The Violette Problem

I made two Night Flights the other night, one with crème de violette and one without, and let the room vote. The room was wrong.

In the room's defence, most people have only ever met violette over-poured. Somewhere along the way it got treated like lemon juice, a thing you add with confidence and a heavy wrist, and now a lot of perfectly nice people believe purple tastes like a gift-shop candle. It doesn't. Purple tastes like that when you pour an ounce of it.

Half an ounce. Not one. I keep saying this, and people keep nodding, and then I catch myself free-pouring it like I'm watering a fern when I think nobody's looking.

Here's why it matters in this drink in particular. The Night Flight is the love child of the Vesper and the Aviation: gin and vodka in the same glass, which is already a decision, then gentian and violette on top of that decision. Everything in there has opinions. The gentian brings a bitter, slightly spicy edge, the lemon bitters keep it honest, and the gin does the heavy lifting. Use Empress if you want the colour, which lands somewhere around a bruise that has somehow made peace with itself.

Violette at half an ounce rounds off the corners and puts a floral note in the background, which is where flowers belong. At an ounce it stops being an ingredient and starts being the whole conversation, and it is not a good conversationalist.

So measure it. Use the jigger, even for the half ounce, especially for the half ounce. Stir it with everything else until the glass is properly cold, strain it, and finish with a brandied cherry and a half-moon of lemon peel.

Then make the one without violette right next to it, taste both, and decide for yourself. I'd like to think you'll side with me. The room didn't, and I have forgiven them, mostly.

Cheers, Steve