The Tippling Bros. a Lime and a Shaker Read online

  Garnish with the grapefruit peel.

  1 (6-pound) beef brisket

  Salt and freshly ground black pepper

  4 tablespoons vegetable oil

  4 tablespoons unsalted butter

  3 medium Spanish onions, diced

  4 medium carrots, cut into chunks

  5 celery sticks, cut into thirds

  8 garlic cloves

  2 bottles dry white wine (because it wouldn’t be a Tippling Bros. recipe without it)

  2 quarts beef stock (enough to cover the meat)

  Your favorite taco toppings, for serving

  Corn tortillas, for serving

  Growing up in small-town Quebec in the 1970s didn’t offer many things to do on a cold winter Saturday for a young kid like myself. Yes, we had outdoor rinks to skate in and play hockey, but that was like a religious duty you had to perform; penance for the one who didn’t show up for the 9 a.m. pickup game. Yes, we could build snow forts and have a snowball throw-down. But sometimes it was just too damn cold to spend much time outside. So we spent many afternoons at the pool hall playing table hockey (what else) and pinball. It was there that I had my first poutine. I remember it coming to the counter where we sat, piping hot and oozing in beef gravy and melted cheese curds. It has been a part of my diet ever since. Maybe not such a good thing, but who can resist something so simple and delicious.

  You see, in Quebec, poutine is a major food group. It’s your childhood comfort food and you spend half your allowance on it. It’s there the first time you kiss a girl and on the last day of high school. And when you are finally of drinking age, it’s typically the last bite you will take before dozing off into your drunken slumber. Poutine: the ultimate drunk food.

  When I was asked to create a taco for Mercadito’s Tacos for Strength monthly charity taco promotion, I could not resist taking my beloved poutine and placing it on a tortilla. Here it is. For a true poutine experience, serve this with fries, gravy, and cheese curds.

  Preheat the oven to 325˚F.

  Season the brisket with salt and pepper.

  Add the oil to a large, heavy pan and set over medium-high heat.

  When hot, add the brisket and sear for about 5 minutes.

  Turn over and sear on the other side, about another 5 minutes.

  Remove from the pan and set aside.

  In a Dutch oven or other oven-safe pot, add the butter and set over medium-high heat.

  When the butter has melted, add the onions, carrots, celery, and garlic.

  Cook, stirring, until the vegetables are crisp-tender, about 8 minutes.

  Add the wine and simmer until it is reduced by half, about 15 minutes.

  Add the brisket to the pot and cover with the beef stock.

  Place the pot in the oven and cook for about 4 hours, until the meat is tender when pierced with a fork.

  Remove the meat from the pot, discarding everything else.

  Shred the meat and serve as tacos with other ingredients over the corn tortillas.

  Serves 12 to 14

  Smokey Pablo

  Misty’s Sleeve

  Spicy Sandia

  Spicy Chino

  Vato Loco

  Ancho Tequila

  Arbol Syrup

  Pineapple-Habanero Puree

  Los Hermanos

  BBQ Daisy

  Mercadito's Caldo de Camarones

  I learned that spice was nice as a kid by watching my Italian-American father and grandfather shake red pepper flakes over pasta until even they couldn’t see what they were eating anymore. It was a de rigueur condiment, but not for kids. When I came of age, twelve as I remember, I started doing the same, initially wincing but ultimately learning to love it . . . and to moderate. —Tad

  I grew up in rural Quebec, where I was weaned on cured sausages that snapped with black pepper, but not much of the food I was accustomed to was “spicy” per se. Lucky for me, my father had spent many years in the States and developed a fondness for a particular jarred hot chile. They looked like tiny bell peppers and were hot and sweet and vinegary. He put them on basically everything he ate. I started doing the same when I was a teenager and got hooked on heat. —Paul

  Biting into a searing hot chile pepper unleashes a number of divergent reactions: escalating body temps, ruddy face, maybe the frantic search for a tall glass of water to wash it down with (which it turns out will not come to your aid after all; it’s bread, rice, or dairy you want to quench a flamed tongue). In hot climate regions, it’s no surprise the chile pepper is a staple: it forces the body to cool off by sweating.

  Not all chile peppers burst with assaulting heat (think of mild-mannered anaheims and poblanos, for example, which woo us with their nuanced flavors), but they all contain capsaicin, a powerful anti-inflammatory and antioxidant alkaloid that stimulates circulation, triggers endorphins, and eases arthritis and high blood pressure—and, incidentally, irritates mucous membranes and other bodily tissue to the point where it causes us physical pain. In brooding winter months, chile peppers warm us up. They come to the rescue of seasonal respiratory and sinus ailments and elevate our moods to ward off blah depressions. They are a natural muscle relaxant, can help clear up pesky skin conditions such as psoriasis and slow down the growth of bacteria-producing ulcers. They are also packed with vitamins A, C, and E, as well as folic acid and potassium. Another bonus: chile peppers are aphrodisiacs, inducing libidos, causing the heart to race, the lips to swell, and generally calling to action all necessary...parts. Something to remember when oysters and chocolate are not readily available. If you carry some around in your pocket with you wherever you...Ah, we digress.

  In 1912, New England–based pharmacist Wilbur Scoville conducted extensive lab work on capsaicin, most notably creating the Scoville Organoleptic Scale. Now standardized as the Scoville scale, it measures the pungency of different chile peppers. How it works: A measured amount of alcohol extract of the capsaicin oil of dried peppers is produced, and then a solution of sugar and water is added until the heat is barely detectable by a panel of tasters. The degree of dilution elicits the Scoville scale measure. Bell peppers, devoid of capsaicin and heat, have a Scoville rating of 0, while on the opposite end of the spectrum, the mighty habanero has a rating of over 200,000. While it doesn’t always hold true, a good rule of thumb is that the smaller the pepper (and the more orange its color), the hotter its expected hit.

  During college, I was working as a waiter in a mom-and-pop restaurant. I had a nemesis named Johnny. We were pals outside of work, but on the “floor,” we were in a constant battle for highest sales and were always trying to one-up each other with who could carry the most drinks on a tray and who could turn tables the fastest. One day a food rep showed up with a sample for the chef. It was a jar of bright orange pickled peppers that were the newest thing—and evidently intensely hot. Everyone hemmed and hawed. Johnny and I, the young Turks that we were, decided to try them. In short order, nearly the entire staff of the restaurant hovered around us. A standoff ensued. We popped the top on the jar and had at it, double fisting habaneros and stuffing them into our faces as rapidly as we could. It took merely seconds for us both to realize that we were making a colossal mistake. I remember feeling a sensation I had never before experienced: a crippling heat, coupled with instantaneous sweating from my entire head. Both of us less than gracefully released the contents of our mouths out onto the table and proceeded to pant, gasp, sweat, and blister for the better part of ten minutes. I can’t recall which of us consumed more, but neither of us emerged victorious.

  But wait...there’s more.

  Shortly after the infernal delirium subsided, the restaurant got busy and we went to work. I was going about my business, ensuring that I would ring the most that shift, when I casually rubbed my right eye. Within seconds, indesc
ribable pain, watering, and swelling shut followed. Before I could rationalize what was occurring, I instinctually rubbed both eyes. That was the end of my night. I lost. —Tad

  It’s ubiquitous. We see an array of it on grocery store shelves, on diner tables comfortably perched next to the squeeze bottle of Heinz ketchup and the shaker of salt. It dresses up our Sunday brunch omelet, spikes our Bloody Mary, and causes our tacos to leak red. There is perhaps no better reflection of our daily yearning for increased heat levels than the bottle of hot sauce.

  If there is one brand that is responsible for the infiltration of salsa picante it is Tabasco. Made on Louisiana’s Avery Island by the McIlhenny Company since 1868, there are now six additional iterations of Tabasco (Green Jalapeño, Chipotle, Buffalo Style, Habanero, Garlic Pepper, and Sweet & Spicy) since the debut of the Original Red Sauce. Certainly, we can rely on Tabasco to punch up our food and drinks, but sometimes we crave more than its vinegary, Tabasco pepper tang.

  Another American favorite is Frank’s Red Hot, which gussies up its cayenne pepper recipe with the addition of garlic and secret spices. It is Frank’s that originally dressed the Buffalo wing at the Anchor Bar and Grill in Buffalo, New York. Cholula, a Guadalajara import, is another favorite. Its rich blend of piquin peppers and arbol chiles reiterates how flavor is more important than heat.

  * * *

  Numbers Game

  Ever wonder, when you’re dousing your scrambled eggs with Tabasco, what those numbers are engraved into the bottom of the bottle? There’s an urban legend that the lower the digits, the hotter the sauce, yet the reality is far more practical: they reference the mold number from which that particular bottle of Tabasco was made. Handy info for hot sauce geeks everywhere.

  Both, we say. Fresh chiles offer a burst of pure vegetal goodness and fast-acting heat that takes over the entire mouth. Dried chiles exude earthier, deeper flavors with a “creeping” type of heat sensation that hits more in the back of the palate and down the throat. Fresh chiles can be used either in their raw, pristine state or can be cooked into simple syrups for a more subtle flavor, whereas dried chiles need heat to extract the most flavor out of them. One convenience to using dried is that they can be purchased in bulk and stored (or if you’re feeling ambitious, dried yourself simply by hanging in a cool, dark, dry place). All it takes is a brief, fifteen-minute hot water bath to reconstitute.

  And lest we forget our good friend Pete Piper, we should talk about pickled peppers as well. They are great garnishes for savory cocktails like Bloody Marias, and their liquid wakes up dirty Martinis and also makes for a bracing shot chaser.

  Tipps’ Tip: Try slicing fresh chiles lengthwise to avoid the seeds and pith (this is where you find the stinging heat) and muddle just the skin. You’ll get all the flavor, but only some of the burn.

  * * *

  Chiles 101

  Anaheim Also known as the California green chile, they are mild, long, and green.

  Ancho Walk into any Mexican kitchen, and you will find these plump, dark purple chiles in stock. When sweet-hot poblanos, the staple of any Mexican kitchen, are in dried form, they are known as ancho. Ideal for meat-marinating pastes.

  Arbol These little, red, potent chiles are known for their woody stems. Derived from the cayenne pepper, they don’t lose their vibrant hue even after dehydration. Try them in salsa.

  Cayenne Perhaps the most mainstream pepper around, cayenne’s lingering heat abounds in everything from barbecue sauce to Cajun and Creole cooking. Use when heat is desired without much flavor.

  Chipotle These beauties are essentially red jalapeño peppers that have been slowly wood-smoked. They rock in soups, salsas, and Bloody Marys. They are perfect to add a layer of intriguing balance to cocktails with a bit of sweetness.

  Fresno Similar to a jalapeño, these peppers get hotter as they morph from green to red. Cook them when they are fresh, how-ever; they aren’t at their best when ground. Muddle fresh fresnos into cocktails or slice and use as a vibrant garnish.

  Guajillo Rich, fruity, and complex, the guajillo pepper is the dried form of the mirasol, a chile indigenous to Mexico. It adds an earthy, cherrylike flavor when infused into tequila or steeped in simple syrup.

  Habanero Fleshy, waxy, orange and red, the habanero is one of the hottest peppers around. It’s ideal for an invigorating hot sauce. While it nearly tops out the Scoville scale, savvy bartenders can harness its beautiful bright, clean, orange, and floral flavors to enhance their creations in addition to its heat. If you endeavor to use habaneros in your cocktails, use a gentle hand. They do play nicely with citrus like oranges, tangerines, and grapefruit.

  Jalapeño Typically, the commonplace jalapeño is green. Although hot, the heat doesn’t linger all that long, making it ideal to muddle in cocktails. Jalapeños add a fresh, vegetal flavor to food and drink alike.

  Jhut Bolokia The ghost chile. A relative newcomer to the global chile scene, this one hails from India and is a killer. Up to ten times hotter than the habanero, it is the hottest naturally occurring chile in the world. Use this one with extreme caution. We have played around with it for cooking and found that dipping the head of a toothpick in ghost chile sauce will set a salsa on fire. You don’t want to mistakenly rub your eyes with this one. Unless you lean toward masochism or really don’t like your friends, steer clear of this one in your cocktails.

  Morita Kissing cousins to the chipotle, moritas are smoked less, retaining their vibrant, fruity notes. The morita is one to use to infuse a syrup, low and slow, to unlock its flavors. Pair with guava or strawberries for a refreshing but complex cocktail.

  Mulato When dried, it’s flat, wrinkled, and brownish-black. With its chocolate, cherry, and tobacco undertones, the mulato is a knockout with añejo tequila, either mixed into a cocktail or sipped neat.

  Piquin These tiny little buggers add a good amount of heat and a citrusy, slightly smoky flavor. Most often found dried and ground or in salsas, they are the secret to Cholula’s success. We often use a bottled product called Pico Piquin as a rim for our cocktails or as a condiment for a slice of orange or mango to chase.

  Poblano Beware: When it’s ripe and red, this native of Mexico’s Puebla region is hotter than its less vivid green sister. Keep it in the kitchen and out of the bar. This one is generally better for cooking—especially mole—than for drinking.

  Scotch Bonnet A bit sweeter than its close relative, the habanero, the scotch bonnet is prevalent in the Caribbean. It’s named for the Tam o’Shanter. We do not recommend wearing it on your head.

  Serrano One of the most commonly used chile peppers in Mexico, the serrano is grown on high, in the mountains. Try it in pico de gallo. Hotter than the jalapeño, but similar in taste, this one is great for adding a blast of fresh, green flavor to your cocktails.

  Thai Bird Chili Also known colloquially as “hot rat droppings,” these small, slender chiles are pretty fiery, whether green or red. We like to slice them into small thin rings to garnish cocktails.

  When we started writing this section, we agreed that we would each submit our absolute favorite hot sauce. I’m often asked my favorite cocktail, food, type of music, and am always at a loss for a definitive answer. “Depends on my mood” is my rote response, but that’s pretty damn boring and no one wants to hear it. So, I went through my collection of hot sauces bottle by bottle. I carefully tasted each one and thought about their general and specific applications. I took notes, and then I tasted them again, this time making sure to lovingly caress each bottle, so as not to show favoritism. Lips on fire and sweating from my eyelids, I narrowed them down one by one until I reached my conclusion. I will offer my favorite, with this caveat: Since this book is about cocktails, I chose my favorite for use in drinks. I do not want there to be any hurt feelings the next time I open my hot sauce cabinet. Yes, I have a cabinet specifically designated for hot sauces. Yes, I do. The winner is El Yuc
ateco green habanero hot sauce, with a vibrant green chile flavor and a kick of garlic on the back end. Clocking in at nine thousand Scoville units, it’s got some serious heat but won’t easily overwhelm. Unlike other hot sauces, it isn’t loaded with vinegar, so it can work as a substitute for fresh habanero. Plus, it’s a vivid green color and looks really cool when drops are added to the top of a drink.—Tad

  Valentina, but it’s got to be out of the one-liter bottle. I prefer red chile sauces to green. It’s got great acidity, but it’s not necessarily a vinegary acidity. Most of it comes from the chile itself. The heat level is medium, so it can really be slathered on to flavor without overwhelming heat. Plus, it holds a certain nostalgia for me. Several years ago, after a long night of drinking in Guadalajara, Tad and I were chauffeured (by a gun-wielding driver) to Mexico City. When we arrived in the morning, we were sort of sobering up and/or getting hungover. We made a stop at a large outdoor market and picked up a foolproof cure for our crudo state: an eighteen-pound bag of chicharrones! To accompany it, we also grabbed two dozen of the most beautiful limes these gringos had ever seen and a gallon-sized bottle of Valentina.—Paul

  Smokey Pablo

  2 ounces reposado tequila

  1 ounce mango puree

  ¾ ounce Morita Chile Syrup

  ½ ounce fresh lime juice

  OLD-FASHIONED

  A zigzag float of blueberry puree (see Note) and chipotle chile powder

  The Tipplers love the flavor and color combination of mango and blueberry, and we wanted a cocktail that would feature both. As we were experimenting with it, we kept realizing that it needed a bit of smokiness to cut a touch of the sweetness. We tried chipotle and knew we were on to something, but it was slightly too smoky for mass consumption. Then we turned to the morita chile, and the world was right again; the perfect balance. As for the name, one of us quit smoking years before the other and was wont to remind the other, ad nauseam, how long it’s been since he last had a cigarette. Call this having a little fun at his expense.