“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.
Episode 18 Notes:
The story of William and the famous clover club filled with people worth knowing. William was a guest in the clover club. William brought something very important to the club, and he also consumed some very important. Something very famous. A drink, that is known around the world.
Transcript of Podcast:
*This is the entire podcast episode in written form. Do not read if you want the audio version to be spoiled.
The thing about the club…is that you can talk about the club…mostly because everyone wants to be in the club, and only a select few can. Yet, it was no surprise that William got an invite to this most elite of clubs. Or, that he found himself where he was now; his Irish butt buried into the plush, brown leather sofa, surround by other distinguished captains, who were all looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak.
Although this was’t new to William, he was used to being at the front of the room leading others, he wasn’t used to what he knew would come next. The other captains gathered looked screwed too, and they hadn’t earned their spots in this room without being smart. That would make what came next a combination of ruthless honesty veiled in humor. Good humor contains honesty, after all. Yet, William would have to remind himself that this club wasn’t out to get him.
There was, in the entire history of the club, only one individual that hadn’t received the usual roasting at the end of his talk. William understood why. It would have been unbecoming. These were gentleman and no one was silly enough to insult the President of the United States.
This monthly affair, with the captains surrounding him, was a way for them all to let off some steam, and the good natured roasting that was to follow his talk, was a sort of inclusion practice. Plus, you didn’t become a captain without having a thick skin. It was a mark of status really, a symbol of what you had endured in order to be a captain, and one that he didn’t take lightly.
As his hand went to the pink, tart drink his eyes went to the sign hanging above the entranceway of the club.
“Who enters here leaves care behind, leaves sorrow behind, leaves petty envies and jealousies behind.”
He enjoyed the world play of it, the elegance. It was almost…poetic. And no doubt written by one of these highly learned captains in this very room.
William took in the smells of leather, cigars and oak. Some of the faces were familiar but many he didn’t know. It wasn’t crowded. Membership was very limited. Exclusive. The club brought people together though, filled with its secrets and its drinks…one drink, that he was putting back right now. A famous drink, which stood out as ironic during the early 1900’s, considering what sort of club they were in. Or, if you know anything about the roaring 20’s era…maybe not.
And William had come a long way to try this drink, although that wasn’t why he was here. It was a happy coincidence. He’d found his way to America from Ireland, where he was born. He came of age at an…interesting time in Ireland, when the identity of the country was shifting. And William, had been deeply entrenched in that shift if alone for the sole reason that he was aligned with the political and religion group that was rising to power at the time.
They were searching for their identity and, in many ways, William’s upbringing in that environment, raised deep questions that also had him questioning identity. In the But, amidst this great upheaval, William found his way to London, following his family.
William wondered about the Captains around him now. Had they lived similar lives and found their way to the United States just as he had? In some ways, although he had no reason to be, he felt a bit intimidated. There were many distinguished captains around him, and the club had been around since 1880.
There was Moses, the club’s president, who was very influential and had been for many years. He’d taken the club from meager, isolated beginnings and expanded it, stretching it’s reach to many captains all through Philadelphia. And by the 1900’s, before prohibition had arrived, it was a place oozing with power, success and money. And all of this success and money drank a drink, named after the club, and started by the club.
It was a pink drink.
The clover club…
Was an old boy’s club.
Only men were allowed in the club at the time
But, if their pink drink of choice tells you anything about this men to should signal that they were sophisticated captains, embracing a good thing regardless of any sort of level or fear of stigma for choosing a drink that imbued many feminine characteristics.
These were men, confident in who they were as men. In a club, like any other club in Philadelphia at the time.
In the Bellevue Hotel, the 19 story tall building that became a hangout for the rich and powerful. A place for charity balls, club get togethers, politicians and heads of states, businessman, writers, and special meetings. Fifteen presidents had dined and stayed there. Fifteen. Teddy Roosevelt was the first. And Ronald Regan was the last.
In fact, the old boy’s club that William was attending, often brought some of these captains together. There were 35 members in the club and William was not one of them. He was a guest, chosen to give a talk to the group. Just like many others before him. His type of captain was… the original type admitted to this club. But, they’d expanded when they formalized the club with charter documents and changed the name, to the name of the drink they were drinking now.
A drink that had a bit of luck in it, a bit of Irish, that made William feel good. So, he finished his second pink drink of the night, and enjoying the balance of fruitful good health and gin, grabbed his notebook and went to the front of the room, where he looked out at the Captains of Industry before him and read one of his new poems.
When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
A round of applause rose when he finished and, with a quick bow, he returned to his seat. The poem was titled When You Are Old, and it spoke to his heart.
All of his poems did, and as a Captain of Poetry, he’d mastered the art of putting the words to paper too.
William was a captain of a different type of ship. Many of the captains here were. Lawyers. Politicians. Businessman. Writers. The gamut was wide and the captains verified, but the thing they all had in common was being masters of their craft, being arguably the best at what they did.
That’s how they had gotten in to the club in the first place, the ticket that they punched in the form of exceptionalism, which gave them access to others like them to discuss ideas, socialize and network, while also tipping back a few pink drinks.
And so the pink drink, which started at this men’s club, in Philadelphia was born and consisted of:
1 ½ oz gin
½ oz dry vermouth
½ oz lemon juice
½ oz raspberry syrup or 3 raspberries plus ½ oz simple syrup, or to taste.
½ oz egg white (about ½ an egg white )
If made correctly, it had a frothy, white top from the egg white, and the entire rest of the drink was pink, from the raspberries.
So, William, also know as W. B. Yeats, arguably the greatest poet of the 20th century, tipped back his pink drink, named after the club, he was visiting right now, and settled his Irish butt back into the leather sofa and waited for the roasting to begin.
It wouldn’t be as bad as he thought, not with a drink like this in his hand, which had the nod to his Irish heritage he liked.
The Clover Club.
The clover club…named after the clover club, an exclusive men’s only club started just before 1900 in Philadelphia
That brought together some of the most influential and important minds of the time to socialize… And
Was allegedly the inspiration behind his famous poem A Dialogue of Self and Soul…
Which explored the pleasures of earthly experiences, such things as the Clover Club Pink Drink,
And the souls yearning for hidden wisdom in the universe….
“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks (Negroni in this episode) that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.
Episode 17 Details:
A famous media mogul, after fame and success in the US, finally met his match battling the fiesty Italians. He walked away a brusied and beaten, but with a drink to ease his pain.
Transcript of Podcast:
*This is the entire podcast episode in written form. Do not read if you want the audio version to be spoiled.
It was Black Magic that brought Charles to Italy but not the reason he stayed. The sort of magic practiced by witches, capable of hexing and jinxing. And it was the hexes that Charles fell victim to during his six years here. And while he came for the magic, he stayed for that age old reason, that noblest and most frustrating of reasons. Love.
Charles had made a name for himself in the United States as a media magnate years prior. But, for all of his success and his influence in media, which at this time of the world, around the 1920’s, print was still a dominant form, Charles was an unhappy man. Some even ventured to say that he hadn’t had a happy moment in his life since childhood.
Too much struggle for wealth had become such a centralizing focus that it also made him miserable. It seemed to be a price Charles traded willingly. This was understandable, considering his upbringing. While he had come from money, it didn’t mean life had been devoid of hardship.
Because, money alone doesn’t mean an easy life, and Charles can attest to this. His dad, a very wealthy man, having achieved great success, lost purpose and turned to drinking as an escape.
With his dad’s face, and liver, buried deep in the bottle, Charles’ mother cared for him…teaching him the joys of music and the arts. Charles was forced to split his time, from the age of 4 on, between his father and his mother. Until the age of 9 anyway, which was when his mother passed away.
After that point he lived exclusively with his father, who pulled him out of school and took him on great adventures to the Indies and other places. Upon returning stateside again they settled down once more. But, the stability was not to last, as Charles’ dad drank himself to death. And, at the age of 15, Charles found himself alone and the ward of a family friend.
He’d given up music, even though he was a prodigy, and took to other ambitions. These ambitions brought him great fame and influence early on and by the age of 25 one of his most famous creations was born.
This was in part due to his sensational storytelling, a gift that allowed Charles to excel in his media profession. So it was this media which grew in popularity and, despite a lackluster start, received global recognition and study over the years.
Charles was an innovator, capable of crafting unique narratives that conveyed information and stories in a way never done before.
He also created a technique for telling stories, one still used by media companies today. It seems commonplace now because it’s used all the time, just as I’m using it now, but, back when he rolled it out in 1925, it was unheard of.
Non-linear narrative. It’s the idea that the narrative of a story in media does not progress from point A to Point B and then Point C in a linear manor, but that the final plot point could start the story, as I’ve started this story with talking about Charles in Italy and then backtracked to discuss his career before Italy, and his childhood. Eventually I’ll make my way forward again to Italy. This narrative is non-linear. Common place now. But, novel and unheard of at the time.
So, Charles was a master at his craft. But, that didn’t necessarily help him with the Italians…who can be a… prickly bunch at times. Maybe it’s a point of national pride, an unwillingness to recognize the talents and skills of someone who isn’t Italian.
And Charles was not Italian, although he tried. Especially when he escaped there to run away from his failing relationship in the United States, a relationship that was on its last leg. Plus there was opportunity for Charles in Italy to practice and expand his media empire. It was a worthy challenge.
So, he hopped on a plane and found his way to Italy, and he pursued media with the same passion he had pursued everything else in life. And, along the way, he stumbled across a drink, that he would, coincidentally, make famous in the United States when his adoring followers latched on to it.
This drink originated in Florence, Italy when Count Camillo was feeling just a bit feisty and ordered a well known drink, with liquor instead of soda water.
That was 30 years prior and the drink had not yet spread to the US by 1947 when Charles arrived.
Charles had arrived Post WWII, at a time when Italy, if you remember, was not on the winning side. So, the arrival of a famous American – successful, colorful, boisterous – the embodiment of all the postured victory lap sort of thing that America would do to hammer the point home, did not go well.
Of course, Charles wasn’t there for that, but an individual in his position couldn’t help but end up that way. He was too big a figure. Too large a target. So the Italian press attacked him, and his mounting Italian failures in his media pursuits. Some were due to bad luck and poor timing, others to miscalculations. And, if there is one thing that always holds true, it’s that to those who have found success, they are judged all the harder for their failures.
We love to see big folks fall. It makes the little folks feel vindicated. That it was nothing more than luck. That if he or she was truly good and skilled and better, he or she would succeed every time.
This is probably why these Italian years are the lost years for Charles, the years that are often glossed over in the biographies and histories of Charles.
He fell in love, only to have the relationship end dramatically a year and a half later.
He unveiled multiple media projects, that he thought for sure would be successful, but ended up being met with muted appreciation and harsh Italian criticism.
Charles couldn’t catch a break…aside from that drink, of course, which he drank with great pleasure…the balance of healthful tonics and harmful booze that balanced itself out perfect.
But, it was the early successes that Charles was chasing during this time, trying to find new and novel ways to reinvent his craft and profession after having already achieved so much. He wanted to push the boundaries. Maybe he pushed himself too hard and stunted his creative juices, the same ones that had unlocked such masterful, new techniques that changed the art of storytelling.
Whatever it was, the truth is, that during the six years Charles spent in Italy, he worked on many projects that were never finished. Some ran out of money. Some had production issues. Some just…dried up and became no more. Of course, some he finished. But those, too, were not as successful as his media work in the United States.
Perhaps they were as good and the reception of an ice cold Italian audience was the differentiating factor.
Either way, this time in his life, would not be fruitful for Charles in terms of success but it would be a period of great trials and learning. And if there is anything that DOES hold true, it’s that great trials and struggle eventually reap reward, given enough time and persistence.
So, Charles, became Charles, the character that this real individual played in his most popular movie so far. Because, you see, Charles, as portrayed on the big media screen, not the primary form of media at the time, which was print, was an unhappy, but very successful business man.
Charles, the true story depicting the real life man by the name of William Randolf Hearst, a wealthy newspaper tycoon who was once friends with this director and actor,
until they had a falling out,
Which caused this director to produce the movie he did,
That received no recognition at the box office,
In part because Hearst used his media control to blackball the movie from all of his newspapers.
But, the cream always rises to the top and the brilliance and innovation of this movie would eventually receive recognition
And many awards and critical acclaim,
So much so that this movie is still studied in film classes today…
And considered by many critics to be the best movie of all time.
Citizen Kane
Is the name of the movie.
Featuring the protagonist Charles Kane, a wealthy media businessman,
Which Orson Welles directed and acted in
And released at the age of 25
It was six years later that Welles found his way to Italy after his marriage was falling apart with Rita Hayworth
and his career had reached a sort of… temporary plateau
Which is part of the reason he ended up in Italy acting in a movie by the name of Black Magic,
A romance based on a novel by Alexandre Dumas Joseph Balsamo
While there he was introduced to a drink,
The Negroni
Made with 1 oz Campari
1 oz gin
1 oz sweet vermouth
And garnished with an orange peel
He fell in love with this bitter, but delicious, Negroni drink and drank many of them during the trying years he spent in Italy,
Battered by the media,
Loving and losing,
Trying his hand directing several different films that were poorly received,
Such as a rendition of Macbeth.
And after 6 years he left Italy and moved on, but he took his love for the Negroni with him.
The Negroni had risen in popularity in the United States at this time thanks to Welles
And Welles would go on to produce several more sensational movies, which would also garner critical acclaim and success
The lost years of Italy were a stepping stone,
A necessary part of his career develop,
The fall after a great rise
Before another greater rise
And this greater rise would also be accompanied by the drink of his choice,
This white sangria drink recipe is a twist on traditional sangria with the use of white wine instead of red wine. It has a unique flavors that differs dramatically from traditional red sangria. Often, white sangria drink recipes have a crisp and refreshing taste.
Take the below peach forward white sangria, for example. It’s made with Pinot Grigio wine, which is a great white wine sangria, and fresh fruits, this sangria recipe is sure to become a favorite at your next gathering. Let’s dive into the details of crafting this irresistible beverage.
Ingredients for a White Sangria Drink Recipe:
1 bottle of Pinot Grigio white wine
1/2 cup peach schnapps
1/4 cup simple syrup
1 cup peaches, sliced
1 cup strawberries, sliced
1 orange, sliced
1 lemon, sliced
1 lime, sliced
Fresh mint leaves for garnish
Ice cubes for serving
Instructions:
1. Prepare the fruits by washing and slicing
2. In a large pitcher, combine the white wine and elderflower liqueur. Stir well to ensure all the flavors are mixed. Then toss in the fruits and muddle them.
3. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours. More flavor, more time. Infuse overnight for more intense, delicious flavors.
4. When infused, add ice to glasses, mix in white sangria. Serve and enjoy!
*Want it extra boozy and with more flavor? Add in triple sec.
**Add lime or lemon seltzer water for some fizz.
White Sangria Drink Recipe:
Pinto Grigio is a classic white wine to use in white wine sangria. The addition of fresh peaches and peach schnapps add a refreshing fruity taste that is perfect on a hot summer day. Plus, the mint garnish balances the sweet peach well. Part of the joy of good sangria is the visual appeal too, and the color and added fruit to this recipe does not disappoint. Between the flavor and the look, this sangria is an experience to be enjoyed with your close friends and family during all your summer time fun.
“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks (Suffering Bastard Cocktail in this episode) that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.
Episode 16 Details:
A famous media mogul, after fame and success in the US, finally met his match battling the fiesty Italians. He walked away a brusied and beaten, but with a drink to ease his pain.
Transcript of Podcast:
*This is the entire podcast episode in written form. Do not read if you want the audio version to be spoiled.
The heat from the bonfire felt nice on Norman’s hands. He piled more fuel on the open flames and watched the fire leapt to life, a long train of smoke drifting peacefully into the sky. January was arguably the coldest month of the year, and while the temps were still warm in comparison to Michigan, where Norman grew up, he’d spent so much of his adult life in other climates, that he’d acclimated to the temperature difference and appreciated the warmth.
It was 50 degrees out. Not so cold that he’d lose limbs from frostbite, or even need to wear anything more than a thick sweater, which is what he had on now. Jeans and a sweater, non-descript in color and style, a comfortable outfit for the setting.
Others joined him around the fire and he gave a nod. No words needed to be said. They were all there for a specific reason. They stared into the burning fire, listening to the crackling and burning, then, seeing that they needed more fuel, walked away to grab some.
Norman stood, looking at the world around him, enamored with the moment. He’d grown up in Bloomfield, Michigan, a town of around 4,000 people. Small in comparison to where he was now. But, Norman always had a bright future. After high school he went to Harvard and, upon graduation in 1941, found himself volunteering for the navy, after the horrors of Pearl Harbor occurred.
After searching the Atlantic Coast in a yacht for Nazi Submarines, and with the war over, he ended up at the Naval War College for more schooling. That schooling took him around the world and opened up doors he never could have imagined.
He walked through door after door, until he came to this one, and, like he’d done every time before, walked through it too. Now, he was living the life. The city sprawling out before him, a fire at his finger tips, newly married and deeply in love…what more could he ask for?
Norman pondered this as he poked at the coals and ashes of the fire, helping them to burn. He hated the way an unattended fire didn’t burn even, leaving unburnt chunks smoldering or clumped and sitting on top of dead ash the next day.
He was particular about his fires, and wanted to make sure he left no trace.
The 6 men that had left now returned, bringing more fuel for the fire. Then they went to the edge of the property and looked out at the people. They were flooding the streets, following behind trucks loaded full with barrels .
They weren’t the only one having a fire today. In fact, on this relatively odd occurrence, there were more people having fires, than not having fires. Alas, given the day, Saturday, and the weather, clear but with a chill in the air, it made sense. Today was a perfect day for a bonfire.
People snaked down the alleyway, cutting between the building across from them owned by his British neighbors, and his place. Norman watched them with fascination then focused once more on his task of stoking the fire.
The flames leapt to life once more and a feeling of satisfaction passed through him. Maybe, he’d go for a drink after this. A reward for cleaning out all of this old junk and burning it to ash. The place was looking tidier already. Clean. Just the way he wanted it.
Although it felt a little early for spring cleaning, he didn’t mind being ahead of the game. And the reward too…Norman’s mouth just about starting salivating at thoughts of that tasty, complicated drink. He struggled to think of anything else in that moment.
And of course he had to stop by the place where the drink started. Hopefully Joe himself would be working and he’d get a Joe original. That’d be a real treat. As if by instinct, his eyes wandered away from the fire and looked out, seeing if he could see the hotel with its long bar. It was called the long bar because of the agonizingly long time it took to get a drink there.
Norman gasped. His eyes widened. As it turns out, he could see the hotel from here. This hotel too, was famous. One of the most famous in the world from the time the doors opened until now, and, it was the most popular hotel in the city, by leaps and bounds.
It was just over 100 years old at this point, with a double set of brick stairs leading up to the Porta co-cher, the overhanging entranceway. On top of the overhand was a patio, and not one, not two, but three additional stories including the patio level.
Large flags always snapped crisp and new from the two corners of the Porta co-cher, bearing the logo of the hotel.
Samuel, not to be confused with this Samuel, had started the hotel all those years ago. He’d risen from being a subpar pastry chef, to creating and running this marvel of a hotel. Until he sold it, that is, to Philip, and retired back to England, where he’d originally come from.
Beautiful stained glass windows covered the building. Lavish Persian carpets draped the floors. There were gardens exploding with gorgeous flowers and plants, smelling fresh and delicious. Terraces over looking the streets below. And even giant granite pillars constructed with resemblance to Ancient Egyptian temples.
They were in Egypt, after all, so the tasteful nod to the temples, made perfect sense.
Every night, without fail, US officers would mingle with British and French officers, twirling beautiful women in their flowing night gowns around the dance floor at the extravagant dances that took place there. There was also the drink that originated there as medicine, a hangover cure, that turned into a sensational hit amongst all the military that rolled through here.
The drink and hotel became so famous that they took on a legendary status, with soldiers from the front asking for buckets of the drink to be sent their direction, and even one Nazi General quipping that he would be drinking a champagne in the…Shepaerd Hotel in no time.
Norman hadn’t been to a nightly dance in a while. Now that he was settled down and married that sort of living wasn’t for him. He was a committed man, after all. But, the drink still sounded good. And after the day he’d had, he’d want one.
The problem, of course, was that as he looked at the Shepaerd Hotel and gasped, he was also looking at the hotel engulfed in flames. It had been set a blaze. This iconic landmark, known the world over, was turning to ash before his very eyes, flames leaping high into the sky and sending up billowing plumes of smoke.
Further down the street British soldiers, off duty, had exited the front doors of their club, The Jockey’s Club, since it was on fire too, and, to Norman’s horror, they were forced back inside the burning building to die.
Norman’s heart raced and he looked at his own meager fire. Would he be able to finish in time? He stuffed more fuel in the fire and looked at the walls around his place.
The crowd, the rioters, had moved further down the alley, between the British Embassy and his place. They were scaling the walls now. Norman’s heart was in his throat and he furiously tossed more fuel into the fire. He had to work faster. Leave no trace.
The six men had returned to the roof again, this time drawing the pistols from their hips and aiming at the rioters working to scale the walls of the American Embassy. The six men held their ground. That’s what they were trained to do and they didn’t plan to open fire on anyone until they stepped foot on American soil.
Suddenly people were leaping off of the walls, running at full speed away, disbanding, the trucks carrying containers of gasoline to burn the city to the ground, revving and accelerating away.
Norman craned his head the opposite direction and breathed a massive sigh of relief. It was the military. After hours of the city being left to the rioters, and the rioters marking and burning buildings to the ground, in violent protest against British Forces and the 50 Egyptian soldiers they’d killed two days prior, help had arrived.
That didn’t mean anger had subsided, though. The British had controlled this country for 70 years now, in large part to maintain control over a canal, the Suez Canal, which was an important trade route from the South Atlantic to the South Indian Ocean and cutting 5,500 miles off of a very important route that allowed for European and Asian trade.
The Egyptians, needless to say, were sick of foreign control, especially from the British. They were sick of not receiving any benefit from the canal that went through their country and benefited most the countries that controlled and utilized these waterways.
So, while they may have ran off, high tailing it away from the American Embassy as Egyptian military forces arrived, and leaving 6 armed marines and a foreign officer stationed there named Norman Getsinger to breath a sigh of relief, they were not out of the woods just yet.
Things would get worse before they got better. Which was why Norman continued to incinerate the top-secret documents within the embassy, via the fire he kept roaring on top of the embassy roof.
As Cairo burned around him,
Taking with it 850 buildings, many of them marked for destruction the night prior with a large “X” by rioters.
This was Black Saturday, and not the sort of fire he enjoyed sitting next to.
The famous Cairo riots of 1952
That took with them the legendary Shepheard’s Hotel, named after the founder Samuel Shepheard,
And buried in ash the long bar where bartender Joe Scialom invented his famous drink
A drink that consisted of:
The Suffering Bastard Cocktail
1 ounce of brandy or, if they find it, whiskey
1 ounce of gin
1/2 an ounce of fresh squeezed lime juice
2 dashes of angostura bitters
And topped off with ginger beer
A stiff drink, with a refreshing twist aimed at curing the hangovers of soldiers living it up in Cairo during WWII.
The Suffering Bar Steward. (Suffering Bastard Cocktail)
Which… if you, take out the space in the last two words, and say it fast enough, it sounds like the more common, but inappropriate and…illegitimate…name of the drink
A white sangria recipe is a twist on traditional sangria with the use of white wine instead of red wine. Sangria has ancient origins, with its roots tracing back to the Roman Empire. The Romans would mix water with wine to make it safe to drink, and they often added herbs and spices for flavor.
There’s no better way to cool down and unwind in the warm summer heat than with a glass of refreshing sangria, and if you are looking for something a bit different, than white sangria is yours answer.
Ingredients for a White Sangria Recipe:
1 bottle of Pino Grigio wine
1/2 cup of elderflower liqueur
1 peach, sliced
1 pint of strawberries, sliced
1 orange, sliced
1 lime, sliced
Fresh mint leaves for garnish
Ice cubes for serving
Instructions:
1. Prepare the fruits by washing and slicing
2. In a large pitcher, combine the white wine and elderflower liqueur. Stir well to ensure all the flavors are mixed. Then toss in the fruits and muddle them.
3. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours. More flavor, more time. Infuse overnight for more intense, delicious flavors.
4. When infused, add ice to glasses, mix in white sangria. Serve and enjoy!
*Want it extra boozy and with more flavor? Add in orange triple sec.
White Sangria Recipe:
White sangria is a delightful and refreshing beverage that embodies the essence of summer. With its crisp flavors, it’s the perfect companion for any outdoor gathering or lazy afternoon lounging by the pool. So gather your friends, raise your glasses and toast to the joys of summer with this tasty white sangria recipe.
