Snowy Day Calls for a Hot Toddy

This morning I awoke to a world that looked a lot like a Japanese woodblock print. You know the ones, contoured drawings washed in delicate neutral tones with accents of blue or red, showing hillside villages covered in a blanket of white. People, if they're depicted at all, are tiny details in the larger landscape, usually bent over in the cold.

Hiroshige, Night Snow at Kambara, 1833

Having dogs, of course, I had to get them outside first thing, so I bundled up in my big coat and boots, stuffing as many extra layers underneath as I could. Being dogs, of course, they bounded out in just their fur coats and, being Corgis, they sank up to their necks in the 10 or 12 inches of fluffy snow that had fallen overnight.

A snow angel? Of course!

Fortunately we hadn't lost power like many other residents of the city, so we had coffee and hot chocolate and oatmeal to fortify us for the day. Pretty soon we'll curl up on the couch with the pups and watch a few episodes of "The Crown," a costume drama about the early days of Queen Elizabeth II that somehow matches perfectly with snowy days, with its muted colors and somber tone.

Mmmmm…hot toddy.

At some point we'll put on a kettle to make hot toddies, our new favorite winter's drink. This one, a simple concoction of hot water, lemon, honey and whiskey with warming spices, was one that our neighbors made for us one icy night a couple of weeks ago. It's become a go-to recipe, so easy that after making it once or twice it doesn't even require measuring. I'd like to think that those tiny figures in the snowy Japanese landscapes were heading home to something like this.

Ann and Chad's Hot Toddy

1 slice lemon, 1/8" thick
1 cinnamon stick
3 whole cloves
Pinch of fresh ground nutmeg
1 1/2 oz. whiskey (your choice)

2 oz. boiling water
1 tsp. honey

Place lemon in bottom of a mug or heat-resistant cup. With a muddler or the back of a spoon, crush the lemon gently to release its juices. Add the remaining ingredients and stir to combine.

Whiskey With An "E"

Whiskey. Whether you spell it with an "e" or not (everyone vs. Scotland and Canada, respectively), it's one of my new favorite things. In the past I've enjoyed a wee dram of Scotch every now and then, but the other whiskeys like bourbon and rye were out of my ken.

Bourbon always reminded me of the cocktails my parents drank with their friends, when my dad would load up the bar with the fine distilled products from Monarch in Hood River (his cheap booze of choice). There was always tonic and orange juice to mix in, for the ladies who didn't really like the taste and those who needed to cut the heat.

I'd toddle into their midst in my jammies, say night-night to the happy crowd and wander to bed, thinking that all those adults I knew from church sure were happier outside of it. Occasionally I'd take a sip from a lipstick-crusted drink that had been abandoned on a side table, wondering why they'd drink something that, to my young palate, tasted like turpentine smelled.

Needless to say, by the time Dave started making cocktails I'd long overcome my aversion to alcohol, and when he became enamored of Manhattans I went along, too. (What a good wife I am!) He's made them with both bourbon and rye, with sweet vermouth and its higher-rent cousin, Carpano Antica.

So when I heard from some local bartenders that the Bulleit company was putting out a small batch rye (above left) to follow on the heels of its popular bourbon, I knew I had to get me some. With a distinct taste of the rye grain, this is great stuff for drinking all by itself. But it also mixes quite nicely in other company, much like the happy Episcopalians of my youth.

Manhattan

2 oz. rye whiskey
1 oz. Carpano Antica or other sweet vermouth
2-3 dashes Angostura bitters
Amarena cherries

Chill cocktail glasses in freezer. Fill pint glass or small mixing pitcher half full of ice. Add whiskey, vermouth and bitters. Stir 30 seconds. Take cocktail glasses out of freezer. Strain liquor into glass. Drop in cherry. Serve.

Cherry Bomb

You just never know, when you open it, which door will dump a bucket o' learnin' on your head.

Peeling garlic was an exercise in frustration till Julia Child taught me that crushing the cloves under the flat blade of a kitchen knife was so much easier (and satisfying). And I used to think that I had to lay out raspberries on cookie sheets to freeze them, a hideously tedious task, until Anthony Boutard told me that all I had to do was to put the hallocks from the flat directly into the freezer, then the next day take them out, give them a squeeze into a zip-lock bag and throw them back into the freezer.

So when I was talking with Nate Albrecht, the young fellow manning the Baird Family Orchards booth on opening day at the St. Johns Farmers' Market, and he said he couldn't wait to get home to make cherry whiskey, I saw that bucket coming and got out my notebook. He said that he likes bings because of the color they lend to the brew and that, while ripe cherries will work just fine, it's also a great use for those left over that you hate to waste.

Maresh Family Farm's Cherry Whiskey

Take a one-gallon glass jar with a lid and fill it 3/4 full of stemmed (but not seeded) whole cherries. Pour in 2 cups of sugar, then fill with whiskey. Cover with lid and shake to partially dissolve the sugar, then set in a cool, dark place. Shake every day or so, and after 2 to 3 months you'll have fabulous cherry whiskey.