What Einstein Kept Under His Hat: Secrets of Science in the Kitchen by Robert L. Wolke Read Free Book Online Page A

what about Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Whiskey? Is it a bourbon? Strictly speaking (and I’d better speak strictly here because tempers run high on this topic), no. It fits all the legal definitions of bourbon—made primarily from corn; aged in charred, new oak barrels; and well within the strength specifications—except for one thing: It undergoes an additional step. After distillation and before aging, it is dripped through a ten-foot-thick layer of sugar-maple charcoal, a process billed by Jack Daniel’s as “charcoal mellowing” but known officially as the Lincoln County Process. That’s the only procedural difference between Jack Daniel’s and most of the anointed and consecrated bourbons.
    Jack Daniel’s brags about being a sour mash whiskey, meaning that part of the mash used in the fermentation process consists of the exhausted remains of a previous fermentation. But the sour mash process is used in making almost all bourbons and other whiskeys today, so this fact alone has nothing to do with the Zen of being bourbon.

    THE FOODIE’S FICTIONARY: Barley—scarcely

                            
Jack Daniel’s Rib-Ticklin’ Barbecue Sauce
                        
    I t would be a waste to limit a bottle of Jack’s to simply sipping, when it can add a kick to this sauce. For 2 racks of baby back ribs, you will need about 1 cup of barbecue sauce. Save the other cup to slather over broiled chicken later in the week. You’ll want to add this sauce to your collection of good BBQ recipes.
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    1       cup ketchup
    1 / 4     cup Jack Daniel’s black label whiskey
    1 / 4     cup dark molasses
    1 / 4     cup cider vinegar
    1       tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
    1       tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
    1       tablespoon soy sauce
    1 / 2     teaspoon freshly ground pepper
    1 / 2     teaspoon dry mustard
    1       clove garlic, crushed
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    Mix all the ingredients together in a small saucepan. Place over medium-high heat, bring to a boil, and then reduce the heat to low and simmer for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.
    MAKES ABOUT 2 CUPS
                        
. . . AND THEY’RE OFF!
                        
    At a Kentucky Derby Day party, my friends served mint juleps. I noticed that shortly after the host mixed each drink, a coating of frost formed on the outside of the glass. I know that a tall glass of Tom Collins, for example, will get wet on the outside, but I’ve never seen it get cold enough to freeze. What’s special about the mint julep?
    ....
    A sk any dyed-in-the-cotton Southerner and the answer will be “Plenty.”
    When sipped at the speed of a Southern drawl on a hot summer’s eve beneath a fragrant, blooming magnolia, few beverages are more refreshing than a mint julep—or more insidiously intoxicating, because its seductive sweetness masks the fact that it is virtually straight bourbon. But also intoxicating (to some of us) is the science behind the frosting.
    Stripped to its mundane fundamentals, a mint julep is made by mashing mint leaves with sugar in a metal mug or goblet, filling it with crushed ice, and pouring a generous glug of bourbon in. Now, if we were to add plain water instead of bourbon, the ice and the water would soon come to the same temperature: a temperature at which they could coexist without all the ice melting or all the water freezing. (They would come to equilibrium .) That temperature, as you have guessed, is the freezing point of H 2 O, normally 32°F or 0°C.
    But bourbon, bless its heart, contains alcohol as well as water. The alcohol (helped by the sugar) lowers the freezing point, just as antifreeze lowers the freezing point of the coolant in your car’s radiator. Because the freezing point is now lower, so is the ice-and-water coexistence temperature, which is the same. If the ice and liquid are still to