As promised in my previous post, today’s recipe includes the lovely, and somewhat elusive Crème Yvette. I decided to go with Caulkins’ recipe for a Violet Cocktail, because it only called for a small amount of the liqueur.
My reasoning was this: A) I’ve never used Crème Yvette before — I’d never even heard of it until I began indexing the Mixing Master recipes — and B) it’s expensive.
So I figured if it wasn’t my cup of tea, so to speak, ½ pony (0.5 oz) of the stuff wasn’t going to completely wreck the drink. On the other hand, if it turned out to be the greatest thing since sliced bread, then I’d better make it last, since I’ll want to dive into the 31 other cocktails that Caulkins used it in.
Ingredients:
Combine all ingredients in a mixing glass. Shake and strain into a cocktail glass.
Notes:
Step aside, sliced bread. Crème Yvette is the bee’s knees. The cat’s meow. The cream in my coffee. The liqueur in my cocktail.
As previously mentioned, Crème Yvette was ubiquitous from the end of the 19th century until Charles Jacquin et Cie stopped producing it in around 1969. Production resumed in 2009, with the recipe sticking as close to the original as modern ingredient sourcing allows. According them, the revived liqueur is “an all-natural blend of four berry fruits—mûre, framboise, cassis, and fraise sauvage— blended with dried violet petals from Provence”.
Yeah, whatever with the french foodie lingo; to me it tastes like rich dark cherries and vanilla, with a hint of violet at the finish. Quite sensuous, actually. Can a liqueur be sensuous? (Yes, apparently it can).
The bottom line: it’s good. The only thing it’s not, is purple. Thanks to an apparent lack of artificial coloring in the revived Yvette, combined with the rusty redness of the Vermouth, my Violet Cocktail was more of a deep garnet (or perhaps even blood colored!) hue. Didn’t mind in the slightest. Garnet or blood, violet or purple, elusive and sensuous. Creme Yvette, I’m so glad to have met you.