Beech leaf gin

Out of all the cookery books in our kitchen when we were growing up, by far the most enthralling was a small paperback my mother had bought my grandmother in the 1970's called Food for Free by Richard Mabey, which lists all the foods that can be foraged from the woods and hedgerows.  It was as a result of this book as a child that a friend and I once ate spend all morning eating daffodils until she was eventually sick. It was also in this book, some years later, that I discovered the recipe for Beech Leaf Gin. 

My favourite thing about this recipe is that there is only a fortnight or so in May when the beach leaves are right.  They must have unfolded from the bud but still be tender and and soft to the touch.  It is the time when spring is at it's fragile, flowery best - but miss it even by a week and it's too late.  Once the leaves develop their dark green shiny summer skin then there is too much tannin and the gin won't work.  It's like one of those old spells in fairy tales, where the fairy godmother warns 'the herbs must be gathered at midnight my child'.  Brilliant. This is my approximated version of Richard Mabey's wonderful original.

A basket full of beech leaves (still pale green and soft to the touch)

Castor sugar (Tate & Lyle now do an organic, fair-trade one if that floats your boat)

Gin (I use Gordon's but I don't think it matters.  Don't use anything exquisite like Hendrick's though, as the subtle flavours that come at that price tag will be lost)

It's probably best to rinse and spin the leaves in a salad spinner, then take a large glass jar or pudding bowl and start to lay the leaves down flat. Fill it up most of the way to the top and then press down with your palms (firmly but gently). Pour over the gin until the leaves are quite covered.  Then cover with greaseproof paper and weight down (don't use metal wights, they'll tarnish).  Put in a dark place and leave for a few weeks. 

When you return to the mixture, strain the liquid through muslin into a saucepan.  Add sugar to taste (I add a great deal because I like it sweet and syrupy).  Then warm very gently (not above a temperature you could comfortably dip your finger in) until all the sugar has dissolved.  Let too cool, pour into a bottle or jar and there you are.  Richard Mabey describes it as bright green. I've only ever managed gold, but it's still a lovely colour. 

The best way to describe the taste is like a sweet, alcoholic, aromatic tea.  We drink it very cold (sometimes from the freezer) as an aperitif.