Drink Your Jam
A guaranteed success for cocktail hour
In my thirties, I began traveling to London to connect with distributors, bartenders, and retailers who were supporting our company, Jack Rudy Cocktail Co. Thrillingly, the Tonic Syrup and Bourbon Cocktail Cherries were being adopted in some of the toniest bars and restaurants across the city, and it provided an excuse to spend a week eating and drinking across town.
On my first trip, I visited Hawksmoor, a new-ish British steak restaurant, and an early supporter of our brand. At the time, there were only a few locations across the city. It was known for its British beef, great design, and a best-in-class cocktail program developed by Nick Strangeway, one of the world’s great barmen.
This was during the era when interest in cocktails was at a fever pitch, and bartenders had taken to calling themselves mixologists. Nick went on to create Second Sip, a low-proof London Dry Gin (bartenders get old, too), Hawksmoor spread across the city - and into the US - and mercifully, those in the bar trade grew out of the obnoxious, self-aggrandizing title. (I was a bartender for many years, and I never once referred to myself as a mixologist.)
It was at Hawksmoor where I first tried a Marmalade Cocktail, a 1920’s recipe from London’s famed Savoy Hotel. The drink was self-assured in its brevity, an elemental combination of gin, orange marmalade, and lemon. I’d never thought to sweeten my cocktails with marmalade (or any of its ilk: jam, preserves, conserves, etc.), and I was an immediate convert.
Since then, I’ve deployed this trick both at home and in my restaurants. Currently, we serve a version at The Bell using Tiptree Orange Marmalade. At home, I’ve long kept my fridge stocked with jams - less for eating, and more for cocktail-making. With so many inventive jam makers working today, you’ve got an easy, back-pocket shortcut to complex cocktails whose flavors belie their ease.
My favorites are London Borough of Jam (try saying Chuckleberry Jam without an English accent), and Sqirl in Los Angeles, who produce batches like Candy Stripe Fig and Elderflower, Blenheim Apricot, and Black Mission Fig and Red Wine, and Jamboree Jams out of New Orleans.
Just last week, while visiting San Francisco, I emailed June Taylor, whose jams were once the toast of Berkeley until she closed her eponymous shop in 2021. Fortunately, Christine Muhlke alerted readers of her SF Guide that June was still making jams, and they were available by emailing her directly, paying her via Venmo, and picking them up on her doorstep.
Reader, you already know what I did next. I like a cottage industry.
My haul of June’s jams included flavors like Lemon, Yuzu, and Rose Marmalade; Santa Rosa Plum, Mulberry, and Rose Conserve; and Fig & Pluot. California sunshine, preserved in a jar.
Jams like these are great for eating, of course, but the pristine, concentrated snapshots of seasonal fruit captured at the peak of ripeness will knock your cocktails socks off. I mixed the Yuzu and Rose Marmalade with Mezcal and lime for a complex, floral variation on a Margarita. My wife looked at me anew, a sparkle in her eye.
It couldn’t be any easier:
