Boozehound - Jason Wilson [60]
At home, however, I find it nearly impossible to find others who share my enthusiasm for aquavit. I’m often met with a response that frankly irritates me: “Isn’t that stuff rocket fuel?” It’s been the same thing with grappa. What is it about strong foreign spirits served in tiny glasses that scares so many Americans? It feels a little xenophobic to me, and I get impatient with the rocket-fuel label. I can honestly say that after years of traveling and sampling local firewaters, there are only three spirits I would file in that category: Central American aguardiente (literally “burning water”); a backyard-distilled, 160-proof Serbian moonshine—the memory of which still gives me night terrors; and Icelandic brennivín (nicknamed “black death”).
And even that might be unfair to brennivín, which for me is wrapped up in happy memories of Iceland, as well as horrible ones of using it to wash down hákarl, the infamous rotten shark that’s served at the midwinter feast, Thorrablot. I can still remember biting through rubbery layers of skin, and a sensation not unlike a rush of ammonia flying up my sinuses, then the shot of brennivín, burning like kerosene all the way down my esophagus. Skål, indeed.
Anyway, aquavit is like none of these rocket fuels or firewaters. Aquavit is a lovely, complex spirit, and I have made it my mission to spread its gospel. Though aquavit is usually served cold in small glasses, it’s not meant to be downed as a shot, as vodka is in Russia. It’s much more rounded and flavorful, and it’s traditionally meant to be sipped straight with food, particularly winter-holiday Nordic cuisine.
We’ve been hearing a lot about the “new Scandinavian cooking” over the past several years, led in the United States by chefs such as my Washington Post colleague, Norwegian chef Andreas Viestad, or Swedish-born Marcus Samuelsson at Aquavit restaurant in New York. For years, Samuelsson has been serving tasting flights of housemade aquavits flavored with nontraditional ingredients such as horseradish, lemongrass, coconut, and citrus. In 2006, the restaurant’s owners launched a retail aquavit. Their spirit, Aquavit New York, is flavored with fresh white cranberries, unlike the Scandinavian imports. “Traditional aquavit doesn’t really fit the American palate,” said Christian Gylche, a Swede who was the brand ambassador in New York.
Though styles vary throughout Scandinavia, aquavit is basically a vodka flavored with spices and herbs such as caraway, fennel, dill, coriander, and anise. Two standard brands are widely available in the States: Aalborg from Denmark and Linie from Norway. House Spirits, a craft distillery in Portland, Oregon, also recently launched the wonderful Krogstad Aquavit, which has a slightly higher star anise profile than traditional Scandinavian versions. Christian Krogstad, the distiller, said that the initial demand came from local chefs who had tasted small batches he’d been experimenting with. “We approached it with very low expectations for sales,” Krogstad said. “But people have come out of the woodwork to buy it.” One reason is that aquavit is one of the few spirits in the world that pairs well with food. “I like that aquavit is savory,” Krogstad said. “It pairs with some foods that nothing else will pair with.” For instance, oily fishes such as pickled herring, mackerel, and salmon. I also like aquavit with cheeses such as Havarti, with sausage and sauerkraut, and, of course, with rye bread.
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