Urban Bar: Rosé Sangria
June
is in high gear in New York City. Our last few days together before splitting between the coasts have been beatified by sunshine and sanctified by remembrance. Everywhere we go, memories gather like
wraiths in an attic. Saturday afternoon is just right for walks along the High
Line and the Christopher Street Pier, two city parks whose breathtaking design
accounts for the high amount of foot traffic (from four-legged creatures as well
as two-) they receive. Everyone should experience these New York City
landmarks, but for old-timers, smaller, secret spaces are portals to the city’s
past as well as our own. In one such, John and I have waited for each other too
many times to count: from Saturday haircuts to Sunday matiness, from mid-week cocktails to burger dates. This pie wedge park in the West Village is a lovely
setting for the simple, old-fashioned pleasure of sitting on an iron bench
enjoying each other’s company and that of fellow citizens out for a stroll.
Many such are old timers, observing the activity on the paths and in the flowerbeds with an eye as watchful and urbane as the gaslights that stand guard at
the entrances.
June is also the traditional month for marriages. Though circumstances did not allow for John and me to be June grooms, we were able to fulfill our wish for a spring wedding. Spring as the season of marriage is an ancient practice. In part it arose in simple response to the joy of being outdoors after being sequestered during dark winter days. Just as plants were breaking the earth’s surface and animals were emerging from their winter dens, so did people experience an expansion of soul that drove them gladly into the sunshine. There, pleasures from innocent flirting to ribald scuffling awaited. Flowers blossomed and birds sang in concert with lovers’ awakening hearts. As the season progressed, so too did relationships, and as spring slid into summer courtship grew into union. Sometimes engagements were short and often they were long (John and I certainly empathize with the latter), but the most popular time for weddings has long been spring.
Of the four seasons, two are pivotal and two are transitional. The two pivotal seasons – summer and winter – represent the fullness of experience both by activity and excitement (summer) and rest and renewal (winter). The two transitional seasons – autumn and spring – represent the transience of experience both by the planting of seeds (spring) and the harvesting of crops (autumn). Spring and autumn are each inaugurated by an equinox – an “equal night” in which the amount of daylight and moonlight are exactly equal. As I wrote during last spring’s equinox, it is a culmination that is also a tipping point; a moment of suspension in harmony before the inexorable turning of the wheel of the year leads to the next season, even as it has been doing so all along. Perhaps that moment of unity – of darkness and light being equal – leading to the fullness of summer explains something about June’s position as the month of marriage, and for that matter perhaps the autumn equinox accounts for September’s importance in the same arena.
The transitional seasons are sensual, from autumn’s flocked chill to spring’s awakening passions. Spring is the season of firsts: early fresh vegetables and fruit appear, and as soon as the weather allows, we eat them on the patio. Pasta primavera – noodles tossed with fresh vegetables – means “springtime pasta.” In our urban home, we toss our springtime pasta with fresh asparagus and leeks or with lemon and capers. We serve salmon in a broth rich with lentils and onions. We make a light, lovely fruit salad to serve with our patio lunch, provided we can resist putting the first of those California strawberries under a pie crust. The food of spring reflects the sudden abundance that is appearing, and the riot of bright flavors that they bring to the palate just as surely as sunshine brings warmth to our skin.
To accompany springtime cooking, a drink that all but bursts out of the glass with abundant bright flavors is sangria. Sangria is a wine-based punch in which fresh seasonal fruit is introduced into wine. As the fruit sits in the wine it begins to macerate, releasing the fruit essences into the wine. It is a staple at Spanish tables, where the vibrancy of the cuisine reflects that of the culture. Our favorite Spanish restaurant in New York City makes spectacular sangria, but sangria drinkers in restaurants should beware, for sangria on the menu may mean either that it comes from a bottled mix or that it is a media for the restaurant to use up old wine. To identify if the sangria at a restaurant is fresh and good, look for it to be housed in plain view at the bar and measured out by the bartender. Inexpertly rendered sangria will evidence the practice of gilding the lily; it will offer a jammy crash of flavors that mask the qualities of the wine. Good sangria, however, will be bright and flavorful without any overt sweetness or any other quality – for example, fizz -- that masks the quality of the wine.
Sangria translates as “bloody” in reference to the deep claret color of the drink when it made with red wine as is traditional. Sangria blanca made with white wine is also authentic. We never turn away either of these in our urban home, but for spring we like sangria rosada – rosé sangria. This is appropriate to the spirit of the drink, for Spanish rosado is considered to be as fine a wine as French rosé, and it’s appropriate to spring, for a good rose evidences a flavor profile straight from the fields with notes of strawberries, raspberries, citrus, melon, some stone fruits, even tobacco. Rosado agrees with sangria because like most Spanish wines, the best ones display a vibrant character that is poised between dry and fruity. Muga Rioja Rosado and El Coto Rosado are two good ones to use for your sangria.
ROSÉ SANGRIA
Superfine sugar is a good item to have on hand for your urban bar. Look for it in the baking supplies. When possible, we like to obtain fresh fruit from a farmer’s market or roadside stand, but all of these should be available in any supermarket. A citrus knife will help with the tough skin of the orange; for Urban Home’s recommendations on kitchen knives, click here.
1 750 ml bottle rosado
1 firm sweet apple such as Fuji, Gala or Roma
1 firm ripe peach
1 small sweet orange, such as blood, Seville or tangerine
1 dry pint fresh strawberries
1 dry pint fresh raspberries
1 tablespoon superfine sugar
1. Fill a bowl large enough to hold the fruit halfway with water. Add a few drops commercial produce cleaner to the water. Remove labels if any from the apple, peach and orange, and submerge them in cleaning water. Rub the orange and the apple while they are under water.
2. Tumble the cleaned fruit into a colander and rinse the fruit under cool water.
3. Gently place the strawberries and raspberries into the colander with the other fruit. Rinse with cool water and set aside to drain.
4. Open the wine and gently pour the entire bottle into a large serving pitcher. Measure the superfine sugar into the wine; stir gently.
5. Place the apple stem-end up on a clean cutting board devoted to fruits and vegetables. Use a paring knife to cut the apple in half from top to bottom. Halve each half to form quarters. Use the tip of the knife to remove and discard the stem, seeds with their hard core, the blossom end, and any bruised or discolored areas. Cut each trimmed quarter in half; cut across each to form bite-sized chunks. Add the chunked apple to the wine in the pitcher.
6. Place the peach stem-end up on the cutting board. Cut the peach in half from top to bottom. Halve each half to form quarters. Use the tip of the knife to remove and discard the stem, the blossom end, and any bruised or discolored areas. Use the knife to score the peach down one side from stem to blossom end and up the other side from blossom end to stem. Twist the peach so that it pops apart at the scores; it is okay if the halves are not perfect. The pit should pop out of one of the halves; if it does not, use the knife to carefully carve out and discard the pit. Once you have pitted the peach, cut each half in half. Cut each quarter in half to form eighths; cut across each to form bite-sized chunks. Add the chunked peach to the wine in the pitcher.
7. Place the orange on the cutting board. Use the paring knife or a citrus knife to cut away and discard the stem and blossom ends, cutting as deep as necessary to get to the orange fruit and not the white pith. Cut the orange into rounds. Add the orange rounds to the wine in the pitcher.
8. Pick through the strawberries, discarding any that evidence mold or soft brown or black spots. Place a strawberry on its side on the cutting board. Use the paring knife to cut a circle under the leaf. Pull out the leaf, taking the internal hull with it, and discard. Use the knife to cut away and discard any unripened white or yellow flesh. Turn the strawberry cut-side down and cut downwards to halve the strawberry. For large berries, halve the halves to form quarters. Add the cut strawberries to the wine in the pitcher as you go.
9. Pick through the raspberries, discarding any that evidence mold or soft brown or black spots. Gently place the raspberries into the wine in the pitcher.
10. Stir the sangria and cover the pitcher with its lid or with plastic wrap. Refrigerate the sangria until the fruit begins to soften and take on the rose color of the wine, approximately one hour.
11. Serve cold.
June is also the traditional month for marriages. Though circumstances did not allow for John and me to be June grooms, we were able to fulfill our wish for a spring wedding. Spring as the season of marriage is an ancient practice. In part it arose in simple response to the joy of being outdoors after being sequestered during dark winter days. Just as plants were breaking the earth’s surface and animals were emerging from their winter dens, so did people experience an expansion of soul that drove them gladly into the sunshine. There, pleasures from innocent flirting to ribald scuffling awaited. Flowers blossomed and birds sang in concert with lovers’ awakening hearts. As the season progressed, so too did relationships, and as spring slid into summer courtship grew into union. Sometimes engagements were short and often they were long (John and I certainly empathize with the latter), but the most popular time for weddings has long been spring.
Of the four seasons, two are pivotal and two are transitional. The two pivotal seasons – summer and winter – represent the fullness of experience both by activity and excitement (summer) and rest and renewal (winter). The two transitional seasons – autumn and spring – represent the transience of experience both by the planting of seeds (spring) and the harvesting of crops (autumn). Spring and autumn are each inaugurated by an equinox – an “equal night” in which the amount of daylight and moonlight are exactly equal. As I wrote during last spring’s equinox, it is a culmination that is also a tipping point; a moment of suspension in harmony before the inexorable turning of the wheel of the year leads to the next season, even as it has been doing so all along. Perhaps that moment of unity – of darkness and light being equal – leading to the fullness of summer explains something about June’s position as the month of marriage, and for that matter perhaps the autumn equinox accounts for September’s importance in the same arena.
The transitional seasons are sensual, from autumn’s flocked chill to spring’s awakening passions. Spring is the season of firsts: early fresh vegetables and fruit appear, and as soon as the weather allows, we eat them on the patio. Pasta primavera – noodles tossed with fresh vegetables – means “springtime pasta.” In our urban home, we toss our springtime pasta with fresh asparagus and leeks or with lemon and capers. We serve salmon in a broth rich with lentils and onions. We make a light, lovely fruit salad to serve with our patio lunch, provided we can resist putting the first of those California strawberries under a pie crust. The food of spring reflects the sudden abundance that is appearing, and the riot of bright flavors that they bring to the palate just as surely as sunshine brings warmth to our skin.
To accompany springtime cooking, a drink that all but bursts out of the glass with abundant bright flavors is sangria. Sangria is a wine-based punch in which fresh seasonal fruit is introduced into wine. As the fruit sits in the wine it begins to macerate, releasing the fruit essences into the wine. It is a staple at Spanish tables, where the vibrancy of the cuisine reflects that of the culture. Our favorite Spanish restaurant in New York City makes spectacular sangria, but sangria drinkers in restaurants should beware, for sangria on the menu may mean either that it comes from a bottled mix or that it is a media for the restaurant to use up old wine. To identify if the sangria at a restaurant is fresh and good, look for it to be housed in plain view at the bar and measured out by the bartender. Inexpertly rendered sangria will evidence the practice of gilding the lily; it will offer a jammy crash of flavors that mask the qualities of the wine. Good sangria, however, will be bright and flavorful without any overt sweetness or any other quality – for example, fizz -- that masks the quality of the wine.
Sangria translates as “bloody” in reference to the deep claret color of the drink when it made with red wine as is traditional. Sangria blanca made with white wine is also authentic. We never turn away either of these in our urban home, but for spring we like sangria rosada – rosé sangria. This is appropriate to the spirit of the drink, for Spanish rosado is considered to be as fine a wine as French rosé, and it’s appropriate to spring, for a good rose evidences a flavor profile straight from the fields with notes of strawberries, raspberries, citrus, melon, some stone fruits, even tobacco. Rosado agrees with sangria because like most Spanish wines, the best ones display a vibrant character that is poised between dry and fruity. Muga Rioja Rosado and El Coto Rosado are two good ones to use for your sangria.
ROSÉ SANGRIA
Superfine sugar is a good item to have on hand for your urban bar. Look for it in the baking supplies. When possible, we like to obtain fresh fruit from a farmer’s market or roadside stand, but all of these should be available in any supermarket. A citrus knife will help with the tough skin of the orange; for Urban Home’s recommendations on kitchen knives, click here.
1 750 ml bottle rosado
1 firm sweet apple such as Fuji, Gala or Roma
1 firm ripe peach
1 small sweet orange, such as blood, Seville or tangerine
1 dry pint fresh strawberries
1 dry pint fresh raspberries
1 tablespoon superfine sugar
1. Fill a bowl large enough to hold the fruit halfway with water. Add a few drops commercial produce cleaner to the water. Remove labels if any from the apple, peach and orange, and submerge them in cleaning water. Rub the orange and the apple while they are under water.
2. Tumble the cleaned fruit into a colander and rinse the fruit under cool water.
3. Gently place the strawberries and raspberries into the colander with the other fruit. Rinse with cool water and set aside to drain.
4. Open the wine and gently pour the entire bottle into a large serving pitcher. Measure the superfine sugar into the wine; stir gently.
5. Place the apple stem-end up on a clean cutting board devoted to fruits and vegetables. Use a paring knife to cut the apple in half from top to bottom. Halve each half to form quarters. Use the tip of the knife to remove and discard the stem, seeds with their hard core, the blossom end, and any bruised or discolored areas. Cut each trimmed quarter in half; cut across each to form bite-sized chunks. Add the chunked apple to the wine in the pitcher.
6. Place the peach stem-end up on the cutting board. Cut the peach in half from top to bottom. Halve each half to form quarters. Use the tip of the knife to remove and discard the stem, the blossom end, and any bruised or discolored areas. Use the knife to score the peach down one side from stem to blossom end and up the other side from blossom end to stem. Twist the peach so that it pops apart at the scores; it is okay if the halves are not perfect. The pit should pop out of one of the halves; if it does not, use the knife to carefully carve out and discard the pit. Once you have pitted the peach, cut each half in half. Cut each quarter in half to form eighths; cut across each to form bite-sized chunks. Add the chunked peach to the wine in the pitcher.
7. Place the orange on the cutting board. Use the paring knife or a citrus knife to cut away and discard the stem and blossom ends, cutting as deep as necessary to get to the orange fruit and not the white pith. Cut the orange into rounds. Add the orange rounds to the wine in the pitcher.
8. Pick through the strawberries, discarding any that evidence mold or soft brown or black spots. Place a strawberry on its side on the cutting board. Use the paring knife to cut a circle under the leaf. Pull out the leaf, taking the internal hull with it, and discard. Use the knife to cut away and discard any unripened white or yellow flesh. Turn the strawberry cut-side down and cut downwards to halve the strawberry. For large berries, halve the halves to form quarters. Add the cut strawberries to the wine in the pitcher as you go.
9. Pick through the raspberries, discarding any that evidence mold or soft brown or black spots. Gently place the raspberries into the wine in the pitcher.
10. Stir the sangria and cover the pitcher with its lid or with plastic wrap. Refrigerate the sangria until the fruit begins to soften and take on the rose color of the wine, approximately one hour.
11. Serve cold.
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