Smoke and Pickles

by Edward Lee

  Bourbon starts as a neutral grain alcohol, mostly corn, and is then aged in oak barrels that have been charred on the inside. My bourbon axiom is this: any neutral alcohol that you put into a charred oak barrel and let sit for a few years is going to be, at the bare minimum, enjoyable. Yes, there are bourbons that are smokier, some that are more caramel, others more cedar, but these are distinctions of personal taste. Even the most egregiously commercial bourbons agree with me; I have never turned one away. So the answer to that often-asked question, “What is your favorite bourbon?” The one I have in my hand.

  The reason goes beyond a personal preference for brown liquor. Bourbon distilleries have made a collective effort to preserve and protect the quality of what can be called a bourbon. Like “Scotch” in Scotland and “Champagne” in France, the word “bourbon” has a long and treasured history, with roots and traditions tied to the rolling hills of Kentucky and the Appalachians—and there are many bloodsuckers out there who circle around looking for a way to capitalize on the name. It is a constant and ongoing battle. For now, the use of the word “bourbon” on a label is strictly controlled by law and continues to represent the highest standards of what a whiskey can aspire to become in a bottle. All bourbon is whiskey, but not all whiskey is bourbon.

  The best Sunday for me is always the first Sunday of the new year. I make it a point to go and listen to Pastor A. Russell Awkard of New Zion Baptist Church. It is a propitious way to start the year. The reverend is a friend and a dedicated gourmand. He is a tall man who leans forward at a slight angle, as most tall men do, so they can hear you better. And he talks in a voice so soft and deliberate he makes you lean in to listen, which makes everything he says that much more important. To hear one of his sermons is to feel electricity pulse through your blood. Every word is carefully chosen. But as with every great public speaker, it is the delivery and the weight of those words that resonate. Reverend Awkard’s gentle demeanor builds steadily into a rhythmic sway that soars to a communal rapture of love and harmony and charity. All the while, the organ chimes and the choir claps with generosity of spirit. To try to describe the experience in words is to demean it. It is a rich tradition of the South so powerful and so loaded with history that I am drawn to it as if it were a window into history.

  I am not a religious man, but I believe in faith. I believe in community. Reverend Awkard restores his community’s faith every Sunday. The first time I walked into his church, I was nervous about standing out in a community whose struggles and history I had not shared in. I was nervous about being different, about being viewed as an outsider looking in. Which I was. It helped to have my wife, who has never been uncomfortable talking to anyone in her life, with me. I was deeply moved not only by just how generous everyone was, but by how they were able to read my anxiety and actually went out of their way to make me feel at ease. The members of the community made me feel so welcome that by the end of that first sermon, I too was clapping and saying “Amen.”

  As tradition goes, we follow up the Sunday service with a meal at Franco’s, one of Louisville’s best soul food restaurants. We feast on smothered pork, smoky beans, pig’s feet, liver and onions, braised collards, and the saltiest and tastiest fried chicken in town. The restaurant is filled with not simply customers, but a gathering of friends and family. They are bound together by many traditions, but one of the strongest is the love of good food. Whenever I eat at Franco’s, there are always a few laughing children misbehaving at a family dinner, and I am always surprised at how much it reminds me of my own family eating in a Korean restaurant when I was a child. No one ever looks at a menu, because you always order the same things; children are allowed to wander off, because you know everyone in the restaurant. And no matter how good the food is, someone always has a complaint about something. It makes me laugh, these similarities.

  And then there’s the food. It’s so different, but the feeling of being comforted and those salty, spicy, and sweet tastes are all so familiar. Not having grown up on soul food, I can still understand how a warm bowl of collards and a plate of boiled ribs can make everything seem right. And I would trade my sous vide circulators for a Styrofoam container of salty, crunchy fried chicken any day. The first time I ate at Franco’s was also the beginning of finding my way back to the memories of my own culture’s cuisine that I had long buried in the back of my mind. I started to overlap the images of all my childhood foods with the cultural complexities of soul food, and what I saw was an unlikely parallel, like I was drawing the same curves on a sheet of tracing paper laid over those images. If my grandmother were alive today, I’d tell her how much I miss her food. But I’d also tell her that I have found her spirit in a soul food restaurant—and in some of the bawdiest kitchens throughout the American South. And that there’s not much difference, after all, between a bowl of congee and a bowl of grits.

  Whenever I eat at Franco’s, I stuff myself with fried chicken and beans and collard greens and pig’s feet and whatever the special might be that Sunday. I sip overly sweetened iced tea, and I lean back in the pink upholstered booth and think, “Oh, this would be nice with some bourbon iced tea, wouldn’t it?” But it’s Sunday—no bourbon on Sundays, for heaven’s sake.

  Jalapeño-Spiked Bourbon Julep

  Mint juleps are a part of the Derby celebrations, and everyone partakes in the ritual. But, to be honest, most juleps I’ve had are overly sweet, cloying, and hard to finish. This is my twist on the julep: It’s minty and verdant, with a kick of spice at the end that makes you want another sip. Serve this in pewter or silver julep cups, and drink it outside on a porch sheltered by a magnolia tree. / Makes 1

  4 to 6 fresh mint leaves, plus a sprig for garnish

  1 ounce Jalapeño Simple Syrup (recipe follows)

  Crushed ice

  2½ ounces bourbon

  Splash of club soda

  A jalapeño slice for garnish

  Place the mint leaves in the bottom of a julep cup, add the simple syrup, and gently bruise the leaves with a wooden muddler or a wooden spoon. Add enough crushed ice to fill the cup almost two-thirds of the way. Add the bourbon and stir gently, then fill the cup almost full with more crushed ice. Top with a splash of club soda. Garnish with the mint sprig and slice of jalapeño and serve immediately.

  Jalapeño Simple Syrup

  Makes 1½ cups

  1 cup water

  1 cup sugar

  2 jalapeño peppers, chopped (seeds and all)

  1In a small saucepan, combine the water, sugar, and peppers and bring to a boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Turn off the heat and let steep for 20 minutes.

  2Strain the syrup and allow to cool. Keep in an airtight container in the refrigerator.

  This syrup keeps forever in the fridge. It is delicious in other cocktails too, or drizzle it over a fruit salad to give it a little zing.

  Kentucky Mule

  If I know it’s going to be a long night, I’ll start off with one of these. The fresh ginger will help to settle your stomach, and it also opens up your sinuses—and the bourbon wakes up your senses. Be careful, though; this drink is so good, it’s easy to have one too many before dinner and end up not being able to taste anything. The fresh ginger simple syrup is key here, so don’t skip this step. / Makes 1

  1½ ounces bourbon

  ¼ teaspoon fresh lime juice

  1 ounce Ginger Simple Syrup (recipe follows)

  3 ounces club soda or ginger beer

  A lime wheel for garnish

  A thin slice of fresh ginger for garnish

  Fill a rocks glass with ice. Pour the bourbon, lime juice, and simple syrup into the glass. Add the club soda and stir gently. Garnish with the lime wheel and slice of ginger and serve immediately.

  Ginger Simple Syrup

  Makes 1½ cups

  1 cup water

  1 cup sugar

&nb
sp; A 3-ounce piece of ginger, chopped

  1In a small saucepan, combine the water, sugar, and ginger and bring to a boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Turn off the heat and let steep for 20 minutes.

  2Strain the syrup and allow to cool. Keep in an airtight container in the refrigerator for months.

  Try this in other cocktails, or drizzle it over vanilla ice cream.

  Cocktails

  I could go on for days about the intricacies of how to make a proper mint julep or a decent old-fashioned. And I respect the passions of the best mixologists as much as I do those of chefs, though I try not to fret too much when mixing a cocktail—a cocktail should not take longer to make than to drink. I do, of course, have a few favorite mixed drinks that are elegant and uncomplicated. Cocktails are like a dinner course for me: I’ll start my meal with one and usually end with one, but I avoid them during dinner itself.

  I always keep a few good bourbons of varying ages on hand; the older they are, the less they get mixed with other ingredients. For most bourbons worth drinking, it’s blasphemy to taint them with colas or sweet mixes. The oldest ones just get a cube of ice, nothing more, but my favorite way to drink bourbon is 2 parts bourbon to 1 part water and an ice cube. It just feels right. When it comes to deciding which bourbon to use for mixing in cocktails, I generally choose one that is a little better than average, but I never use anything aged longer than ten years in a mixed drink. I’d also avoid using the stuff that comes in plastic gallon jugs.

  The Lowdown on Bourbon

  To be called bourbon, whiskey must be made from 51 percent corn, it must be made in America, and it must be aged in charred American oak barrels. It must be bottled at no less than 80 proof. Most bourbon is made by a handful of distilleries in Kentucky, and most bourbons are made the same way they have been for generations and stored in massive warehouses where the windows let in the sun and the warmth. There are many flavors that describe a bourbon’s character. For me it is the history and the stories that fill each bottle: secret blending recipes, surreptitious barrel trading, moonshine running, floods, and tornados. Many people will tell you that bourbon was invented in Kentucky because of the limestone water, because Louisville was a major trading post, because of Prohibition, and/or because of the weather. All that may be true, but it seems to me that it was because the stubborn, crazy folks of Kentucky resolved to produce this brown water despite nature’s tribulations, rebellions, wars, government bans, and all-out treachery. Bourbon may be the new favorite of the bold young mixologists of today, but it is still made by the same kind of resilient people who have kept it alive for all these generations.

  Bourbon Sweet Tea

  I make this spiked sweet tea in pitchers or big Ball jars. It’s impossible to drink just one glass, and it keeps fine all day long. The type of tea you use is up to you; choose your favorite. Then add a mild bourbon. I use a lot of sugar, because this is sweet tea, after all. If peaches are in season, garnish it with peach slices too. Make sure to keep lots of ice on hand for serving.

  Don’t serve this in iced tea glasses—someone will inevitably think it’s just iced tea and take a huge gulp, ruining his or her evening (or not, depending on who it is). Instead, serve it in small wine or cordial glasses. / Makes 1 large pitcher; serves 6 to 8

  3 cups water

  ½ cup sugar

  2 or 3 black tea bags

  1 lemon, sliced into wedges

  1 lime, sliced into wedges

  1 orange, sliced into wedges

  1 cup bourbon

  Lemon wheels for garnish

  1To make the tea: Combine the water and sugar in a small saucepan and bring to a boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Pour the sugar water into a jar, add the tea bags, and let steep for 5 to 10 minutes, depending on how strong you want your tea. (If you like your tea very strong, leave the bags in the tea for longer.)

  2Remove the tea bags and add the lemon, lime, and orange wedges. Pour in the bourbon. Cover the jar and chill.

  3Serve in small glasses and garnish with thin lemon wheels.

  The Rebel Yell

  I always make this infamous drink with nothing less than Rebel Yell bourbon. I know it’s not the best bourbon out there, but, hey, it was good enough for Keith Richards, so it’s good enough for me. Rebel Yell is actually a lot better than most people give it credit for. I always keep a bottle of it at home. / Makes 1

  2 ounces bourbon

  ½ ounce fresh orange juice

  A dash of fresh lemon juice

  A dash of sugar

  2 dashes Regan’s orange bitters (see Resources, page 279)

  1 large egg white

  Ice cubes

  An orange slice for garnish

  Combine the bourbon, orange juice, lemon juice, sugar, orange bitters, and egg white in a shaker filled with ice. Shake vigorously and pour into a rocks glass. Garnish with the orange slice and serve immediately.

  Anytime you use raw egg whites in a cocktail, make sure the eggs are fresh and preferably organic. You can tell the egg is fresh because the egg white will be thick and cling to the yolk.

  The New-Fashioned

  Everyone’s got their own modern twist on the old-fashioned. It’s a great classic cocktail, but all too often it’s overly sweet—and the idea of adding a maraschino cherry doesn’t scream refreshing and natural to me. Blackberries and thyme are a great pairing, and they play nicely together with the bourbon. This is elegant, contemporary, and a great way to celebrate an old classic. / Makes 1

  3 blackberries

  2 fresh thyme sprigs

  1 brown sugar cube

  2 dashes Fee Brothers’ orange bitters (see Resources, page 279)

  A small orange wedge

  2 ounces bourbon

  Ice cubes

  Splash of club soda

  1To make the garnish: Skewer one blackberry on a sprig of thyme to mimic the idea of a cherry with a stem.

  2Drop the brown sugar cube into a large old-fashioned glass and add the bitters, orange wedge, and the remaining 2 blackberries and thyme sprig. Muddle into a paste using a wooden muddler or a wooden spoon. Pour in the bourbon, fill with ice cubes, and stir. Top off with the club soda, garnish with your thyme-blackberry “cherry,” and serve immediately.

  Rhubarb-Mint Tea with Moonshine

  You probably won’t find moonshine at your corner wine shop, but if you can get your hands on some, this is one of the most delicious and pretty drinks I’ve ever had. Before whiskey is aged in barrels, it is distilled as a clear corn liquor, also known as white dog or white lightning or, basically, moonshine. White dog is available more widely today; a number of bourbon distilleries are bottling white dog for eager imbibers. It has a clean, sweet, and refreshing flavor. If you don’t have access to moonshine, the mint tea is great all by itself. This recipe makes more tea than you need for the cocktail, so enjoy the tea straight up on low-key days. / Makes about 2 quarts

  6 cups water

  1 cup cranberry juice

  2 cups sugar

  8 stalks rhubarb, trimmed and cut into 2-inch lengths

  1 bunch fresh mint

  For Each Drink

  Ice cubes

  2 ounces moonshine or white dog (optional)

  ½ lime wheel for garnish

  1 sprig cilantro for garnish

  1Combine the water, cranberry juice, and sugar in a medium pot, bring to a boil, and add the rhubarb. Turn the heat to low and simmer for 20 minutes. Turn off the heat and let cool for 15 minutes.

  2Reserve 1 mint sprig for garnish; add the rest of the mint to the rhubarb mixture and let steep for 1½ hours.

  3Strain the tea and chill in the refrigerator.

  4For each drink: Fill a small Mason jar with ice. Add the moonshine and fill the jar with tea. Garnish with the half lime wheel, s
prig of mint, and sprig of cilantro and serve immediately.

  Soy Sauce from Kentucky

  The gift of bourbon does not end with the libation. The old barrels still have an abundance of flavor left in them, and they are used to add a bourbon touch to everything from scotch to beer to hot sauce. The first time I heard about microbrewed soy sauce aged in bourbon barrels, I was skeptical. And then I saw a picture of Matt Jamie in the local paper. Soy sauce made by a white guy? I was convinced it was going to suck, but the world is full of surprises. Matt’s Bluegrass Soy Sauce (see Resources, page 279) is some of the best I’ve ever had. You can use it in any recipe where you would normally use soy sauce, but it is milder and rounder than commercially produced soy sauce. Matt’s brewing facility is less than ten minutes from my restaurant. I drop by all the time just to sit in the middle of that smelly warehouse. It is unreal for me to be in the middle of Louisville, looking out over train tracks and old Butchertown, and to be surrounded by the aroma of what I can only describe as the primordial, hereditary comfort of fermented soy juice.