Baking w/ Alcohol?

Last night our group of seasoned (and even a few not-so-seasoned) drinkers got together for one of our ubiquitous booze seshes. It involved copios amounts of vodka, melted cheese and the divulging of one too many secrets. But I won't go into that…

What I do want to discuss, however, is the bizarre treat that my teetotal friend, Beth, brought to the party.

Beth is a fascinating and cultured young woman, and although she doesn't drink, her adoration for Victorian-era cooking outweighs her plethora of reasons to stay sober. Because do you know what Beth lovingly baked us?

Absinthe muffins.

Now imma let you finish, because I too found myself brimming with questions at the mere mention of this. "Absinthe muffins?" I hear you say, "What the..?"

I know, I know. Crazy, right?

In addition to many other amazing culinary exploits, absinthe muffins are one of Beth's more adventurous ones. Although she's yet to introduce a recipe that my tastebuds haven't loved, her gingerly-ventured disclaimer that "you might want to eat them slowly, because each muffin has two standard drinks" did little to reassure me. I mean, come on! Absinthe muffins? TWO standard drinks? I could knock back two vodka cruisers and get drunk slower than I would if I simply chowed down on one of the tiny green-tinted muffins.

Soft as air and laced with a anise-infused sugar glaze, they were absolutely delicious, but the idea of baking liquour-flavoured goods is still rather foreign to me. However, I did manage to find a number of recipes containing various spirits.

After extensive research, it looks as if copious amounts of alcohol are a rather common theme in baking (maybe that's why Julia Childs always seeemed drunk?), so it looks like I might have to road test some recipes soon.

White Russian blackberry cheesecake, anyone?

Japanese food!

That little restaurant? You know the one.

Whether it's a kiosk in your local mall or a shopfront on the city strip, everybody knows one.

That place whose front window boasts bland-looking Westernised Japanese dishes, with their glue-glazed models. The plastic-y ramen with the chopsticks suspended in mid-air, next to the synthetic rendition of a bowl of steaming katsu-don. Between them sits a plate of oddly-perfect plate of unagi, the slices of eel immortalised in a shiny plastic glaze.

You approach the till and allow your eyes to wander along the rows of plates and bowls behind the glass. The dull light glints off the dishes' surfaces, each as freakily fake-looking as the next. You make your selection and gesture indiscriminately to no particular direction.

"That looks good. I'll have that one, please".

It doesn't look good. It looks odd and alien, embalmed on the shelf.

You don't really want to eat it.

But when it arrives, the plate's contents bely their bizarre model.

It looks amazing.

It smells even better.

You take a bite…

AWESOME!

The flavours mingle delicately on your palate, the steam rises tantalisingly off the plate.

Yeah, you know the place :)