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It wasn’t always this way. Once upon a time, my drink of choice was a Ketel-soda with lime. No frills. No fuss. Just Ketel One and soda water and I was a happy lady. Well, obviously, something has changed. Maybe now that I’m pushing thirty I’m required to drink a more complex cocktail. Or maybe it’s because negronis are just so damn delicious that I can’t go back to my boring (but wonderful) vodka-sodas.
It began sometime in August. I woke up one morning with an intense hankering for a negroni. And it never really went away. I’m not even sure what triggered that initial craving, but I have practically abandoned beer and wine and all other cocktails. I have a negroni pretty much whenever the opportunity presents itself. Drinks with friends, have a negroni. At home watching countless hours of a certain HBO vampire series, have a negroni. Dinner at Adrian’s, have a negroni. It’s been sort of ridiculous. Like the night I tried to order a negroni at a restaurant known for it’s tequila bar; needless to say, I had to settle for something else. And then there was last weekend, when I called Adrian two days prior to a brunch he was hosting to inquire about the possibility of me having a negroni that morning (I came to my senses and drank mimosas like all of the other guests). Who’s hooked?
The negroni is like the drunken cousin of the Americano. Both cocktails feature Campari and sweet vermouth, but an Americano is topped with club soda while a negroni is mixed with gin. It still surprises me that I’ve taken such a liking to the latter because I’ve never considered myself a gin drinker, and I have never been a fan of Campari.
I had my first taste of Campari at Evelyn’s house when I was twenty-one, maybe twenty-two. She was drinking Campari on the rocks and let me have a sip. Maybe because it’s red and syrupy, I was expecting something boozey but sweet like grenadine. What a fool I can be. I remember thinking it was horribly bitter and just all around awful. But here we are.
Because of its bitterness factor, the negroni is a bit of an acquired taste. It is all at once sweet, floral, bitter and citrusy. It’s considered an apéritif, so I find that it is the perfect drink to have after work, or while making dinner. I love that it’s one of those old world cocktails and like to imagine some handsome writer sitting in a cafe somewhere in Italy drinking negronis in the 1920′s. Have a negroni. I’ll likely be having one too.
1 part gin
1 part sweet vermouth
1 part Campari
orange (for garnish)
Pour the gin, vermouth and Campari over ice and stir. Using a paring knife or vegetable peeler, remove a section of peel from the orange. Twist the peel over your glass and then drop into your cocktail. Enjoy.
September has left the building. And I’m feeling a bit wistful. September is hands down my favorite of all of the months. For one thing, September in San Francisco is absolutely gorgeous. It’s a sort of last call for summer and a sneaky peak at fall. It also happens to be my birth month, which may be the reason why I just want September to linger.
Because we here in the Bay are experiencing a later than usual summer, there is still a ton of amazing summer produce in the markets, like peaches and plums and early girl tomatoes. Last weekend at the farmer’s market, one vendor had so many early girls that they were selling twenty pound flats for twenty bucks. I’m not one to pass up a deal, but I had to stop myself for a second to contemplate this purchase. What the hell was I going to do with twenty pounds of tomatoes? I walked away so I could obsess and do some number crunching while I did a lap around the market. It was insanely hot. I was sweating. I bought the tomatoes. I really cannot pass up a good deal.
When you come home with twenty pounds of early girls, what happens is this: You eat tomato salads with basil, olive oil, and burrata. Alotta burrata. And you make sauce, half of which gets eaten almost immediately, while the other half goes into the freezer so that you can enjoy it in a few weeks when the early girls are a thing of the past. And then you try your hand at canning, which doesn’t go quite as smooth as you had hoped because your jars are a little too big for the job since you didn’t read the recipe before hastily buying them. Lastly, you make a pot of good old tomato soup, nevermind the fact that it is 96 degrees outside. And even though its the end of September and impossibly hot, your bowl of tomato soup could not be more perfect. It’s silky and has an incredibly pure tomato flavor. And that drizzle of olive oil makes it extra luscious. And just in case you were wondering, it does in fact serve very nicely chilled if you feel so inclined.
early girl tomato soup
adapted from The Art of Simple Food by Alice Waters
makes about 1-1/2 quarts ; serves 4
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons butter
1 medium onion, sliced
1 small leek, white and green parts, sliced
2 cloves garlic, peeled and sliced
2 pounds ripe early girl tomatoes, washed, cored and sliced (or whatever tomatoes you have on hand)
1 scant tablespoon white rice (optional)
1/2 bay leaf
1 small sprig of savory, thyme, or basil
1 cup water
Warm a heavy-bottomed pan. Add the olive oil, 1 tablespoon butter, onion, leek and a pinch of salt. Cover and cook until soft but not brown. If necessary, add water to keep from browning.
Add the garlic. Cook for about 2 minutes, then add the tomatoes, rice, bay leaf, choice of herb and a large pinch of salt. Cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the tomatoes fall apart. Add water and remaining tablespoon of butter.
Continue cooking for another 10 minutes, until the rice is tender. Remove the herb sprig and bay leaf. Carefully ladle the soup into a blender or food processor (or use an immersions blender). Blend until smooth, about 1 minute. Pass the pureed soup through a strainer to remove skin and seeds. You can also use a food mill, which purees and separates the skins and seeds simultaneously. Taste for salt. Add more water if the soup is too thick.
Omit the rice for a thinner soup.
Garnish the soup with crème fraîche and mint, or with buttered croutons, or with torn basil or finely cut chives and olive oil.
tomato basil salad with olive oil and burrata. word.