We're Not In Twizzlerland Any More, Toto!

I'm sure many of you have slugged it out, hopefully only verbally, in the faux-licorice wars: Twizzlers versus Red Vines in sticky battles.  

"Twizzlers have that elegant twist and are slightly more chewy, more...grown up, you know." 

"Yeah, but Red Vines taste better. They have a more natural strawberry flavor." 

And so the argument would go, back and forth, until both brands were gone with nothing left but red teeth and sticky fingers. I have a confession to make: I was never a fan of either, because I always loved black licorice. Black teeth, black tongue, strange breath--it didn't matter because the original licorice was weird and wonderful. 

Luxembourg's original name was "Lucilinburhuc", which means "little fortress." It might as well mean Licorice Land. Or Licorice Heaven. I'm not sure to which of the nine spheres of heaven Dante would assign licorice lovers, though I'm sure I deserve to be there somewhere. The licorice itself is of widely differing flavor and quality, I was surprised to learn. One thing I am not able to figure out yet is which products are from the licorice plant, and which are from the anise plant. 

Some licorice is absolutely delightful, some is odd and interesting, and some is absolutely shudder-inducing to my tastebuds. This is, of course, a completely biased and subjective analysis. There are plenty that are just okay, that fall through the cracks and aren't listed here. Let's begin with the delightful, shall we? 

Yummy Anti-Twizzlers

Kookaburra

It's not local, being from Australia, though it holds up nicely to the many European brands. Soft and almost juicy, with a balanced licorice flavor and very pleasant. The little inch-long twists are handy to nibble as well. 

Schwarze Eulen

The "black owl" of the family, this German owl-shaped licorice is also very pleasant in flavor and soft-textured. Our son Trevor holds these as his favorite. (An example of positive child rearing in action: Trevor has never had red licorice).  

Odd and Interesting

Salty Herring

That is what it translates to in Dutch, anyway. The licorice flavor is very pronounced. Sharp, almost like anise extract, and less sweet than most licorice. It is soft textured, coated with grains of sugar and salt on the surface. It's also supposedly shaped like a herring. Since most of the herring I have encountered was reposing in sour cream, I'll take their word for it. 

Boogie Nights

That's right. "Boogie Nights" licorice, made in Holland by Red Band. For those of you who saw the movie, the candy pieces are NOT shaped as you might imagine. There is nothing tumescent about them. I picked up the bag in Amsterdam's Schiphol Airport because I had a licorice hankering on a layover and because the name got me giggling in the airport candy store, to the consternation of those around me. As would "Showgirls" gumdrops or Gummy Strippers.  The flavor starts out a little lemony, a little salty, then gets floral like violet. Finally there is a sweet and salty licorice sharpness, with a molasses aftertaste. Interesting, but that's not the way, uh huh, uh huh, I like it, uh huh uh huh. 

Gonna Make You Hurl

Ricard Pastis

Baffling to me, over 130 million liters of Ricard Pastis are sold every year in France. In Luxembourg supermarkets, it is common to see people wheeling out magnums of the foul stuff. Pastis is an aperitif made in Marseille, that is essentially absinthe with the wormwood removed. The primary flavor is anise or star anise, with numerous other flavors added. It is herbal and vegetal and, to me, altogether unpleasant. France banned absinthe in 1915, and Ricard reformulated it without the wormwood. Pastis was the result. Having nibbled once on a tiny piece of raw wormwood, I can assure you that it's absence is probably a good thing. "Vermouth" originally contained wormwood, and it's name actually derived from the German "wermut", or wormwood. Although I like ouzo, anisette and Sambuca (and most licorice products), I couldn't finish Pastis. 

There you have it--a brief introduction to some of the products of Licorice Land. There is plenty more out there; this is but a sampling. 

Apple Carts Need Some Upsetting

Having lived in Washington for the last dozen years before moving to Luxembourg, one would think I would be jaded about the "pomme". Not so. Though perhaps a little bored. Non-Washingtonians might imagine that we are awash in a cascade of fresh, tree-ripened, locally grown and superior tasting apples. That's also not so. My erstwhile Seattle supermarkets have the same apple lineup as most of the U.S.: juicy yet flavor-challenged Fujis, mushy or cardboardy Red Delicious, dry and tart Granny Smith, mushy and bland Rome Beauties, and a few more that can be found pretty much anywhere. 

The root of the problem is that the Washington crop is expected to last for an entire year, until next year's harvest comes in. The result is that apples are picked slightly green so they can be manhandled and refrigerated in nitrogen flooded warehouses. Granted, Washington farmers markets have better alternatives than these, though the pickings can be slim. 

What brings this to mind is my visit recently to the Apple Festival in Steinsel, a community just a few minutes north of Luxembourg City. Although  we got there mid-morning, there was almost nobody there, and the morning fog hadn't burned off yet. The trees were skinny little things, saplings really, layed out in efficient orchard rows. They were so laden with fruit that the branches shouldn't have been able to hold all that weight.

Given the option of picking our own, or just going into the sales tent and digging through the bins for what we wanted that was already picked, we chose the latter because the "U-pick" option hadn't started yet, we had two small children whose energy levels rise and fall like that of energetic hummingbirds, and mostly because the already picked apples looked really good. It was hard to choose among the varieties, so we got a handful of each. 

In the photo at right, clockwise from the top left: Braeburn, Spion, Cox, Golden and Boskoop. The Golden was huge and yellow-green, and tasted like a cross between a Golden Delicious and a Pippin. The Boskoop was a russet apple that balanced sweetness and tartness beautifully, with bursting juiciness. It was distinctly perfumey and featured a slight tropical fruit flavor akin to a green mango. The Spion was red and green, also very crisp and juicy. The Cox was a small red russet apple with pleasing tartness. The Braeburn, one of the flavor stars in Washington supermarkets, was crunchy and tart but not very juicy. It was very solid with an astringent finish and a grainy texture.

The majority of the apples picked had a date with the cider press. We bought a couple bottles of apple juice that had been pressed that morning. It was light brown, very slightly cloudy, and tasted absolutely alive. Nothing Treetop about these apples. They also offered bottles of lightly pasteurized juice. These tasted similar, though slightly less raw and alive.

To add to the shopping festivities, also available were bottles of homemade distilled brandy, or eau de vie, made from apples and pears. We had to buy a bottle of each. 

It is hard to determine what the best use of an apple is. Is it baked apples in a pastry? Apple butter or chunky apple sauce? Served crisp on a platter with some creamy gouda? Or is it applejack? I sampled a couple drams of apple brandy. It was grappa-esque, though with a softer and more pleasant bite. Letting it sit in a barrel for a few years would add to its resonance and elegance. 

Bringing the booty home (this being piratical booty, not something to be shaken or called), the first thing I did was to make an apple crisp using five apples, each variety making one layer. A little cinnamon and sugar, some crumble on top, and time in the oven--it was a delicious and warming treat for a chilly afternoon. Especially when accompanied by a pot of English Breakfast.    

Keeping Malaria and Scurvy At Bay

To make this posting (and the rest of Baklava Java) meaningful, one needs to know that the Chastain family moved from Seattle to Luxembourg in August 2008. We will be here for two years, for Cammy's work assignment.

When we got here, it was hot for Luxembourg, which is to say it was similar to a Seattle summer. Around 80 degrees Fahrenheit and kind of muggy. Having spent summers in the primordial swamp that is southeastern Ohio, and having played softball at high noon in 100+ Texas August heat, a Luxembourg summer isn't that bad in comparison. However, we were looking for thirst quenching refreshment almost constantly. We tried the usual suspects: Coke, Cherry Coke, Pepsi. They all tasted different than we were used to, and somewhat...diminished. They seemed to be less fizzy, less sweet, possibly with less caffeine or phosphoric acid. Something.

Then we discovered the Schweppes Holy Trinity: Bitter Lemon, Indian Tonic and Agram'. Not wanting to risk blasphemy, I'm not going to line them up against the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, but they were life changing.

Bitter Lemon was the early favorite. Americans hate bitter, so a drink with "bitter" in the title would never sell in the U.S. However, it is crisp, balanced and delightful in a grown up way. It has a natural lemony flavor, so unlike the candy artifice of 7Up and Sprite. One can almost taste the zest and lemon oil. It finishes with just a touch of quinine.

Indian Tonic (what Americans know as Tonic Water) is the perfect mixer to go with a good gin. As the originators of Tonic Water in 1870s India, Schweppes knows their way around a malaria fighting cocktail. Although I enjoy martinis, a finely crafted gin and tonic is the perfect cocktail, in my unhumble opinion. Mix the Indian Tonic, a squeeze of lime and a decent gin and you get a cocktail that grabs you by ears and gives your head a shake. Something about the combination of bitter quinine, tart lime and the juniper aromatics in an icy swirl of sweet carbonation produces something more more refreshing than anything else I know.

Back in my college days at Colorado, going to Folsom Stadium to watch the Buffs play was the prime way to spent an autumn Saturday afternoon. To get great seats, my circle of friends and I would traditionally camp out in front of the ticket office at the beginning of every season. Another widespread tradition was the smuggling in of gin and tonics. The correct way to do it was to start with a plastic gallon jug of supermarket spring water. After dumping out the water, shove a couple handfuls of ice cubes into the narrow mouth of the jug. Add most of a bottle of gin, a couple sliced up limes and Schweppes tonic water. All that remained was to devise a creative way to get the cocktail jug into the game (and there were many).

Finally, Agram' is a lovely grapefruit soda. It is a little like Squirt though less sweet and with more zest. It is delicate and fragrant and more approachable, since it lacks the quinine of the other two.

I know how good each of these tasted. What I didn't know was how well they worked: we haven't come down with either malaria or scurvy. I am still a little concerned about beri beri. I am following a rumored preventative I found on the Internet: single malt Scotch, especially from distilleries around the Spey River. I'll keep everyone posted on how it works....