make juice from prickly pears I don’t bother to skin them. I slice them into quarters and treat them as I would any fruit: barely cover them with water, bring to a boil, mash, and strain through a jelly bag. This produces a perfectly silky juice and at the same time it gets rid of any spines and glochids left on the fruit.
Combine the prickly pear and lemon juices with the pectin in a heavy-bottomed pot and bring the mixture to a boil that can’t be stirred down.
Add the sugar all at once, and when the mixture once again reaches a boil that can’t be stirred down, let it boil hard for 1 minute, then remove it from the heat. Skim off any foam. Pour the hot liquid into jars and seal tightly.
The jam will keep for several months in the refrigerator. For long-term storage, process in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes, leaving 1⁄4 inch headspace..
Prickly pears (Opuntia spp.) are more than just desert plants; they’re native to 48 states and large parts of Canada. Fruit ripens in late summer to early fall and should be harvested when flushed with color. Wear leather gloves or use tongs to harvest; the fruit is covered with spines and glochids (small, sharp, barbed hairs), just like the prickly pear pads.
Prickly pear juice is an irresistible cocktail ingredient, not only because it’s got a great flavor, but because the color is almost otherworldly in its beauty. Who would expect such a gorgeous juice to come from such a dangerous-looking fruit?
You’ll see prickly pear margaritas on lots of menus, and I get that. Prickly pears are from cacti and tequila is distilled from an equally succulent desert plant. But cachaça brings an earthy, almost hay-scented flavor to the sweet-tart taste of prickly pear fruit. Made with crushed ice, this is a tiki drink with attitude. Fresh lime juice balances the sweetness of the prickly pear syrup, adding a tasty acidity to the cocktail. A green slice of lime makes a striking garnish for a bright pink drink.
Combine the cachaça, jelly, lime juice, and ice in a blender and pulverize. Pour into an old-fashioned glass and garnish with the slice of lime.
Cachaça, like rum, is made from distilled sugarcane juice, like the rhums agricoles of the French West Indies. The United States classifies cachaça as a rum, but in Brazil (where it is the national drink) it is considered an entirely different spirit. It is most commonly used in caipirinhas, which combine lime juice, sugar, and cachaça.