Good Eats (1999–2012): Season 13, Episode 6 - Feeling Punchy - full transcript

Alton begins his quest to return punch to its rightful culinary position.

Although many American's
socio‐cultural events

are marked with the presence
of a cash bar,

at teetotaling functions,

such as church‐based
wedding receptions

and high school dances,

the punch bowl serves
as watering hole for all.

Think of it as, well,
quaffable democracy.

We're all in it together,

and in most cases [Sniffs]
we suffer together.

A shame, too,
because once upon a time,

100 years ago or so,



when a cocktail was
just a pretty feather, punches

were the highest expression
of the tippling arts.

Clubs, secret societies,
trade organizations,

and especially
military regiments

had their own secret
punch recipes,

which often reflected
a very kind

of complex and global influence.

More often than not,
they were lethally strong.

Sadly, punch has lost
most of its, well, punch.

I mean, sure, college frats
still fill trash cans

with grain alcohol and Tang,

but rarely are the true tenets
of punch respected.

Well, that's right,
punch isn't just an invitation

to dump stuff into a bowl.



Oh, thanks.

In fact, the most complex
recipes usually do follow

a relatively fixed series
of ratios...

[ Coughs ]

...the purpose of which is
to create a pleasing

and harmoniously
balanced flavor,

even when the total alcohol
content is quite high.

Well, I say it's high time
to bring punch back

to its celebrated place
at the head of the table.

Proper punching
not only prevents this kind

of pernicious subterfuge,

it helps to preserve
a very special brand

of..

♪ "Good Eats" ♪

On the final day
of the year 1600 A. D.,

a royal charter was issued
to a commercial venture,

officially titled,

The Governor
and Company of Merchants

of London Trading Into
the East Indies.

Chart!

Now the express mission
of this organization

was to import spices

and goods directly to England

from the Indian subcontinent
and the surrounding lands,

thus sidestepping the mark‐ups
levied by the many middle men

who mined
the old spice land routes.

Over the next century,
the British East Indian Company,

or, "The Company,"
became so powerful

that it commanded
its own armed forces.

Its influence

grew so considerable
on the subcontinent,

that by the time the crown
dissolved their charter in 1873,

it got complete control
of India in the bargain.

Funny how that works out.
Anyway,

when company men made
return trips to England,

they brought with them
the exotic makings of punch.

Bring forth the writing slate!

Hurry up!

Now, the word "punch"
comes from "panch,"

the Hindi word for "five."

A significant sum,
because the beverage is built

upon five categories of flavors,

which are assembled by what is
called the rule of fives.

One part sour,

two parts sweet,
three of strong,

and four of weak,
spice makes five.

Now, the possibilities,
of course, are endless,

but, according
to company records,

the original incarnation
looked something like this.

Bring forth the punch bowl!



[ Water splashes ]

Hard to press good men into
service these days, you know.

Now, let's go the mathematics.

Let's say,
for the sake of saying,

that one part
equals one pint, 16 ounces.

Keep in mind
it could be a gallon,

a barrel, a keg,
what have you,

it is the proportions
that matter most, okay.

All right, first, the sour.

Limes!

Come on, come on.

Ah, excellent.

Now go juice these for me,
my good man.

Off you go.

Now, limes, of course,
a powerful weapon

in the battle against scurvy.

In fact,
by the 19th century,

it was common for lime trees
to be kept aboard English ships.

A habit which led to sailors

of the crown
being dubbed "limeys."

Ah, there, now
the juice goes into the bowl,

along with the hulls,

which contain quite a bit
of essential oil.

Now, two parts of sweet
in the form of raw,

or demerara sugar.

Of course refined sugar,
quite rare at that time.

Next the strong.

Now I know what
you're probably thinking ‐‐

ships, high seas,
pirates, rum!

Wrong!
Remember, rum

or rumbuillion was primarily
a Caribbean beverage,

and that's on the other side
of the planet.

No, the strong of choice on
this ship, Batavia Arrack,

a potent potable distilled

from fermented sugar cane
and red rice.

It comes from Java,
which, of course,

is under the control
of those doily‐necked hooligans,

the Dutch East India Company.
Pah!

This was, in fact,
their Batavia,

just a short while ago.

Next, the four of weak.

Now, almost any non‐alcoholic
beverage will do.

But authenticity demands tea.

India black tea,
to be precise,

and I always am.

Four parts would be
a half gallon.

Oh, and I like to add it warm

so we can be certain that
the sugar dissolves properly.

Now we're going to need
a bit of chill.

We have sailed down
into frigid southern waters

in order to harvest
a bit of ice floe.

Do invite our guest
up, won't you?

Ah, Mr. Van der Veer,
so good to see you.

And look,
you brought the ice, wonderful.

By the way,
I do want to say again,

sorry about your ship.

Just business,
nothing personal, you know.

[ Muttering ]

I'm sorry, my Dutch is pretty,
pretty light.

I think he said
he wants to take another bath,

go on down.

Oh, no, I'm just fine
right up here, thank you.

[ Laughs ]

Now, our fifth element
is crucial.

Although it has no exact
proportion, it is the spice.

He who controls the spice,
controls the universe.

Hawkins, you really do need
to lay off the sci‐fi.

The spice must flow.

Stop it.

The spice that company men speak
of when they speak of spice,

is, of course,
nutmeg,

traditionally grated directly
into the bowl.

Come men, drink.

Now, a mighty strong quaff

by modern standards,
and sweet as well.

But, it lives on
in a 20th century cocktail

known as...

Land ho!

Let's look.

Why it's a skinny little spit,
I think I'll name it,

Long Island.



The punch concept

may have been born
on the high seas,

but once it came ashore,

it morphed radically,
often at the hands

of local clubs,
societies, organizations,

and military regiments,

who frequently met
to practice secret handshakes,

and drink themselves
into oblivion.

Many mythical punch receipts ‐‐

that's what they used
to call recipe ‐‐

are indeed named after clubs ‐‐

there's the
Philadelphia Fish House punch,

the National Guard
Seventh Regiment punch,

the infamous
Chatham Artillery punch

that's lubed Savannah's
fierce fighting men

since before the Civil War.

But my personal favorite
regional punch manifestation

is the Cape Fear punch,
which, not surprisingly,

was a long held top secret
of one Cape Fear Club,

supposedly the oldest
gentlemen's club in the south.

Now
various versions

have been leaked
to the public over the years,

but the real McCoy
is, Ooh, wowsy.

Well buckle your seatbelts,
kids,

'cause when this stuff's
in the bowl,

it's going to be
a bumpy ride.

You have a good sleep.



Okay, the Cape Fear Punch
base is a real doozy,

calling for rye whiskey,

which is created, in part,
from rye grain

instead of just corn mash,
like, say, bourbon.

Jamaican rum, meaning kind of
dark, but not spiced.

And cognac,
a very common punch mixer

and a somewhat mythic beverage

that deserves
a little explanation.

Now, all cognacs are brandies,

but not all brandies are ‐‐
Oh, just watch this.

To make a brandy,

first you need a fermented
fruit‐based beverage like wine.

You boil off the alcohol
and other volatile compounds,

condense the vapors,
and voilà, brandy.

Now the story goes that the town
of Cognac had so much

of their local mediocre wine

that they ran
out of storage space.

So they distilled it
with the hopes

of one day
reconstituting it with water.

Several years passed

and when they opened
the wooden casks,

the cheap wine concentrate
had been converted

into a heavenly elixir
considered by many

to be the finest spirit
in the world.

There.

No reason getting carried away
with brand names.

They don't really mean that much
when it comes to cognac.

However there is a code

that's important
to understand, okay?

V.S. means "very superior",

which doesn't mean that what's
in the bottle actually is.

What it means
is that the contents were aged

for two and a half to four years
in the barrel, okay?

V.S.O.P. stands for
"very superior old pale",

and it has spent between

four and a half and six
and a half years in the barrel.

XO s not a kiss and a hug,
but "extra old",

meaning that the liquid
therein was barrel‐aged

more than six and a half years,

though most XOs are aged
much longer than that.

Some even spend as much as
25 years in woody containment.

By the way, aging,

for any spirit, is a function
of being in contact

with the chemicals
in wood and air.

Once it goes into the bottle,
the aging stops, okay?

So, just because you have
a 10‐year‐old bottle of scotch

and you hold it for 20 years,
it doesn't mean

you have a 30‐year‐old scotch.

It's still just
a 10‐year‐old scotch.

Okay, for a punch, you know,

plain, old V. S.
will do just fine,

and it will cover you

even if the recipe
just calls for brandy.

But beware,
some punch recipes

call specifically
for apricot or apple brandy,

but that will have
to wait for another show.

Come!

Classic punches, especially
those of English derivation,

are pretty heavy on alcohol,

so they usually call
for an effervescent element

to be added at the last minute.

It could be just plain, old club
soda, or sometimes champagne.

Now, in the case of
the Cape Fear Punch, it is both.

Going to need a liter
of the plain bubbly stuff.

And as far
as this bubbly stuff goes,

I urge you not to spend
your hard earned cash

on French champagne.

Just go with
an American sparkling wine,

or an Italian prosecco, in, say,
the 12‐dollar range.

Just, if you have an option,
reach for the extra dry version.

It's going to take two bottles.

Ah!

Old punch recipes,
or receipts,

often call for mixing

the stronger
alcoholic components together,

days, weeks, or sometimes
even months ahead of punch time.

You see, back then,

spirits were often
sold young and unblended.

In other words, harsh.

Pre‐mixing
and aging the punch base

at home helped
to curb the curse.

Although this step
is not the necessity

it was 100 years ago,

I still like to build
my strong team

ahead of time
in a gallon glass jar,

because having this on hand
will make it easier

for me to quickly
reinforce the punch

as the party progresses.

Why not just make a huge batch
first thing?

The fine champagne, of course.

Once this bottle is breached,
the clock is ticking,

the bubbles disappearing forever
into the ether.

If I want to keep my bowl
at its best,

I'll actually make up
a couple of punches

as the night goes on,

and this step will make
that much, much easier.

So will the rubber bands.

We'll get to that
in a few minutes.

Now go ahead
and pour the 750 milliliters

of rye into the jar.

Then use the bottle
to measure out the same amount

of good, old‐fashioned water.

Then move that water
to the kettle of your choice,

and bring to a boil.

I like this electric model,
but that's just me.

When it boils, turn it off,

and add
1/2 cup of demerara sugar.

If you can't find demerara,
just raw sugar will do fine.

That should bring
the water temperature

down to about 190,
which will be just right

for brewing three standard bags
of green tea.

Yes, tea again,

but green this time, not black.

So straight into the kettle,
close the lid,

and steep for three minutes.



All right, our sweet green tea
now goes into the jar,

along with 375 milliliters each
of the rum and cognac.

Now, these fluids
do come in those volumes,

but if your bottles are larger,
you could...

Don't worry, fellas,
don't stretch your brains,

I don't like math either.

All you've got
to do is use your rye bottle

and fill it halfway with both.

Clearly,
a funnel makes this much easier.

Move into your base jar
and you're almost done.

There.

So now we have a total
of two and a quarter liters,

approximately,
I don't know, 76 ounces.

Now you notice I've got
one rubber band at the top.

Lets me know when I've kind
of hit my limit.

I have got
another one halfway up.

Now this marks the amount

that I will use
for the first bottle

of champagne later on.

Now we're not quite done.

Last but not least,
peel the zest from four lemons,

removing as little
of the pith as possible,

and deposit those into the jar

so that the alcohol can go

to work extracting
the considerable amount

of alcohol soluble flavors
locked inside the citrus.

Oh, and be sure
to save the lemons themselves,

we're going to juice them later.

Stash this in your chill chest

for anywhere from 24 hours
to three months.

All right, let's talk ice.

The last thing
you want floating

in your punch
are these little guys.

For one thing,
they're not very attractive,

and they've got a lot
of surface area.

That means rapid melting,
and that means watery punch.

What we need to preserve
the flavor of our punch

is one single mass of ice,

preferably one that has as
little surface area as possible.

And that means a shape
kind of like this.

I'm going to assume most

of you are familiar
with this procedure.

Just stretch open your balloon,
put on the faucet,

fill with a pint of water ‐‐
that's a pound, you know ‐‐

tie it off,
and then move it to a freezer.

I find that a large teacup
makes a nice form. There.



After freezing overnight,

all you have to do is peel away
the balloon material,

and I like to give it a rinse
to remove any residual powder.

Now, if you happen
to be allergic to latex,

you might want to consider
using some other form,

like, say, a Bundt pan
or a vinyl glove.

It is time to build,
and to build, we need a bowl.

Although I am fond

of this small, half gallon
antique punch bowl,

handed down by my grandmother,

its volume,
like many of its age,

lends itself
to more intimate affairs.

A serious fete
requires a serious bowl,

something
in the one‐gallon range.

Now I found this at my local
thrift shop

where I buy most of my clothes.

First in, the fruity goodness.

I have here, two whole lemons

and one orange,
cut into thin slices.

Those go into the bowl,
followed by the juice

of two of the reserved lemons
from yesterday.

Then, half of our entire batch
of base.

That's to the first rubber band,

followed by half a liter
of seltzer or soda water.

There we go.

And now the champagne.

Now let's just review
safe opening procedures.

Remove the foil,
carefully twist off the cage

while making sure your hand is
over the cork. There.

And then just work out,
ah, the cork.

Keep it on the table

and there shouldn't
be any trouble.

The whole bottle goes in.

Remember, we're making
this a bottle at a time,

so you can rebuild this punch
again later in the evening.

There.

And last but not least,
of course, our ice egg.

As for the spice,

I usually leave a nutmeg

and a grater right
next to the bowl.

Now let's see, the average
punch cup is four ounces,

so that means we've got,
I think, 30 servings here,

thereabout.

What just happened here

is why Americans
don't punch very often.

English gentlemen
of the past age were more

than willing
to dedicate a couple of hours

to sitting around the bowl,

talking with friends,
making toasts

while getting toasted, sometimes
right in the middle of the day.

When America
got cranked up though,

two characteristics
became clear.

19th and 20th century Americans

don't mind a mid‐day drink,
but they want it fast.

They don't have time
for sitting around.

And they want choice.

You see, as spirit distillation
became more polished,

the cocktail was born,

and everybody wanted
what they wanted.

So, just as video
killed the radio star,

the mixed drink
killed the punch bowl,

and I say we're none the better
for its passing.

Luckily, we can do something
about it.



In the days
before central heat,

anything that added warmth
to winter was a good thing,

including punch.

Landlords in Edwardian
England were, in fact,

expected to prepare hot punches
from time to time in order

to prevent Jack Frost

from nipping
his tenants' noses clean off.

This fine tradition
lives on today in the hot toddy.

Although it's often made a cup
at a time,

I like to make it
in a slow cooker in big batches.

So, one lemon slice
goes into the cooker,

along with 1/2 cup
of dark brown or demerara sugar.

Add to that, finally,
1 quart of water,

and set the cooker to high.

Okay, remember our one of sour,
two of sweet, three of strong,

and four of weak,
plus spice equation?

Words to live by, to be sure.

But this drink
is going to be served hot.

Heat amplifies aromatic elements

as well as kind of heightening
the sweetness of sugar.

So I'm going to adjust.

The sour's going to go down
to just a few slices of lemon,

and we're going
to drop the sugar as well.

So our final
formula's going to look

more like some of sour,
one of sweet, five of strong

and eight of weak,
plus spice, of course.

Nutmeg, can't be without nutmeg.

Although toddies made
in the U. K.

can contain
almost any liquor,

the American version is always
built upon scotch whiskey.

In fact, until the 20th century,

almost all the scotch
consumed in the U. S.

was taken in toddy form.

Now. the success of a hot toddy
really is in the body,

the scotch has got
to have weight,

and that means using
a single malt scotch,

rather than a blended scotch.

That's because single malts

are generally distilled
in pot stills, like this.

Pot stills crank out spirits
which have a heavier body.

Blended scotches
almost always come

from column stills,

which are also used to make
most American bourbon.

Such stills create a lighter,
thinner body,

which is fine for some drinks,
but not for a toddy.

All right, the sugar
should be good and melted,

so now the whiskey goes in.

That's two and a half cups
of the scotch. There.

Now turn down the heat
and just let that sit and stew

for about 10 minutes
before serving.

Now, I like to divvy up
the lemon slices,

just put them right in
the bottom of the mug.

Very nice indeed.

Then ladle on the scotchy
goodness, piping warm.

There we go.

And last but not least,
of course,

we've got to have
a little bit

of freshly grated nutmeg.

Always have to have the nutmeg.

Well,
I hope that we've inspired you

to break out the punch bowl
or the slow cooker,

and try your hand at a beverage
whose time has returned, punch.

Now, as you might imagine,
my attorneys,

"Itchy" and "Twitchy",

want me to remind you to,
uh, oh, enjoy responsibly,

and oh, of course,
only if you're, um,

you know, legal drinking age
in your state.

Right, guys?
Now,

if you'll excuse us,

I think we'll have
a quiet sip of good eats.

Speaking of punch,

whoever sold you
those robes deserves one.