The Blog of Grog

Just before she left the country again after Easter, our dear daughter Sylvie mentioned some nonsense about her parents partaking of too much gin.  And, bless me, as we waved to her departing dinghy from an undisclosed location on the wild, rock-bound coast of Buchan, I shouted a hoarse promise that we would not buy so much in future.

And we won’t.

I'm going to make it instead.

This means that I will be able to keep a promise made to a daughter and still drink the amount of gin to which I have become accustomed.  Everyone's a winner.

Accordingly, I hit the research decks.  Anyone with a plastic pot and a tap can make strawberry wine or cider, but gin requires some finesse – and who better to provide it than the Airnefitchie household?

By the 11th century, monks in Italy were flavouring crudely distilled spirits with juniper berries.  It was used, without noticeable effect, as a remedy for the Black Death.  The invention of gin is credited to Franciscus Sylvius, a Dutch physician.  By the mid-17th century, several small Dutch and Flemish distillers had popularised the re-distillation of malt spirit with juniper, anise, caraway, coriander, and so on.  (On reading this back I realise I have no idea how small or big they were, so will assume I meant the size of their operations and not their bodies.)  There were some 400 distillers in Amsterdam alone by 1663.  We did always like the Dutch, Henry and I.

But that is surely enough history.  How about the gin itself?  How can one make it?

According to the European Union there are four categories into which different styles of gin are legally differentiated: Juniper-flavoured Spirit Drinks, Gin, Distilled Gin and London gin.  And the minimum bottled alcoholic strength for gin, distilled gin and London gin is 37.5%.  It can be a little rougher in the States.  There are also three different ways in which one could produce gin: pot distilling (the earliest method, involving a fermented grain mash or malt wine from barley and other grains, redistilled with flavouring botanicals); column distilling (of high-proof neutral spirits from a fermented mash or wash using a refluxing still, such as a column still, and then redistilling this concentrated spirit with juniper berries and other botanicals in a pot still); and compounding (simply flavouring neutral spirits with essences and/or other 'natural flavourings' without redistillation).  The last one is not, however, considered proper gin.

Popular botanicals for flavouring gin include lemon, bitter orange peel, anise, liquorice root, saffron, frankincense, coriander, nutmeg, and cassis bark.

After a quick check in the tractor shed, I found a nice batch of ethyl alcohol 'of agricultural origin' (as suggested by Wiki).  I'm sure it has an initial strength of at least 96% ABV.  That'll save some time doing any initial distilling and I could move straight onto the redistilling with the botanicals.  Now, where's my Coffey still?

Ah, there it is!

Originating in Ireland, improved by a Scotsman and further improved by another Irishman, a Coffey still is a continuous still consisting of two columns.  The first column has steam rising and wash descending through several levels.  The second column carries the alcohol from the wash, where it circulates until it can condense at the required strength.  The still behaves likes a series of single pot stills, but it's just made into a long vertical tube.

During the dark days of prohibition in America, my dear departed great-great-uncle Beaver was living just inside Quebec border with Vermont, and ‘cashed in royally’ (in his quaint phrase) by making his own whisky. His first step was getting out the tin-snips and making his own Coffey still.  It's been handed down through the generations, gathering dust all the while.

I'm starting to wonder if there's anything not in the tractor shed.

A quick polish and check of the pipes later, and our still was deemed adequate for the task.

I pour my ethyl alcohol of agricultural origin into the wash, to be carried by the second column (the rectifier) to the first column (the analyser), in which the wash descends through several levels of steam.  It will all circulate until it can condense at the required strength.

I think.  My grandfather told me all this after sampling one of his creations.  I was just a small girl at the time.  I may be remembering things a bit hazily due to the prevailing alcoholic vapour.

After a wee while, I collect the condensed alcoholic spirit from the still.  What did I have to do now?  Oh yes, re-distill with the necessary botanicals.

I make a 'gin basket' to be suspended within the head of the still, which will allow the hot alcoholic vapours to extract the lovely flavours from the botanicals.  Into my gin basket I throw the necessary juniper berries, a bit of lavender, lime peel (no pith) and some frankincense (because I am fresh out of myrrh, and anyway, why not?).  Away we go again with the redistilling.

Whilst we're waiting, did you know that the name gin is derived from either the French genièvre or the Dutch jenever, which both mean 'juniper'?  Fascinating.

Are we supposed to let homemade gin age?  I think I saw an old whisky barrel in here somewhere.  Maybe I'll try some now and age some for later.  Yes, that's what I'll do.

One barrel put in the back of the tractor shed with a faint date scrawled on it gives me a sense of pride.  Maybe we'll open it to celebrate Sylvie's civil partnership, or her wedding once the laws change.

We do love a good nuptial.

Either way, unfortunately, I'm lacking in tonic.  Ferreting about didn't reveal any.  So that's what the tractor shed doesn't have.

A quick word with Alistair produces cinchona bark, instead of synthetic quinine, from I-dare-not-ask-what horrifying residue of a gap year spent shagging his way up every mountain in Peru.

With this, and a bit of lime, lemongrass, sugar and Pellegrino I have a tonic of sorts.  I then spot some Fevertree tonic water in the utility larder – damn.  Oh well, that'll save me making more!

I make a lovely homemade gin and tonic for Henry and myself, adding a bit of lime peel and a sprig of lavender, and we have a taste.

I'm not sure what happened next.  I started writing this on Wednesday and now it's Friday and I haven't the foggiest where Henry is, and the dogs keep whining at the treasure chest in the entrance hall.

I wouldn't go in there if I were you.

 I wasn’t meant to distil it twice was I?