Honeyed Words: Scaring up a Ginger Scald

Scaring up a Ginger Scald · 2 May 2011

A Ginger Scald The Lies of Locke Lamora is fertile ground for cooking through a good book. Locke and his band of Gentlemen Bastards not only revel in swindling their way to fortune, they enjoy cooking the fruits of their labor. And while the feasts described sounded scrumptious, the recipe that really characterized the story was the ginger scald. Locke, in one of his many guises is hosted on a pleasure barge to discuss business. He's playing an outsider, an acute businessman from a neighboring realm in which the customs are quite different, and when his hosts offer him a drink, he conveys suspicion borne of experience.

'A drink would be very pleasing,' he said. 'But, ah, I fear that you shall have no reassurance for my condition, kind Doña Sofia. I have done much business in your city; I know how drinking is done here, when men and women speak of business.'

It struck me that his hosts took this as a challenge, and perhaps it was meant that way, because the ginger scald ordered for Locke was so demanding, it could be construed as a hazing ritual.

Conté moved adroitly to fill this request, first selecting a tall crystal wine flute, into which he poured two fingers of the purest Camorri ginger oil, the color of scorched cinnamon. To this he added a sizable splash of pear brandy, followed by a transparent heavy liquor called ajento, which was actually a cooking wine flavored with radishes.

This description was so exotic, so unlike any mixture of flavors I've ever tried, I had to make one. As you might surmise, putting together the ingredients proved to be somewhat of an adventure and since the recipe is straight from the book, I'll include instructions only for the parts of the sum.

Ginger Scald – The assembled ingredients

Maraksa Kroskovac Pear Brandy and homemage Ajento (radish wine) with ginger oil in swan container

Ginger Oil

1.5 cups sliced or shredded ginger. You really want to maximize surface area here, so slice thinly.
About 1.25 cups canola oil (selected for its mild flavor, the better to taste the ginger)

You can buy ginger oil, but finding large quantities proved both inconvenient and expensive, so I made my own. If you do opt for purchasing, make sure you are buying ginger infused cooking oil, and not ginger essential oil.

Place ginger in a saucepan (one with a pour-spout if you've got it) and cover with oil.

Using medium heat, bring oil to a just below a simmer. As soon as you see the tiniest bubbles in the oil, turn the heat to low, and if bubbles continue to surface, turn it down even more. The idea here is to give the ginger a nice lukewarm bath in oil, just enough to activate infusion without actually cooking the oil.

Bathe ginger for twenty minutes, uncovered.

Let cool and strain oil through fine meshed strainer or cheesecloth and into a tightly sealed container.

Store at room temperature (or refrigerate after making your scald for longer shelf life). Ginger oil can last several months. Toss if it starts to turn cloudy.

Pear Brandy

I imagined a milky brandy could exist. After all, brandy is distilled from fruit, pulp is somewhat milky, and so it seems logical that a raw brandy (such as one which would go into a drink intended to burn its victim's throat) would be cloudy.

If there is such a thing as cloudy brandy, I couldn't find it, and since I abhor dairy products mixed with alcohol (excepting when The Big Lebowski is involved), I declined to induce my brandy to milkiness more literally. Instead, I selected Maraska Kruskovac Pear Brandy. Though quite tranlucent it's colored an orange that is not natural to any pear I've ever seen and so seemed appropriate for this otherworldly drink.

Ajento

1 pound radishes
2 cups white wine. I wanted something sweet to balance the ginger, so I chose a Gewurztraminer

Remember bathing the ginger? We're going to do the exact same thing for the radishes. Repeat instructions for ginger oil substituting 'radish' for 'giner' and 'wine' for 'oil' until you get to storage.

Store the ajento chilled. As with most wine, it will go flat rather quickly once uncorked, so plan on using it within a week.

And the outcome? A drink just a demanding as I anticipated. I have to admit, I skimped on the full recipe; I wasn't quite willing to invest in food-safe metals that could be heated to forge-like temperatures.

When this cocktail was mixed, Conté wrapped a wet towel around the fingers of his left hand and reached for a covered brazier smoldering to the side of the liquor cabinet. He withdrew a slender metal rod, glowing orange-red at the tip, plunged it into the cocktail; there was an audible hiss and a small puff of spicy steam. Once the rod was stanched, Conté stirred the drink briskly and precisely three times, then presented it to Locke on a thin silver plate.

As such, the oil refused to mix with the brandy and ajento, and rose stubbornly to the top, where it coasted every sip of the ginger scald. Perhaps truly scalding it would have help fuse the ingredients, but I think the overall effect would have been a drink garnished with fried ginger oil instead of raw ginger oil. Oddly enough, while the drink tasted mainly of ginger oil, the dominating smell was radish. And while I can't say that my version of the scald hit my lips and limned ”every tiny crack with stinging pain, and (outlined) every crevice between teeth and gums in exquisite pain”, the unorthodox oily texture and pungency of the radish made this drink quite uncomfortable.

I had a suspicion that I wouldn't want to imbibe a full serving of the scald, and made an alternate version with ginger beer instead of ginger oil. Although much more palatable in texture, the strong radish smell refused to be subdued, and I think I've probably drunk my two and only ginger scalds.

Gentlemen Bastards, Ginger Oil, Ginger Scald, Lies of Locke Lamora, Scott Lynch, Pear brandy, Radish wine