Anything that can ignite near an open flame and is in a mason jar really ought to be moonshine. Thinking I am dabbling in such a long tradition of subversive deviousness makes me feel like I have a bit more street cred than I actually have. First, because true moonshiners would probably not think of themselves as subversively devious. And second, I doubt something this screamingly, shockingly pink could ever lend anyone street cred.
It's appalling, really, that this color can come out of nature. You would think, only in a New Jersey chemical factory, but no, this is solely the result of strawberries. Believe me, you, those strawberries were definitely harmed in the making of this drink, though.
It is strawberry vodka from Sean Timberlake via David Lebovitz. It was kinda haphazard chemistry. Some strawberries from the farmer's market, left over after we gorged ourselves and could not even think of eating another one, cut in quarters, with a good ol' glug (ok, many glugs) of just vodka (Smirnoff, if you care) until fully submerged.
On the counter overnight.
Queue morning dawn breaking, and a lurid pink glow from the kitchen.
Strawberry vodka's done, honey!
The vodka had leached every ounce of juicy goodness from those poor berries, leaving them flabby and pale and tasting of lighter fluid. All the lovely strawberry aroma and beautiful color drained right out, like Bunnicula on a bender. The strawberry vodka is very aromatic, smelling exactly like a strawberry, and tastes like a lovely fresh berry that just happens to burn all the way down your esophagus.
Not sure what I will be doing with this, but for now it's living in the freezer. I can tell from the red glow coming out behind the door.