To my horror, I found them lying in one of the compost bins one afternoon, after the gardener had cleaned the vegetable beds of weeds. The five plants clearly did not match the rows of sunflowers that were coming up in the bed and had then joined the ranks of weeds that day. I tried to rescue them by planting them and watering them in the hope that they would survive. Three plants survived but were clearly in shock and did not initially develop into the mad abundance of their orange and yellow cousins in the orchard.
The flowers were a surprise of double, deep-red blooms and more fragrant than I knew nasturtiums to be. It seemed right that a flower of that hue and display should have a scent to match.
In the winter season, I did not plant any winter vegetables, and the vegetable beds lay fallow because I planned to change the irrigation in the vegetable and herb beds to reduce the mist caused by the sprinklers, something that caused a lot of problems with fungal diseases on the vegetable plants as well as the vineyard. The new irrigation arrangement is more focused on watering closer to the ground and reducing water wastage.
The only colour in the garden was some red lettuce that came up as volunteer plants in one of the beds and a profusion of red nasturtiums whose deep blue-green leaves echoed that of the lettuce. The profusion of the plants is a joy to behold, and if I were an artist, I would probably have painted several canvasses trying to capture their beauty.
I wanted to capture that colour, and the spirit of these flowers, before it disappeared with the season. I decided to gather the blooms from our garden and infuse them in a locally distilled witblits, allowing the flowers to slowly give up their colour, perfume and character to the spirit. What I captured in the bottle is that garden moment made tangible, the deep, rare red of the nasturtium suspended in an artisanal floral liqueur, made here at Towerwater.
I was inspired to revive the old French practice of preserving garden botanicals and translating it into a modern flower liqueur. The end result captured the colour of the flowers and some of the fragrance, evoking the memory of the abundance of the plants at the bottom of the vegetable garden.
In the absence of a history of nasturtium liqueur, I opted for the name Crème de Capucine, as a vibrant, artisanal French-style flower liqueur made by infusing edible nasturtium blossoms into a neutral spirit and sweetening it with sugar syrup.
The name comes directly from capucine, the French word for nasturtium, so named because the trumpet-like shape of the flower resembles a Franciscan monk’s hood or cowl (capuchon). The word “crème” suggests a sweet, syrup-like liqueur. I use it here in that sense rather than as a claim that the liqueur meets a particular legal definition for the designation “crème de”.
Apparently, nasturtium pigments aren't necessarily stable during processing and storage. I also have to keep in mind that one modern nasturtium-wine experiment specifically notes that the flowers lose their colour as the infusion sits, even though their flavour remains.
It is also important to note that I only macerate the flowers for two to four days, tasting periodically. In my experience, the short maceration is important; a longer extraction of the flowers can push nasturtium towards its more aggressively green, vegetal side. One might end up with Crème de Cabbage instead of Crème de Capucine because nasturtiums, like cabbages and other brassicas, contain glucosinolates that can break down into pungent compounds.
How to Make Crème de Capucine
I could not find evidence of a commercially available nasturtium liqueur. The following recipe is my own, and I have no long-term experience of how the liqueur will react to light or how long it will retain its flavour. I used a locally produced witblits (a clear, potent, traditionally unaged South African raw spirit, usually distilled from grape by-products) with an alcohol content of 55%. Vodka would be a good alternative because it is neutral and highly accessible.
Ingredients:
2 cups fresh nasturtium flowers, about 30 large flowers (tightly packed, thoroughly rinsed, and checked for garden bugs). Note: The colour of the flowers will determine the intensity of the colour of the liqueur. Avoid stems, as I prefer to keep the infusion focused on the flowers rather than the more vegetal parts of the plant.
750 ml of high-quality witblits or vodka (a clean, neutral spirit acts as the best canvas).
500 ml granulated sugar
500 ml water
Instructions:
Infuse the Alcohol: Place your cleaned nasturtium flowers into a clean mason jar. Pour the witblits or vodka over the flowers until they are completely submerged. Seal the jar tightly and store it in a cool, dark place.
Steep: Let it steep for 2 to 4 days. Taste-test it daily. I found that nasturtium infuses incredibly fast, and a longer extraction can shift the flavour from a peppery bite towards a more aggressively green, vegetal character.
Strain: Once the spirit tastes distinctly peppery and has absorbed the flowers' pigment, strain the liquid through a fine-mesh sieve or cheesecloth to remove all organic matter.
Sweeten: In a small saucepan, combine the sugar and water. Bring to a gentle simmer until the sugar completely dissolves to create a simple syrup. Let it cool completely.
Blend and Bottle: Stir the cooled simple syrup gradually into your infused spirit. Adjust the sweetness to your liking. I used about half of the syrup. Pour your finished Crème de Capucine into a glass bottle.
The Towerwater Crème de Capucine is a welcome addition to the Towerwater drinks trolley in the Lounge. To celebrate our latest artisanal liqueur, I made a Botanical Gimlet as follows: shake 60 ml gin, 25 ml fresh lime juice, and 15 ml Crème de Capucine with ice. Strain into a coupe glass for a complex twist on a classic. Garnish with a nasturtium flower.