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Ginger Extract
Cover two ounces of bruised ginger root with one-half pint of pure grain alcohol. Let stand till the spirit is impregnated thoroughly with the spice when strain and bottle for flavouring.
This is a straightforward tincture: alcohol pulls the gingerols and aromatic oils out of the root, and the strained liquid keeps almost indefinitely. The only vague part is the steeping time, which the original leaves to your nose.
- The alcohol"Pure grain alcohol" meant a high-proof neutral spirit, typically in the region of 190 proof, and was generally obtainable from druggists at the time; the nearest modern equivalent, where it is sold, is Everclear. Where it is not sold, an 80–100 proof unflavoured vodka works; the extract will be slightly weaker and a little slower to draw.
- Quantities in modern termsTwo ounces is a weight — about 55 g of fresh or dried root. Half a pint is one cup (about 240 ml). That is a strong ratio by modern standards and gives a concentrated flavouring.
- Bruised, not gratedBruising means smashing the root with the flat of a knife or a mallet so the fibres split. Grating gives faster extraction but a cloudy, pulpy result that is miserable to strain.
- Fresh or dried rootEither works. Dried root gives a hotter, drier, more peppery extract; fresh ginger gives a brighter, more citrus-lemon note but also water, which dilutes the spirit slightly.
- How long is "till impregnated"Two to four weeks in a sealed jar at room temperature, out of direct light, shaking every few days. Taste on a sugar cube or in a spoon of water to judge; over-long steeping mostly adds bitterness from the fibres rather than more heat.
- Straining and storingStrain through a coffee filter or several layers of muslin rather than a sieve, or fine sediment will settle out later. Bottle in dark glass; the flavour holds for years, though the top note fades after the first.
- Yield and useYou will get a little under a cup. Treat it like vanilla extract — a quarter to half a teaspoon in a cake, custard, or fruit compote, or a few dashes in a glass of soda water.
Home-made flavouring extracts were routine household chemistry before the flavour industry took them over: vanilla, lemon peel, bitter orange, cinnamon and ginger were all steeped in whatever high-proof spirit the cook could buy, and cookery books printed the ratios alongside the cakes that used them. Ginger itself is a rhizome, the underground stem of Zingiber officinale, and had reached American kitchens by way of centuries of trade out of South and Southeast Asia, arriving mostly dried or preserved in syrup rather than as the fresh hand of root now sold everywhere. Recipes of this kind also quietly document a pharmacy counter that no longer exists: pure grain alcohol could be an ordinary shop purchase for the domestic cook, though availability varied by state and by period, and American Prohibition and later liquor licensing are generally credited with bringing that state of affairs to an end.