naesthesia of
wn; if an ingredient
flavour, I will sit
e work if you can
what it is that I’m
ng about balance is
inting, or a song.
n an unexpected
Sex On The
s with me wanting
whiskey in a
After all, when I’m coming up with new
drinks for a cocktail menu, or tasting food
to put together a pairing list, having an
idea about how other people might
perceive the flavour is incredibly important.
And incredibly impossible. So I rely on
my own perception of the taste as well
as experience and precedence over what
people like.
“
That might mean an old classic gets
updated to reflect modern palates and
modern ingredients, or it might mean that
drinks for a menu should almost do the
opposite; the ingredients and proportions
are essential, but the drink shouldn’t taste
noticeably like any of them.
And that’s where the synaesthesia of
flavour comes into its own; if an ingredient
reminds me of another flavour, I will sit
and drink and think (nice work if you can
get it!) until I can distil what it is that I’m
really tasting.
For those drinks, thinking about balance
is like thinking about a
painting, or a song. The
drink has to work in an
unexpected way. So,
my reinvented Sex On
The Beach (yes, really)
starts with me wanting
desperately to use corn
whiskey in a frivolous
drink.
thinking about
balance is like
thinking about
a painting, or a
song
I’m coming up with a completely new
drink. Sometimes inventing a new drink is
as easy as swapping an ingredient in an
established drink for another; if gin works
well in a Negroni, I bet Pisco will as well.
Sometimes, though, drinks are a flash of
inspiration.
In those cases, taste is fascinatingly
synaesthetic. When I’m creating a recipe
that I’m excited about, I’m often trying to
make something that tastes nothing like its
constituent parts. A Tom Collins showcases
the particular gin that you’ve chosen in a
simple and glorious fashion, but signature
From corn whiskey, like a
frying pan of butter just starting to sizzle,
I add peach; almost colourless, but taking
away the rough edges of the corn whiskey
mental image. Then some blood orange
juice; it fits in with a Sex on the Beach,
but more importantly, it replaces the
mellow buttery yellow blob with a corduroy
red pool.
Finally, it’s given a sheen with cranberry
bitters, adding a metallic glisten.
Beautiful in my mind, and the drink
works spectacularly… it tastes like all of
its ingredients, but also none of them.
Alchemy.