1 cup ice
3/4 cup fresh pineapple
4 oz. Chaokoh coconut milk
1 1/2 oz. dark rum
1 1/2 oz. light rum
1 egg white
2 tsp. bar sugar
8 dashes Angostura bitters
2 pinches cinnamon
2 pinches ground clove
Blend to within an inch of its life. Serves two.
Done. This is about as close as I’m going to come to the Piña Colada I’ve been seeking, and frankly, I’m growing tired of them now. This one is good, though — it strikes the right balance, has the right texture and a much-needed complexity compared to yer standard recipe. The egg… well, it might’ve been too much, depending on how one likes things, but it’s fine by me. I want to add some lime, but there’s no way in hell that’s going to pass as a piña colada. I’ll be throwing in guava next, taking this purportedly Puerto Rican drink through the Panama Canal and deep into the Polynesian Pacific. No, this recipe remains true to its name, with a flavor profile solidly-rooted in the Caribbean. Sailing into temetum incognitum is for another day.
Gleanings? I’ve come to the conclusion that my problems with the Colada have had less to do with proportions than with a consistency of ingredients — the Chaokoh coconut milk is far creamier than the Thai Kitchen, and is probably less creamy than the canonical (yet much processed) Coco López. Short of testing the specific gravity of every can of coconut milk, or making one’s own to an exacting recipe, there’s just going to be inconsistency. There’s probably a fair degree of variation in flavor between one fresh pineapple and the next, too, and at about $12 each I’m not going to be stocking them like I do citrus. I can certainly see why food scientists would feel that there was more than passing utility in a Piña Colada premix, even if it is an abominable transgression against food.
It’s been an instructive experience, I’m glad to say, getting outside of my usual mixing grounds. More of the volume and flavor of a Piña Colada rely on mutable, non-alcoholic ingredients than any other drink I’ve ever made. It’s made me mindful that in addition to their many other merits, traditional cocktails have a certain pure reproducibility about them — a few types of liquor, a bit of fruit and a dash or two of bitters affords one a fairly controlled working environment. Add 1/4 oz. here, subtract a few drops there, substitute or supplant with another liquor that seems right… that’s more my field. I’ll make Piña Coladas again someday — maybe even tomorrow, since there’s an awful lot of pineapple still in the fridge — but I don’t imagine they’ll ever become a standard. With the exception of my Ramos Gin Fizz variant (which I ought to document someday), I’m a largely a 3 – 4 oz. cocktailian myself. The longer concoctions are (rightly) the provenance of Trader Vic, Don the Beachcomber, and their Tiki-worshipping spiritual brethren.
Last week, it struck me that while I rail against the Piña Colada, I had never made one myself. I’d been casting about for something good to do with pineapple juice and had allowed my preconceptions of the Piña Colada to rule it out — to rule out what must be the most widely-enjoyed pineapple-based drink on earth. A gross oversight. After all, shouldn’t one of the guiding principles of domestic mixology be that a thoughtfully-crafted potable, mixed purely for pleasure, will reveal complexities and dimensions which none but the most fastidious professional can match? I say yea, it should be so.
In consequence of this, it must be assumed that the Piña Colada is not necessarily a foully chemical concoction, but is merely a drink suffering from long, cruel abuse at the hands of the service industry. There must be an Ur Piña Colada which contains within its frothy matrix the flavor sensation that captured a generation’s palates and went on to inspire so many imitators.
So, I mixed-up the CocktailDB’s Piña Colada recipe. It’s the simplest there is, and may be the original, though unfortunately they don’t cite sources. Verdict: Blah. Flat, uninteresting and bland. If this was the drink that started it all, I’m surprised at its survival. However, it was a far cry from the others I’ve had, whose origins were likely in a bottle of pre-mix. Pineapple and Coconut did seem to be a worthwhile pairing, and so I tinkered. Continue reading I have found a truly wonderful proof…
Fill large Bar glass ¾ full Shaved Ice.
2 teaspoonfuls Bar Sugar dissolved in little Water.
1 pony Curacoa.
1 pony Brandy.
½ pony Jamaica Rum.
½ pony Whiskey.
Shake well; dress with Fruit and serve with Straws.
(For a Party of 20)
For mixing use a large Punch bowl.
½ can Peaches.
½ can Pineapples.
3 Oranges, sliced.
3 Lemons, sliced.
3 quarts Sweet Catawba or Tokay.
1 pint Brandy.
1½ jiggers Jamaica Rum.
1 jigger Green Chartreuse.
Set this mixture aside in ice box for 6 hours. Then place block of Ice in another bowl of sufficient capacity and strain in the mixture from the Mixing bowl. Dress the Ice with Fruit and serve with a Ladle into Punch glasses.
Take 1½ lbs. of Cut Loaf Sugar and rub the lumps on the skins of 4 Lemons and 2 Oranges until the Sugar becomes well saturated with the oil from the skins. Then put the Sugar thus prepared into a large porcelain-lined or agate Mixing vessel, and add:
12 Oranges, sliced.
1 Pineapple, sliced.
1 box Strawberries.
2 bottles (quarts) Apollinaris Water.
Stir thoroughly with oak paddle or large silver ladle, and add:
1 jigger Benedictine.
1 jigger Red Curacoa.
1 jigger Maraschino.
½ jigger Jamaica Rum.
1 quart Brandy.
4 quarts Tokay or Sweet Catawba Wine.
2 quarts Madeira Wine.
4 quarts Chateau Margaux.
Mix well with oak paddle or ladle and strain into another bowl in which has been placed a block of clear ice. Then pour in 6 quarts Champagne. Decorate the Ice with Fruits, Berries, etc. Serve in Punch cups or glasses, dressing each glass with Fruit and Berries from the bowl.