My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
- William Wordsworth, 1802

The term formative experience refers to an incident encountered when young that shapes an individual’s character later in life, hence Wordsworth’s assertion above that “the child is father of the man”. During my late teens and early twenties, I was very heavily involved in the sport of lacrosse. So much so, in fact, that I earned what I thought at the time to be the distinct honor of representing my country at successive European championships. The first of these tournaments held in Dusseldorf, Germany, was sponsored by the two companies responsible for the, then, new and exciting combination of Absolut Vodka and Red Bull, and, at the tournament’s conclusion, there was a winner’s banquet, also sponsored by said beverage purveyors. It will surprise few who know anything about national boozing proclivities, to learn that throughout the evening my victorious England team and I proceeded to become, shall we say, well refreshed.

Sadly, the combination of exhaustion, dehydration and red bull voddies felled my youthful exuberance not halfway through the evening, and my leaden weight had to be carried back to our hotel by the team doctor and physio. I awoke in the morning feeling dog-rough and swollen, and only after considering my rumpled visage in the bathroom mirror for a few minutes did I notice something out of order - my right eyebrow was missing.

I could go on and relate other tales of febrile misadventure with vodka - including the fateful occasion when traveling in Lithuania that some burly locals kindly decided to take my two friends and I under their wing and immerse us (quite literally) in the mystery of “successfully drinking” their 100 proof – but I’ll stop here, as I’m sure you’ve understood by now the point is that through these and other formative experiences I have developed something of an aversion to vodka, and do not, as a rule, ever drink it.

Good Vodka vs. Tasty Vodka?

It was with a degree of trepidation then, that I approached the research for this month’s drink. In my memory, I associate vodka with pink, bubble-gum flavored fizziness and the humiliation of having to draw my eye-brow back on with my mother’s eye-liner pencil, so I was initially most reluctant to drink it neat, but with you, gentle reader, in mind, I soldiered bravely on.

In fact, this aversion aside, I very nearly discounted vodka as a drink of the month because we’ve become so saturated with it in the last few years. Super-premium, triple or quadruple, pot or batch-distilled vodkas made from champagne grapes, golden potatoes, or white corn are everywhere these days, and P. Diddy’s cheese-dick endorsement of Cirôc vodka is enough to make me avoid all vodka like the plague. However, my enthusiasm was restored by the exciting prospect of a blind taste-test of organic vs. imported premium vodkas.

A perfect vodka, they say, is supposed to be colorless and unflavored. Its crisp, clean taste, supposed to be neutral, neither sweet nor bitter, hence why it not only makes the perfect mixer in thousands of cocktails, but more sinisterly, why it’s often the mickey finn of choice. Indeed, visually, it should be indistinguishable from water. [Vodka actually translates as "little water", a description that appears to describe the relative volumes of alcohol and H2O.]

Booze = Impartiality

So, what did we discover in our taste-testing? Well, contrary to popular wisdom, when drunk neat (no ice, no mixer, room temperature) vodka does have noticeable flavor. Not only that, but there is a considerable difference in taste between the organic vodka we tried (Prairie) and its imported, non-organic counterparts: Kettle One, Grey Goose, and Pravda.

The results certainly surprised us as much as the difference in flavors. You may not be able to decipher our notes - the problem with taste testing hard liquor being that it becomes exponentially more difficult to retain one’s impartiality after more than one shot – but we ultimately, and contrary to our thoughts before tasting, found in favor of the expensive, high-end, ultra-premium imported vodkas. That’s not to say that we disliked the domestic organic vodka, but we strongly preferred the Grey Goose and Pravda over it. The latter pair had noticeable aromatic flavors, in both cases not unlike a mildly scented gin, with the Prairie organic being more neutral-tasting and slightly sweet.

Kettle What?
Perhaps the most interesting aspect of our findings was that Kettle One, when drunk neat at room temperature, is rank – bitter, chemically, and somehow oily in taste. Of course, we don’t drink warm, neat vodka very often, so when chilled and mixed with something, this nastiness will no doubt be disguised, but this knowledge has caused us to rethink our “call” vodka when ordering a mixed drink.

Alcohol vs. Therapy
To summarize our tasting, I think it’s worth mentioning that the Prairie vodka seemed to us to be a “better vodka”, in the sense that it was more neutral-tasting, but our general sense was that in the world of vodkas you seem to get what you pay for. The two expensive imported bottles did taste significantly better than the cheaper organic, as well as the cheaper imported variety, so we would recommend that you stump up if you want to drink it neat, or use it in desserts like granita or sorbet. Of course, buying organic domestic vodka is much more environmentally- sound, and since it is still a very nice drink, you could definitely do worse than getting yourself a bottle of Prairie Organic.

On a very personal level, I feel I have overcome most of my erstwhile aversion to vodka, because now that I know and like (the expensive) vodka(s), I understand that it was the filthy ephadrine-laced Red Bull that was so repellent. Perhaps this weekend’s tasting will henceforth be considered a new, or re-, formative experience for me, and I do feel more liberated to have gotten over this particular issue. Who says alcohol is no substitute for therapy?

The Morning After
Inevitably perhaps, after strenuously exerting ourselves tasting numerous vodkas on your behalf, we were both a little shaky the following morning, and what better than a large bloody mary as hair of the dog? Well, as luck would have it, our good friend Heather of Gild the Voodoolily had recently sent us a jar of her homemade organic heirloom tomato bloody mary mix, which when combined with a liberal dose of organic vodka(of course!) - by virtue of its horseradish and hot pepper tang, gave us the sharp kick in the jacksee we needed. Thanks Heather, you, were there for us in our hour of need.

If you’re interested in seeing some videos on “gourmet” drink-making (including a nice one for a Passionfruit and Chili Martini), check it out here.

These days, it seems something is always the new something else. You know, Thursday’s the new Friday, brown’s the new black, Palin’s the new devil, Obama’s the new Messiah, etc. But to me, for example, comparing the pain and anguish at dragging myself from bed on a Friday morning after a few drinks the night before, to how relaxed and comfy I am sleeping late on a Saturday after the same number of drinks, makes at least some these kind of comparisons not only facile but downright misleading.The simple fact is that everything that’s around today is not somehow a better, newer and shinier version of something that came before. It’s just not true. There are, however, exceptions to this rule: computers are better than they ever have been, and I think, the same can be said of socks. Socks with lycra in them are so much better than those ridiculous, loose bags of yesteryear that never failed to cause blisters, and somehow managed to work their way down your legs and almost off your feet even as you walked around in shoes.

There are some things though, that have always been good, always been recognized as good, even if only by a few, and whose quality has been continuously improved throughout the years in line with improvements in technology and ingredients. Amongst these is the very delectable French aperitif wine, Lillet.

A Long of History
In 1872, the brothers Paul and Raymond Lillet founded their Compagny des Freres Lillet, and though they didn’t sell their first bottle of “Lillet – aperitif de Bordeaux” until 15 years later, it has been flying off the shelves world-wide ever since. The Deuxieme Empire (2nd Empire, 1852-1870) was a great boom time for France both as an importer and exporter of goods, and it was during this period that Bordeaux first led the world in the wine trade. Not only were the techniques of production and bottling of quality wines being revolutionized, but local vintners began blending these wines with a wide variety of exotic spices and other ingredients arriving from the French West Indies, Brazil and West Africa to make all kinds of tonics, liqueurs and aperitifs that quickly became vogue in French cafes.Made from 85% white Bordeaux and 15% fruit liqueurs juices (sweet & bitter oranges) and quinine, Lillet originally had something of a bitter flavor to it and was promoted under the name “Kina Lillet” as a tonic - kina, or kina kina (or chinchona) is a tree native to Peru and quinine is derived from its bark – with the tagline: “…a potent tonic. It can be consumed, for their utmost benefit, by those with a fragile constitution whatever their age.” Indeed, a double-strength quinine version was sold in the French West Indies and United States for a time and drunk by malaria sufferers.

Popularity Through Advertising, James Bond and Quinine
However, Lillet was really advertised until the turn of the century when it really took off in Paris. To this day, there is a considerable trade in the beautiful Art Deco advertising memorabilia produced at this time with venerable Lillet-branded pencils, fans, postcards, thermometers and posters all still changing hands among collectors. Then, as with pastis, the prohibition of absinthe in 1915 helped increase the popularity of Lillet throughout France, but it only really began to gain an international reputation in the interwar period when English drinkers found that when mixed with gin, in place of dry vermouth, it produced a rather toothsome martini.

In fact, though it was subsequently superceded by the rather more prosaic vodka martini (shaken, not stirred), the Kina Lillet martini, as those of you who’ve watched the recent movies Casino Royale and Quantum of Solace will know, was James Bond’s drink of choice. Three parts of Gordon’s gin, one part vodka, and 1/2 measure of Lillet, shaken vigorously with crushed ice and served in a champagne flute with lemon peel, which Bond names “the Vesper” after his love interest at the time.

And, while Bond may have cornered the market in refined style, Lillet blanc (as opposed to Lillet rouge, a sweeter red version, created in 1962) can be enjoyed in different many ways. Straight up over ice with a slice of orange or twist of lemon is very typical and refreshing, but a number of famous cocktails including the zebra square and Edith’s fizz also showcase Lillet’s talents as a mixer. It’s worthwhile noting that during the 1990s Lillet changed its recipe, and in 1997, after 110 years of following the same ratio of ingredients, the amount of quinine was reduced, and almost overnight, it became the number one drink in Parisian restaurant chain L’Ecluse with 12,000 drinks served that year. Anyone who has drunk neat tonic water can figure out why its popularity suddenly exploded.

With the bitter aftertaste reduced the aromas of candied orange, honey and apple come through on the drinker’s palate like never before, and it’s probably no coincidence that even the rugged James Bond has returned to Lillet martinis now they are a little less astringent. But don’t give in to flashy modern advertising and let some buff dude in a tux convince you to try Lillet, engage your thoughts in the drink’s fascinating history, intriguing flavor profile and retro-bottle design, and you’ll quickly see that la plus ca change, la plus reste la meme.