Tag Archives: blutwurz

In which Tony's alleged cure for the common hangover continues to intrigue bon viveur and inebriate Suave Gav.

“I think you would agree," said Suave Gav, "that passion must be the key ingredient in the creation of a quality Bavarian liqueur.” Having tasted Blutwurz, I thought a ship-load of alcohol was the key ingredient but I'd already upset this fruitcake so I wasn’t about to contradict him. “However,” he continued, “I confess my associates and I also tend to imbibe with a passion. And as the after effects are known to grow steadily worse with age, it’s fair to say we have more than a passing interest in a positive solution to the problem.”

I fell silent and Suave Gav most wisely decided to spell this little verbal enigma out. “If you were not simply pulling my leg with your mention of gastronomic wizardry resulting in a cure for over-indulgence,” he said, “I should very much like to compare notes.”

“I see,” I said. “Well, The Admiral’s your man.”

“Admiral, you say? Sea-faring sort?”

“Not really. He just grew sideburns once.”

“We all make mistakes,” he replied. “Can I suggest a kitchen confab with this chap? Purely in the interests of science, of course. Ingredients discussed, recipes exchanged, vol-au-vents optional?”

“Well, as long as we’re expanding the boundaries of scientific knowledge,” I said, “I don’t see why not.” He was delusional, but at least for a change he wasn’t a design client.

The Passion Of Suave Gav

August 7, 2011

In which Tony's alleged cure for the common hangover continues to intrigue bon viveur and inebriate Suave Gav. “I think you would agree," said Suave Gav, "that passion must be the key ingredient in the creation of a quality Bavarian liqueur.” Having tasted Blutwurz, I thought a ship-load of alcohol was the key ingredient … Continue reading →

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Bluesky

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In which Suave Gav explains his aversion to meat whilst Tony continues to walk on eggshells.

Suave Gav called, ostensibly to offer an apology for fainting when I mis-pronounced ‘blutwurz.’ I had been feeling rather sheepish about my faux-pas but I could never have expected even the most rabid vegan would be prone to passing out at the mention of blood sausage.

“I should think my parents had a sadistic streak,” said Gavin. “No animal was sacred in the Armstrong household and no animal part was off the menu. The beasts of the field would cower if we passed. Not that anything we ate ever resembled animal flesh - which was a blessing, for had my nine brothers and I known the origins of the various delicacies dished up, we would surely have mastered the art of hurling from an early age.

“The main justification seemed to be that it was ‘economical.’ That is, once the rich had done with the finer cuts of an animal, the remains would go to waste were it not for the Armstrongs. ‘I see,’ I said to my father. ‘But if they hadn’t slaughtered the beast in the first place, that particular problem wouldn’t have arisen.’ I thought this was an excellent observation for a five-year-old, but it landed me a clip around the ear.

“I don’t blame my parents. They did an otherwise excellent job of rearing my multitudinous siblings and I. In fact, anyone who knows me will confirm that I am a near-perfect physical specimen, despite the early gastronomic torture. But I hope what I have said goes some way towards explaining my sensitive disposition in this field.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll be careful not to mention.. that word again.”

“The thing is,” said Gavin, “all of this is neither here nor there when there is a matter of far greater consequence for you and I to discuss.” I wondered what else I had said to offend him but this didn’t appear to be the issue. “Since our meeting at the Herbaceous Perennials, I’ve done some considerable research and even conducted a few preliminary experiments.”

“A new chutney?” I said.

Meat – The Parents

July 31, 2011

In which Suave Gav explains his aversion to meat whilst Tony continues to walk on eggshells. Suave Gav called, ostensibly to offer an apology for fainting when I mis-pronounced ‘blutwurz.’ I had been feeling rather sheepish about my faux-pas but I could never have expected even the most rabid vegan would be prone to … Continue reading →

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In which Tony inadvertently upsets vegetarian food scientist and fruitcake Suave Gav.

It had been an interesting evening of experimental vegetarian cuisine and our hosts had proven to be formidable food scientists. But as Suave Gav continued to discuss the positive health effects of the bizarre beverage Blutwurz I felt nobody was acknowledging the more obvious teeth-blackening effects and began to feel quite uncomfortable. I nudged LaFlamme and she snorted awake.

“I think it’s time we were going,” I said. LaFlamme pointed to my teeth in a befuddled way but decided not to raise the point. “Thanks for the Blutwurst.”

There was a gasp of shock from the quartet as if I’d said something inappropriate to the host’s wife. “Tony,” said the demure Jane, “it’s pronounced bloot-voortz.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied. “What did I say?”

“You said bloot-voorst,” said Ethel, under her breath.

“Bloot-voorst?” I said again, to even more horror.

“Please,” said Ethel.

“Steady on, old man,” said Dick, removing his pipe. Suave Gav fainted away into an armchair.

“Darling, are you alright?” said Ethel, racing to mop his brow. Jane began to loosen his collar.

“I’m.. sorry,” I said again.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” said Ethel. “Gavin’s terribly sensitive to that word.”

“Which word?” I said. “Bloot-voorst or the other one?” Gavin broke into a sob and Dick ushered us amicably to the hall as if my next utterance might break a fragile shell.

“Easy mistake to make, Boaks,” said Dick. “He won’t blame you personally.”

“But I don’t understand.”

“Don’t give it a second thought,” he assured me. “Are you sure you have to leave? We’ll probably play Twister shortly.”

Saturday

This morning I consulted my Bavarian dictionary and discovered Blutwurz, meaning ‘blood-root,’ is a traditional liqueur from the Alsace region. Blutwurst, on the other hand, meaning ‘blood-sausage,’ is a foul affront to vegetarians everywhere. I might as well have offered him some Foie Gras.

My Faux Pas

July 17, 2011

In which Tony inadvertently upsets vegetarian food scientist and fruitcake Suave Gav. It had been an interesting evening of experimental vegetarian cuisine and our hosts had proven to be formidable food scientists. But as Suave Gav continued to discuss the positive health effects of the bizarre beverage Blutwurz I felt nobody was acknowledging the … Continue reading →

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Bluesky

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Dick split the silence. “Did you say hangover cure?”

“Yes, he did,” replied Suave Gav from the bar.

“And your friend,” said Dick, taking a notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. “You have an address for him?”

“Now, Dick,” said Gavin, “there’s plenty time for that. Let our guests enjoy a little Alsatian hospitality for the moment. Lights please, Ethel.” Ethel rose and cut the main lights, leaving us in the glow of candlelight. Gavin emerged from the bar, underlit by a ghostly blue haze. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “I give you - Blutwurz A La Flamme.”

We all clapped, although LaFlamme and I weren’t sure why. My mind was perhaps not at its sharpest after a few hours working with a succession of experimental martinis. All I could think was that it was tremendous somebody had named a drink after her.

Suave Gav laid a tray of oddly-shaped serving dishes on the table; a cross between miniature soup bowls and saucepans, with small protruding stumps for handles. Each contained a deep murky substance with a soft blue flame rising from the surface. It gave off a strong medicinal odour, sweet with strong hints of menthol and herbs. I began to feel quite woozy and my sinuses cleared instantly.

“Do you have any marshmallows?” said LaFlamme. The others laughed, but I think it was a serious question.

“Flambé can of course be an important part of the Blutwurz process,” said Gavin. “It both improves the flavour and reduces the alcohol content.”

“Aren’t you concerned about reducing the alcohol content?” I said, like a true lush.

“Ordinarily I might be,” he replied, “but as its original content is around 60% and burning for five minutes reduces it to only around 45, it’s not something we get too concerned about.” No wonder these guys were interested in a hangover cure. I gulped nervously. I was already intoxicated by the Blutwurz odour, I wasn’t sure I actually needed to drink it.

But drink it I did. It was warm, with a bitter taste of unripe citrus fruit and Italian herbs, rosemary, marjoram, bay, a nutty kind of Edam and just the faintest hint of vanilla. Not that my palate was sharp enough to detect these flavours, I just overheard the gastronomes at the table as they savoured it.

I felt distinctly giddy when the drink was finished but giddiness turned to alarm once Ethel turned up the house lights. I was surrounded by a sea of black teeth. I turned to LaFlamme. Her lips were dark. She had drifted off and was lightly snoring, the empty miniature soup bowl still clutched in her hands. This wasn’t a comment on the evening, merely something LaFlamme did when light was low. It was a good thing to remember for times when she was obstreperous. A bit like having a budgie hood.

Blutwurz A La Flamme

July 12, 2011

Dick split the silence. “Did you say hangover cure?” “Yes, he did,” replied Suave Gav from the bar. “And your friend,” said Dick, taking a notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. “You have an address for him?” “Now, Dick,” said Gavin, “there’s plenty time for that. Let our guests enjoy a little Alsatian hospitality … Continue reading →

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