Falernum Frenzy

DMR, currently gallivanting around on the high seas, has promised to purchase for me a bottle of falernum upon landfall in Curacao or Oranjestad. Since she won't return Stateside for some time yet, and the Diva and I required this Caribbean nectar for our Cheese and Cocktails carnival yesterday, I was obliged to make my own. After all, you can't make a Rum Swizzle without falernum, can you?

I followed the procedure laid out when first researching the ingredients required for our island drinks: my initial concern that the recipe's stipulation of forty cloves was a typo diminished when I discovered that, when you come to pile 'em up, forty isn't all that many.

First, I combined the lime zest (from four limes rather than the called-for nine: clearly, Paul Clarke is an eccentric gazillionaire for whom money is no object); toasted slivered almonds; julienned fresh ginger; and toasted cloves in a bowl.

I added white rum to cover and let it sit over night. The next day, the aromas wafting from the bowl were staggering:

I shook superfine sugar and water in a big Ball jar (everybody should have several of these around the house whether they are jam-makers or not - they are unbelievably useful for a whole host of sins); added the strained rum mixture; almond extract; and some lime juice.

The final result was not to be believed. Aromatic, spicy, slightly sweet (but not too much) - we all agreed it was delicious straight off a spoon. I felt like a bootlegger when I decanted the hooch into my Mason jar -  an added frisson courtesy of the estimable Jarden Corporation.

Combined with dark rum, amber rum, orange juice, pineapple juice, and a splash of Angostura bitters, I had heaven in a glass.

The Diva and I pondered other uses to which the magical potion might be put. Heated and reduced slightly, it would be an excellent poaching liquid for pears or tropical fruit such as pineapple. Add some heat (cayenne, perhaps), and it would make a mysterious deglazing liquid for pork. It might serve as a useful thinning agent (and added kick) for banana jam. Plus, I suppose, you could use it for any number of Tiki cocktails if such things are your style: I think I would prefer the traditional nineteenth-century garnish of wormwood bitters rather than umbrellas and coconut shells, but that's just me.

Of course, cocktail contemplation was only half our purpose and we did indeed produce two pounds of very fine mozzarella di Jersey mucca. We did some experimentation and learned some new tricks, but I believe the most salutary lesson involved sobriety and the importance of labelling one's ingredients. It transpires that citric acid dissolved in water; lipase dissolved in water; and rennet dissolved in water are indistinguishable from one another, especially when the casarae have foolishly employed three identical bowls. Astonishingly enough, after a round of Bermudian coolers it can be a tad challenging to keep one's mis en place organized, and we're pretty sure we got the rennet and citric acid mixed up. Never mind: the snafu turned out to have made no discernable difference to the quality of the final formaggio, despite some visually worrying developments along the way.

After all, how can you go wrong with cheese and cocktails?

Tonight: I cook dinner for a refugee from the Fukushima nuclear crisis and find out for myself just how close the planet came to going *phoom*