This recipe is based on Morgenthaler's rendition of the original sangrita, which is so simple there's not much to change about it.
The main difference between his and mine is that I simplified the pomegranate component. Morgenthaler's recipe has you blend fresh orange and lime juices with good-quality grenadine syrup, for which he also provides a recipe. That makes sense for professional bartenders, but whipping up a batch of from-scratch grenadine just to make a tiny shot of sangrita seemed to me like more effort than most home drinkers are willing to make. (If you are willing, go check out his recipe.) Instead, I call for plain fresh or from-concentrate pomegranate juice, along with just enough sugar dissolved in it to simulate the grenadine's flavor.
The shot itself has a blood-red tint from the pomegranate—hence the name, which translates as "little blood." Mixed with it is freshly squeezed orange juice that's punched up with lime to re-create the effect of sour oranges, then made spicy with a pinch of chili powder. I used hot Pequin chili powder, but you can substitute others, like cayenne, if you don't feel like tracking it down at a Mexican market.
My idea here was to bend the sangrita in a more tropical direction, while using a small amount of cucumber juice for its cooling effect, which plays beautifully with the hot alcohol and chili spice. It works really well. Once again, lime juice helps raise the tartness to a more intense level, while Pequin chili powder adds heat. It's a combo that's proven to work—pineapple is one of several fruits dusted in chili powder and sold from Mexican street carts.
Grapefruit is another citrus that's a great partner to tequila, yet isn't used nearly as often as lime and orange are. To tame the grapefruit's bitter edge, I added honey for a more complex sweetness, and then spiked it with the bold flavor of smoky chipotle chili powder. This is a deeper, darker sangrita than the light, fruity ones above, proving just how many possibilities there are with this drink.
Even if tomato wasn't an original sangrita ingredient, I wanted to give my own nod in its direction—after all, enough people enjoy the tomato-spiked version that it shouldn't just be automatically dismissed. Even so, I wasn't interested in blending it with orange and pomegranate like most recipes say to.
Instead, I stuck with a more straightforward tomato flavor, reaching for a can of Clamato, which is very common in tomato-based sangrita recipes. Clamato markets itself as a tomato-clam juice, but it tastes much more strongly of celery salt than anything else (though it does contain clam as a seasoning). I think of it more as a not-spicy Bloody Mary mix than as a seafood-y drink, and that's the route I took with my sangrita: Using a blender, I puréed the Clamato with diced white onion, fresh cilantro leaves, ground coriander seed, freshly ground black pepper, fresh jalapeño, Worcestershire sauce for even more savory depth, and lemon juice for acidity. It's practically a Bloody Maria, with the tequila on the side.
To me, that's a very good thing, even if it has relatively little to do with any kind of "authentic" version.
The Lemon Drop was one of the most popular cocktails in the US in the later part of the 20th century. It should follow a simple formula of spirit, lemon, and sweetener, but sadly, in many bars the drink disintegrated into a candied mess. It's time to give the Lemon Drop the glory it deserves.
As with much of cocktail history, the origin story of the Lemon Drop is murky at best. Rumor has it that the drink was created sometime in the 1970s at a bar called Henry's Africa in San Francisco, and that their goal was to popularize so-called "girly drinks." But there's no reason to banish this simple cocktail to the dark days of drinking history.
Cocktail geeks often criticize vodka for being flavorless, but in my opinion, this is not its greatest weakness...it's the spirits greatest strength. A clean, well-made vodka can serve as a true blank canvas, enhancing other flavors and allowing them to shine. This is clearly evident when the Lemon Drop is properly constructed.
High quality storebought citrus vodka such as Stolichnaya will suffice in this cocktail, but the drink gets even better with an added homemade touch. Try infusing your own vodka with sweet Meyer lemons if you can find them. Then proceed with fresh lemon juice and superfine sugar to let your homemade infusion shine. This drink's beauty is in its simplicity, and the end result is bright, clean, and refreshing.
You can also consider the Lemon Drop as a starting point for experimentation. Consider swapping out some of the sugar for a touch of Cream Limoncello, which turns the cocktail into a tart (and alcoholic) lemon meringue pie.
Souce : http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2013/04/upgraded-lemon-drop-cocktail-simple-vodka-drink-recipe.html
I love cocktail bars because they make fancy drinking easy: Each individual order is painstakingly prepared, shaken or stirred as needed, poured into its own special glass. When the party's at my house, though, I tend to get a little flustered. There's a cheese plate to assemble, and I have to find the gravy boat, and the recycling needs taking out, and can someone please answer the door?
Made-to-order cocktails are not for the anxious host.
But that doesn't mean you can't make high-level cocktails when you're entertaining at home. You just need the right recipe, one that tastes fancy but is easily made in a big batch for a crowd. The Isla Bonita—a fizzy pineapple punch created by bartender Laura Newman at Mother of Pearl in New York, inspired by her recent trip to Puerto Rico—does the trick nicely. "A lot of holiday drinks are heavy or rich (think eggnog, hot chocolate, et cetera)," says Newman, "and I wanted to make something that was light, fun, and festive without weighing you down."
You start by simmering a quick simple syrup with two split vanilla beans, which contribute a heady aroma that seems to draw the sweetness of a ripe pineapple forward; it makes the whole thing taste a little luxurious. The vanilla syrup takes just a few minutes on the stovetop and can be prepared several days before your party. "Vanilla and pineapple are a classic tiki flavor pairing," notes Newman, who says she loves "how the baking spice notes of the vanilla syrup accentuate the darker, more robust fruity flavors of the pineapple juice."
You'll want to do a little ice inventory the night before: If you have an ample supply of ice cubes and a pitcher they'll fit in, you're good to go, though you can also make a pretty ice block in a Tupperware container or cake pan, decorating it with lime wheels if desired. Just make sure you have a serving vessel that can hold your ice, plus about two quarts of liquid.
Then there's the question of the pineapple. Sadly, canned juice won't do, since it tends to taste sharp and metallic when mixed. Instead, grab a couple of ripe, sweet-smelling fresh pineapples and cut them up (you don't need to go full badass here—regular cubes will do). If you don't have a juicer, there are a few other options. The easiest is to throw the pineapple chunks in a blender or food processor, then strain to remove any fibers. You can also go at them by hand with a muddler, if you're looking for a real workout.
Up to two hours before your guests arrive, you'll muddle some fresh mint in the vanilla syrup to release the herb's fragrant oils, then add your pineapple juice, white rum, and tart fresh lime juice. Give it a stir, then strain it into your serving vessel, or a resealable container if you'd prefer to stash it in the fridge awhile.
When your guests show up, the final steps will be painless: Add your ice and stirred cocktail mix to your punch bowl or pitcher. Pour in the bubbly, and serve the drink in ice-filled glasses. Be sure to pour one for yourself, too—when the hard work of making a festive drink is behind you, you'll have no reason not to relax and enjoy.