Vermouth

Braised meats are ideal for any large gathering because much of the work can be done the day before. In my opinion, braises actually taste better when the flavors have had time to meld and develop. And in the braising process, not only have you cooked the meat, you’ve also created a sauce. Osso buco is a classic braised dish of northern Italy, usually garnished with gremolata, a popular condiment made of minced lemon zest, parsley, and garlic. That’s fine in the winter, but in spring, I like to add two of my favorite spring ingredients: peas and pea shoots. It’s a brighter rendition of the traditional preparation. The risotto, perfumed with saffron, is the perfect starch for spooning up with the braising juices. I’m usually pro-cheese, but in the case of this risotto I find myself torn. Though the Parmesan gives the risotto richness, without it the dish is a little lighter and “more of the season.” You decide.

My first real chef position was at Alloro, a small Italian restaurant in Boston’s North End. In this all-Italian neighborhood, the owner was not Italian, but rather a Portuguese guy named Armando. Some cultures care more about food than others, and, like the Italians, the Portuguese are definitely devoted to their cuisine. Armando loved to tell me about the Old Country and the dishes his mother made for him when he was growing up. This dish is traditionally made with pork loin, but when I tried it, the loin was dry and didn’t seem to marry well with the flavors of the clams. So I decided to try it with pork confit, which would get crispy on the outside but stay meltingly tender on the inside. To give more pork flavor to the broth, I added chorizo and came up with my own version of pork (and pork!) and clams. In honor of Armando, I always make my pork and clams with fried potatoes. If he had his way, everything would come with fried potatoes.

I’m not sure which parent I’m indebted to for this recipe. Probably both. When my mother met my father, she was neither a practiced diner nor an experienced cook. To rectify the situation and satisfy his own culinary demands, my father gave my mother a copy of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking as soon as they were married. When I was growing up, this was one of my favorite recipes from that book. I served my own interpretation of the dish at one of our first Sunday suppers at Lucques. First I browned the chicken thighs and slathered them in a quick-to-make mustard-and-breadcrumb combo and then roasted them on a bed of braised leeks. The chicken emerges from the oven crisp and brown, while the leeks become tender, and permeated with the flavors of the chicken.

Shellfish and beans are a classic Italian combination. In the tradition of frugal and resourceful peasant cooking, nothing goes to waste in this dish. As the beans simmer away with the thyme, rosemary, and chile, they create another invaluable ingredient: a delicious stock. Starchy and flavorful, it’s added to the steaming shellfish, thickening their juices into a complex broth. The cavolo nero adds an earthy note and a chewy texture to the seafood stew. This is a rustic family meal in which everyone should take part, serving themselves from the bountiful platter at the center of the table. And don’t forget to serve big hunks of crusty bread for sopping up all those juices.

When first conceiving Employees Only, we knew we wanted to create our own house vermouths. We abandoned the idea of making our vermouth from raw wine and decided instead to use dry vermouth as a base for an infusion of additional herbs. The primary flavors in dry vermouth are rosemary, thyme, lavender, and anise—the same botanicals that make up the herbes de Provence blend used in cooking. To extract and transfuse flavors, we use a hot infusion method to create just a small amount of highly concentrated liquid that can be blended with the rest of a bottle of vermouth without cooking out all the alcohol. This controlled method of infusing reduces the amount of contact between alcohol and herbs—if left to steep too long, the finish is bitter. EO Vermouth de Provence is one of the key ingredients in the Provençal cocktail (page 49).

Whereas dry vermouths are herbal, sweet vermouths are spice driven. When we decided to formulate our own sweet vermouth infusion with a deep, accentuated spiciness, we found the perfect warmth and fragrance in chai—the much-loved blend of black tea, cardamom, clove, cinnamon, and ginger. The resulting flavor is so sexy that you will feel like you have been kissed by a Bollywood beauty. This intoxicating concoction is the defining ingredient in our Mata Hari cocktail (page 102).

Inspiration for the Quiet Storm comes from hot, steamy New York City summer days. EO bartender Milos Zica wanted to find a refreshing bourbon cocktail that would transcend age and gender. His journey began by creating an infusion using T Salon’s Silence tea, made from rooibos or South African red bush tea with roses, vanilla, orange, and almonds—ingredients all known for their soothing properties. He steeped it in bianco or sweet white vermouth to help retain the softer flavors while showcasing the terra-cotta hue of the tea. Finished with ginger beer, lemon juice, and simple syrup, this drink lives up to its intended purpose as an elegant yet simple refreshing whiskey cocktail. The name hints at the Silence tea moniker while also hinting at the ginger beer found in a Dark and Stormy (page 120).

The Mata Hari makes reference to the beautiful exotic dancer and alleged double agent of World War I who was wrongfully executed for spying and became the archetype for the term “femme fatale.” In Malay, “mata hari” is the term for the sun, literally “eye of dawn.” This sultry cocktail is a feast for all the senses; stunning to the eye, seductive on the nose, and orgasmic to the taste. We use Employees Only original Chai-Infused Sweet Vermouth with cognac, POM Wonderful pomegranate juice, and garnish with dried rose buds, which enhance its bouquet. The result is a cocktail as exotic and (supposedly) dangerous as its namesake.

The Provençal is Employees Only’s most romantic original aperitif and a seductive start to an intimate dinner. Mouthwatering, sexy, and savory, it was created as a pairing for raw oysters to heighten the sensual experience. After years of watching certain cocktails being erroneously labeled “Martinis,” we felt the need to get back to the roots of the Martini and create a gin and vermouth concoction. We use lavender-infused Plymouth gin and French dry vermouth scented with herbes de Provence and blend them with Cointreau to give the Provençal its unique appearance and flavor. We hoped it would rival the standard dry Martini as the predinner cocktail, and it exceeded all expectations. The Provençal is a tribute to the golden age of cocktails when bartenders made many of their own ingredients in-house—it is the archetypical EO aperitif. Both the gin and vermouth infusions are easy to make, and the results are truly extraordinary.

Whether or not this drink is truly an ancestor of today’s Dry Gin Martini (with which it has little in common), it is a great model in the cocktail fossil record because it showcases how certain ingredients were used before the twentieth century: back in the day, maraschino liqueur and orange Curaçao were two cordials used interchangeably (depending on availability) as sweeteners in cocktails. Vermouth was always sweet Italian red vermouth; French or dry vermouth were not popular in cocktail making until the end of the nineteenth century. Legend says this drink was named for the small Northern California town where a Gold Rush miner ordered “one for the road” before heading for the hills.

In the mythology of classic mixology, the Martinez is purported to be the predecessor to the Dry Gin Martini. When we researched the original version of this cocktail, though, we saw very little resemblance to what people today refer to as a Martini. In an act of artistic interpretation, we devised a recipe to be the “missing link” to articulate the evolution of these two iconic cocktails. In doing so, we created a more dry—and more exciting—flavor profile than that of the original Martinez. Our missing link provides an experience with a beginning, middle, and finish that lingers, leaving you craving more. This is best achieved with the combination of Beefeater 24 gin, accents of maraschino liqueur, and the super velvetiness of Dolin Blanc vermouth. Finally, our own homemade Absinthe Bitters round it out and add incredible depth. This drink has been offered on our aperitif menu since we opened Employees Only. It goes great with raw oysters or raw bar of any kind and works well with summery salads and seared scallops.

The Manhattan cocktail we serve is not to be confused with the contemporary Manhattan. This recipe first appeared in the latter part of the nineteenth century and is referenced in later editions of How to Mix Drinks or the Bon Vivant’s Companion as well as Harry Johnson’s 1882 Bartenders’ Manual. This forgotten formula has a higher ratio of sweet vermouth to rye whiskey, with an accent of orange Curaçao and Boker’s bitters, served straight up with a lemon twist. Cherries in Manhattans came later as the mixture evolved into a different cocktail. The subtle mingling of flavors in this version illustrates an older style of drink making. Of course, as with any epic cocktail, there are several conflicting stories about its origins. Our favorite version has Winston Churchill’s mother, Jennie, ordering its creation for the celebration of Samuel Tilden’s election as governor of New York at the Manhattan Club. As exciting as this may sound, it seems that little Winston had more to do with disproving the theory. At the time of the election, Lady Churchill was in England giving birth to Winston, and the only noted celebration for Tilden actually coincided with the day of Winston Churchill’s christening.

Why did the olive meet the martini, the onion the Gibson? It just seems to make sense that if you want a snack in your liquor, you should make it a sausage. Give a new life to those pesky little Vienna wieners, or buy good-quality knackwurst and pickle them in a brine of equal parts vinegar and water. Serve in a small martini glass.

We love Dover sole, or at least we used to. It’s not as sound a menu choice these days, so instead we go for local turbot from the Gulf of Saint Lawrence. The classic turbot au vin jaune is exceptional, but said vin jaune can be really difficult to locate. A crisp, dry vermouth such as Vermouth de Chambéry will do.

It’s late March and green leaves as sharp as a dart are opening on the trees that shield this garden from the most bone chilling of the winter winds. The mornings are still crisp. You can see your breath. Stew weather. Unlike carrots, rutabaga becomes translucent when it cooks, making a casserole the glowing heart of the home.

Like asparagus, leeks produce a particularly subtle risotto. The crucial point is not to let them color. Cook them over low heat, with a lid on if you wish, or maybe with a piece of wax paper on top. Either way they must not brown.

To balance the sweetness of leeks, we can use a little white wine vinegar, especially tarragon, or lemon juice. The addition of either removes any risk of the dish cloying. The recipe that follows is one of my all-time favorites for a good, easy midweek supper. What especially appeals is that although the sauce tastes rich and almost creamy, it has no butter or cream in it at all.

Onions have always had a slightly awkward relationship with fish. They seem particularly ungainly and rough edged alongside the white varieties or shellfish. Shallots work better, with their milder notes and less significant dose of sugar, but of all the alliums it is the leek that marries most successfully. The white of the leek has an elegance and subtlety that is unlikely to overpower any fish you put it with. In a soup or pie, it dances with the piscine ingredients where an onion would tread on their toes. Chowder is traditionally a hearty bowl of food. The one I make with mussels and bacon is a short step away from the big clam and potato numbers I have eaten in Boston, in that it is somewhat lighter and less creamy, but it is still essentially a big soup for a cool day.

Some steamed or boiled potatoes, slightly fluffy at the edges, would be my choice of accompaniment here, with a plate of large, soft lettuce leaves for mopping up the juices.