Towerwater Crème de Capucine

Last year I received some special nasturtium seeds in exchange for some Hereboontjies. The leaves are a blue-green colour, while the flowers are a deep red and nearly double. I eagerly watched the first five plants come up in the sunflower bed. With their dark blue-green leaves, they looked exotic compared to the abundant standard-issue colourful annuals.



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.

Towerwater Guava Liqueur

Guava time is preserving time, because there are only so many fresh guavas a person can eat. A fresh guava doesn’t like lying around, and it certainly doesn’t like travelling. You only have to look at it sideways and it’s bruised. The best thing is to eat it straight off the tree, before it even knows it has been picked.

By late autumn, the whole kitchen and house smell of guavas ripening further in the bowl on the kitchen table. It has become a ritual to go out in the late afternoon and pick the guavas before the mousebirds, Cape white-eyes and bulbuls get to them early the next morning. Guava time in the Towerwater orchard is competition time, with every bird and bug vying to get its beak, pincers or ovipositor into this exotic fruit first.

The harvest in the bowl on the kitchen table grows quickly with every evening’s picking, and before you know it, you have to find a way of dealing with them so that the goodness lasts a little longer than late autumn.

The old favourite is to preserve them in syrup, because what could be better than preserved guavas with custard? You eat them cold in summer and warm in winter, with just a little hint of cinnamon for that cosy feeling.

Guavas and custard are such a simple South African treat, but somehow the nostalgia settles right there, just this side of your heart, before you’ve even taken the first bite. You can almost feel your eyes start to swim when you see that bowl of pink and yellow coming towards you, because you’ve already tasted it in your mind.

No guava season at Towerwater goes by without making a few jars of preserved guavas. It is an unpretentious dessert that asks so little and gives so much. This year I wanted to try something a little different as well, so I decided to make a guava liqueur based on a recipe I came across in my book Maak Jou Eie Likeur by Jean Dickson.

I replaced the cane spirit with witblits to give it that extra bit of local flavour. Because I used witblits, I decided not to peel the guavas because the skin holds the highest concentration of the fruit's natural aroma, giving one a bolder, more authentic guava flavour. I reasoned that, because witblits has a very high alcohol percentage (55% ABV) and a fiery, rustic character, leaving the guava skin on was actually the better approach.

What could be better than a sweet little tot of guava on a cold winter’s evening, or a guava spritz over ice in summer?

Towerwater Guava Liqueur

Ingredients:

500 g guavas

4 whole cloves

1 piece of cinnamon stick

750 ml witblits or cane spirit

500 g (625 ml) sugar

600 ml water

Method:

Peel the guavas and cut them into small pieces for cane spirit, but consider leaving them in the peal for witblits.

Place the guavas, cloves and cinnamon stick in a clean, dry glass or earthenware container with a lid. Add the witblits, seal tightly and shake well. Leave to infuse for two weeks in a warm place. Shake at least twice a day.

First strain the mixture through a clean, dry sieve and then strain it again through two layers of fine cheesecloth. Set aside.

Mix the sugar and water in a heavy-based saucepan and stir until the sugar has dissolved. Bring to the boil and boil for one minute. Remove the syrup from the heat and allow it to cool. Add the infused witblits to the cooled syrup.

Pour the liqueur into a dry, sterilised bottle, fit the stopper, seal and label. Store for one month.

And so I could add a tropical fruit liqueur to the ingredients for the unique Towerwater cocktails.

Some cocktail suggestions using the Towerwater Guava Liqueur,

The Karoo Sun (Refreshing & Tropical)

This is a bright, easy-drinking cocktail where the lime and passion fruit complement the intense guava aroma.

40 ml Guava-infused Witblits

25 ml Fresh lime juice

15 ml Passion fruit cordial (or fresh granadilla pulp)

15 ml Simple syrup (1:1 sugar and water)

Method: Shake all ingredients vigorously with ice, then double-strain into a glass filled with fresh ice. Top with a splash of soda water if you want to lengthen the drink.

 

The Witblits Mule (Fiery & Bold)

The natural spice of ginger beer perfectly matches the rustic, fiery character of the witblits while letting the earthy guava notes shine.

50 ml Guava-infused Witblits

20 ml Fresh lemon juice

Top up with a fiery, high-quality ginger beer (Think classic Stoney Ginger Beer, approx. 150 ml)

Method: Build this drink directly in a tall glass or copper mug filled with crushed ice. Stir gently to combine and garnish with a lemon wheel or a slice of fresh guava.

🥂

The Boland Blush (Elegant & Spritz-Style)

A sophisticated option where the sparkling wine opens up the heavy aromatics trapped by the high-proof alcohol.

30 ml Guava-infused Witblits

15 ml Simple syrup

Top up with dry MCC (Methode Cap Classique) or sparkling wine

Method: Pour the infused witblits and simple syrup into a champagne flute, stir gently, and top slowly with the chilled sparkling wine. Garnish with a twist of lemon peel

The lure of danger in the Towerwater kitchen

With an abundant harvest of sun-ripened apricots from the Towerwater orchard, not even the December heat could deter us from making our 100-apricot chutney. Looking at the bowl of apricot pits, I decided to find out how one can use the apricot pits instead of just throwing them away.

De White Industries in Montagu, where we buy our broken apricot pits for surfacing our pathways, must produce large quantities of apricot kernels, and I am sure that it does not go to waste.

Broken apricot pits at De White Industries in Montagu

The kernels from broken pits can be repurposed into high-value products rather than wasted. They can be processed to create oils for cosmetics and cooking and used as a marzipan-like flavouring in liqueurs.

A marzipan-flavoured liqueur is what attracted my attention. I discovered that liqueur made from apricot kernels is called Noyaux (pronounced nwoy-oh), and the word comes from the French term for “kernel” or “pit.”

Crème de Noyaux is a traditional French liqueur where fruit pits impart a distinctive almond-like flavour to the alcohol due to compounds also found in bitter almonds. Even though it comes from fruit pits, noyaux tastes like almond. This is because both contain benzaldehyde, the compound responsible for that flavour.

It seems that throughout the centuries, we humans lived a dangerous and experimental life, discovering what can be eaten and what should be avoided. I prefer to learn from other people's mistakes where dangerous foods are concerned. Apricot kernels can be dangerous because they naturally contain compounds that can release cyanide in one’s body. Apricot kernels contain a substance called amygdalin. When you chew or digest the kernel, your body breaks down the amygdalin and produces hydrogen cyanide, a highly toxic chemical.

This process is a classic example of a natural plant defence mechanism. Inside an apricot kernel lies a quiet but powerful defence. The seed stores amygdalin and enzymes separately, harmless on their own. But when an animal bites into the kernel, these components mix and trigger a reaction that releases hydrogen cyanide. This toxin quickly interferes with the body’s ability to use oxygen, discouraging the predator from eating more. This clever system, known as cyanogenic glycoside defence, allows the plant to protect its seed only when it is under threat, ensuring its survival in the next generation.

The rule is that one never consumes Noyaux or Crème de Noyaux in large quantities. Always use it sparingly to add that seductive almond-like marzipan flavour to cocktails, drizzle over vanilla ice cream, add to whipped cream, or incorporate a small amount into custards, panna cotta, or almond-flavoured pastries for added depth.

To add to the living-on-the-edge feel of making noyaux, it was historically coloured pink with cochineal, a natural red dye derived from the dried bodies of female scale insects that live on prickly pear cacti in South and North America. The insects produce carminic acid to deter predators, which is harvested to create brilliant red, crimson, or scarlet shades for food, cosmetics, and textiles.

One would think that if plants and insects produce toxins to deter predators, humans will take notice and say, “Thanks, we got the memo; we will leave you in peace.” Instead, we rush to make extracts and liqueurs containing cyanide-producing kernels and then look around for some other deterrent to colour the liqueur with.

Finding a reliable recipe for noyaux was not easy. It seems everyone uses a recipe that suits their available number of apricot kernels. After cracking the 100 pips, I had the generous amount of 100 apricot kernels. The kernels did not look dangerous at all, but being forewarned is to be forearmed, I believe, and I needed to find the right ratio of pips to alcohol.

Most recipes I found used 80-proof alcohol. Proof is calculated as exactly double the alcohol by volume (ABV) percentage (e.g., 40 x 2 = 80). I decided to use a local witblits with 55% alcohol by volume; 55% alcohol by volume (ABV) is 110 proof in the United States. Apparently, using 110-proof (55% ABV) alcohol to make noyaux (apricot kernel liqueur) can produce a better, more robust extract compared to standard 80-proof (40% ABV) vodka, as it is a more effective solvent for extracting the essential oils, aroma, and volatile compounds from the kernels.

The charm of traditional French homemade noyaux lies in its "snout-to-tail," no-waste philosophy, transforming discarded stone fruit pits (apricot, peach, or cherry) into a sophisticated, almond-scented liqueur. This old-fashioned, rustic process evokes a sense of country living, where patience, foraging, and artisan techniques create a deeply fragrant product far superior to commercial alternatives.

A popular, charming method in French households was not just to make one batch, but to keep a jar of alcohol on the counter, adding fresh kernels as they became available throughout the season, creating a continuous supply of liqueur.

Despite noyaux being made in households all over the world for centuries without recorded fatalities, modern food safety authorities advise extreme caution. Because the concentration of amygdalin varies significantly between different fruits and even individual pits, it is difficult to ensure safety in a home kitchen environment.

Scared half to death by visions of my homemade noyaux dispatching most of my family and friends and, on the other hand, seduced by the nostalgia and tradition of this loved ingredient for food and drinks, I allowed myself to be seduced by the prospect of the flavour of almonds and marzipan filling the Towerwater kitchen.

 

Towerwater Crème de Noyaux or (Nou-ja laat ek maar die kans vat)

Ingredients:
80 apricot kernels (the inside of the pips)
750 ml witblits (55% alcohol by volume)
1/2 to 1 cup simple syrup, to taste.

Instructions:

Crack open the hard outer shells of the stone fruit pits to remove the soft inner seed (the kernel). I also crushed some of the kernels, as suggested by some recipes.

Some recipes also recommend roasting the kernels to reduce the amygdalin. You can give the kernels a light to medium roasting (300°F–350°F / 150°C–180°C) for 10–15 minutes to avoid burning.

Place the crushed/whole kernels in a large, clean glass jar and cover with the witblits or vodka. Seal the jar tightly and store in a cool, dark place for 2 to 3 months. Shake the jar every few days.

After maceration, strain the liquid through a coffee filter or fine muslin (chinois). Add simple syrup (sugar dissolved in water) to reach the desired sweetness.

Bottle the strained liqueur and let it rest for another month before use to allow the flavors to mellow.

Note: To make a simple syrup, mix 1 cup of water and 1 cup of granulated white sugar in a small saucepan. Heat over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the sugar completely dissolves. You do not need to bring it to a rolling boil; just make sure the liquid is clear. Remove from heat and allow it to cool before adding it to the noyaux.

If it seems as if I like living dangerously by venturing into making potions containing cyanide, rest assured that I have done extensive research about the safety of homemade noyaux. I would probably not recommend it to an overcautious food lover, but the secret is to use it moderately; a small amount of homemade noyaux can go a long way.

After waiting three months for the kernels to macerate in the witblits, I could bottle my own Towerwater Noyaux, or as I would say in Afrikaans, Nou-ja, laat ek maar die kans vat. The homemade noyaux possesses a seductive, complex flavour profile often described as a "forgotten" luxury, balancing intense sweetness with a sophisticated bitter edge. It is characterized by an intoxicating marzipan aroma and a rich, velvety texture, making it an essential, yet assertive, addition to cocktails and desserts.

Now I only need to let it rest for a month before using it, and it is killing me not to use it immediately (nudge-nudge, wink-wink).