Nocino: Italian Green Walnut Liqueur

One year. 12 months. 52 weeks. 365 days. That's how long it takes till you know if you've succeeded or failed miserably. If you've created something worth doing again or if maybe it needs a little tweaking next time.

Too strong? Too sweet? Too bitter? Still takes about a year to really know.

Longer than a pregnancy, with no ultrasounds, blood tests or even a heartbeat to listen to. Sure you can taste it as you go along, which can give you a vague idea of its eventual character, but really, as with that pregnancy, you'll just have to wait and see how it turns out. In this case, if the combination of raw green walnuts, grain alcohol and simple syrup makes itself into something worth pouring for friends after a long, happy dinner.

My first batch, made last year from walnuts donated from the prodigious production of my neighbor Jim Dixon's tree, got off to a promising start on our back patio, over a period of several months turning from bright green to yellow to the color of your car's oil when it needs changing. Once the solids have been strained off and the simple syrup is added, it's like tasting a soup before the ingredients have had a chance to cook together. Each ingredient was distinct and identifiable: lots of astringent alcohol, the vegetal taste of the walnuts, then the sweetness of the sugar.

After a year, though, the flavors began to blend into a cohesive profile. At this point, last year's batch has subtle notes of chocolate and coffee, as well as vanilla and a hint of citrus. I know Jim has nocinos dating back several years, each remarkably unique and getting more complex as the years go by.

This year I got more green walnuts from Jim, adding in some I picked—with permission—from another neighbor's tree, then threw in a few leaves per Mr. Dixon's method (below). Back out onto the patio they went to sit through the summer and fall until November when I'll decant them, add the sugar and wait to find out what kind of character I'll meet next year.

Jim Dixon's Nocino

1 gallon-size glass jar*
30-40 green walnuts
1 gallon ‎180 proof grain alcohol, known as Everclear (in Oregon you can also get a brand called Clear Spring at select OLCC stores)
Walnut leaves, optional
Simple syrup (3 parts sugar to 4 parts water mixture)

Halve walnuts and fill jar, adding a few leaves at the end if desired. Fill jar with alcohol and secure lid. Place outdoors. Within a few days it will look like used motor oil. Wait at least two months—I tend to wait four to six months—then strain out nuts and leaves. Next, Jim says, "I'd recommend diluting the walnut-flavored alcohol with an equal amount of syrup, which gives you 90 proof nocino, then trying it to see if you like it 'hot.' If not, you can add more plain water and/or syrup to dilute it down. Around 80 proof (40% alcohol) is what I like, which is 2 parts alcohol to 3 parts syrup/water." Great as is as a digestif or over ice cream for dessert.

* I double this recipe, resulting in a little less than two gallons of finished liqueur.

Read my post on picking walnuts with Jim and Chef Cathy Whims of Nostrana, titled "Yes to Nocino!", and the story of my first attempt last year, "Waiting's the Hard Part."

Peter Piper Picked a Peck of Pickled…Walnuts?

Yes, you read that right. And here I thought I was getting all crazy creative by finally making nocino, a walnut liqueur made from green walnuts, something I'd been meaning to do for several years.

The raw material.

But then, wouldn't you know it, my friend (and master forager) Hank Shaw has to up the ante by posting about the pickled walnuts he's making from green walnuts. Seriously? Pickled walnuts? Ack!

Here's what he wrote:

"There may be a few foods that are more English than pickled walnuts, but with the possible exception of fish and chips, I can’t think of one. Chances are, however, you’ve never heard of them. I hadn’t, until several years ago when I ordered the meat-and-cheese plate at a local Irish place called deVere’s. On this place was a black disk. I asked the waitress what on earth it was, and she smiled; she’d had this question before: 'It’s a pickled walnut. It’s good with the cheddar.'

"I followed her advice and stabbed the disk with my fork, adding a bit of cheddar cheese and a bit of cold roast beef to round things out. Wow. It was a bit like eating solid steak sauce, with a little floral aroma and a zephyr of bitterness that just barely let you notice it. I ate another disk all by itself: Fairly soft, puckery and strangely floral. And yes, there was definitely a Worcestershire-Heinz 57-A1-thing going on here. How had I never had these before?"

Starting the brining.

So being someone who can't resist a throwdown like that, particularly since he also mentioned that they're good in beef and lamb stews, in tomato salads—helloooo tomato season—as well as with scallops and shrimp, I decided to give it a whirl and try the recipe he provided in his post. My neighbor's tree was heavy with some perfect green, nutty orbs, so after inquiring politely if I could pick a few, I've started a batch.

Brining took a week, and I've just packed the salty results into quart jars (top photo) to see what happens next. Check back in a month or so to get the full report!

Homemade Nocino: Waiting's the Hard Part

It was five years ago that I read Martha Holmberg's story in MIX magazine about a yearly nocino-making party in winemaker Anne Hubatch's back yard, and got to try some of the walnut-based liqueur they made courtesy of my friend, writer Peter Szymczak. I kept swearing I'd make it myself one of these days, even participating in a nut harvest and nocino demo at my friend Jim's place three years ago.

Unripe English walnuts.

Originating in the Emilia-Romagna region of northern Italy, nocino is a sweet liqueur made in the spring—late June in Italy, early to mid-July in the Northwest—from the green, unripe fruit of the walnut tree. Fortunately for Oregonians, walnut trees abound in our climate and, from the broken green detritus I tiptoe through with the dogs on our walks through the neighborhood, most of the fruit ends up rotting on the sidewalks or getting tossed in the compost bin.

Some halved, some not.

It's the simplest of processes to make nocino, and even Jim has given up halving the soft green fruit before stuffing them in gallon jars and pouring in enough 190-proof alcohol—available at Oregon liquor stores under the odd brand name "Clear Spring"—to cover them. Wait a couple of months, add some simple syrup, and…bingo…nocino! (Check out Jim's recipe.)

So right now you'll find two gallon jars sitting out on the patio (top photo), and every once in awhile between now and mid-September I'll give you an update. See what I mean about the waiting? Yikes!