I did not have my first jello shot until I was at least 24. A developmental milestone that passed me by during the typical jello-shot period given my unusual college experience. I quite deliberately chose a private university that prohibited Greek organizations and had a reputation for nerdy academic devotion. Dare I admit the rumor that Playboy once awarded it top-honors for "ugliest co-eds" - at least that's what they said and sometimes it was easy to believe. What I meant to explain is that I haven't actually consumed many jello shots, but I am at once fascinated by them and awful at making them. I know the recipe - "jello + water + lots of cheap vodka", but when you are 31-years-old and interested in making jello shots that is just sad enough on its own and would be worse if I did things the normal way. So I try to make "sophisticated" jello shots, and then I torture my friends with them. Among the disasters ...
(1) Irish Car Bomb Jello Shots: Guinness jello with a little nipple of jello Bailey's. Sorry guys.
(2) Whiskey Sour Jello Shots: Straight Jack jello "balanced" with so, so sour fresh lemon juice jello that nearly put my unsuspecting shot takers into an alcohol coma while it drilled an ulcer.
3. Screwdriver Jello Shots made with fresh orange juice that just wasn't strong enough to cover up the taste of meaty flavored cartilage.
This, of course, has in no way dissuaded me from my quest for the perfect I'm-not-a-frat-boy jello shot, but I admit, it should have. See, I have this recipe I clipped ages ago of this beautiful little glimmering cube of Gin & Tonic jello balanced on a thin slice of lime. It is so grown-up; I quiver along with its little shake. Yet each year when I decide to make jello shots (always for the Superbowl for some inexplicable reason), I cannot find this recipe, which was actually good enough to be published in a national food magazine, and then each year, I decide that anything can be a jello shot if I add gelatin and hence begins the mayhem.
Anyway, you are not going to believe this, but the Shakers share my jello shot fascination. I am not making this up. I can hardly believe that I'm not making this up, but I definitely am not. It seems the society wasn't adverse to knocking a few back. A 1787 anti-Shaker essay accuses them of referring to rum as the "Spirit of God." Of course, tracts meant to convince us that the Shakers are evil are not generally the best source of accurate historical information on typical alcohol consumption, but Stephen Stein, the eminent scholar on Shaker history and theology puts it this way:
The documentary record contains repeated counsel against the use of "spirits." As early as 1800 specific injunctions limited liquor to medicinal use. Even wine and cider were to be drunk sparingly, and then only in specified circumstances. (The frequency of these exhortations suggests that excessive drinking may have been a persistent problem in the villages.)
The Shaker Experience in America
He's so diplomatic. I wish I had that skill, but I clearly do not so I'm just going to imagine the kitchen sisters getting a little rowdy after supper instead. I like them already so it's totally endearing in my head.
Of course, they didn't call them jello shots, and they also didn't shoot them out of little dixie cups, but I have tried their little concoction, and it is definitely not for sissies. 19th century cookery had a thing for aspics (meaty) and jellies (fruity), and this is from the later category. Mary Whitcher, author of Shaker Housekeeper (1882), called this one Wine Jelly. It's a potent mixture of orange, lemon and raspberry juice, brandy and dry sherry, and stipulates a whopping one cup portion size. I did the math and that's a little over one standard alcoholic drink.
I have to say I'm puzzled by this treat. I really can imagine it being so so sophisticated - everyone sitting awkwardly in the drawing room eating company dessert in the company cut glass dishes. But with a texture identical to the glowing green jello blocks ubiquitous to summer camps, school lunches and hospital trays, it's hard not to associate this treat with your late zeros. I will say once you clear your head of all that and just get down to business with your wine jelly, it does have a flair of worldliness. The dominant flavor is brandy with its warm, vanilla toasty-ness, with gentle back up from the citrus. It truly does taste sophisticated enough to be served as a centerpiece, but we've probably been ruined by a preschool over-abundance of gelatin. Even so, it's an awesome conversation piece. Try it just once. While you might age out of Knox Blox, you're never too old for jello shots.
Wine Jelly
Mary Whitcher, Shaker Housekeeper
2 1/2 tablespoons granulated gelatin
1/2 cup cold water
1 2/3 cup boiling water
1 cup sugar
1/3 cup orange juice
3 tablespoons lemon juice
1/2 cup dry sherry
1/2 cup brandy
1 cup raspberries
Whisk gelatin into cold water and allow to soak until gelatin has absorbed the water and solidified (at least 5 minutes). Break gelatin into pieces and add to boiling water. Stir to dissolve. Add sugar, orange and lemon juice, sherry, and brandy. Stir until sugar dissolves. Press raspberries through sieve or cheesecloth to extract juice. Discard seeds and pulp and stir raspberry juice into gelatin mixture to color. Chill at least 4 hours or overnight to set. "Serves 4."
Sourcing: I have to admit that I'm not a huge fan of Sherry and only just now discovered that I like brandy so I have no idea if these brands are reputable or not. Anyway, I used Paul Masson VSOP Grand Amber Brandy and Pedro Romero Aurora Manzzanilla (dry sherry). Also, Knox Gelatin (unflavored), Whole Foods 365 Brand Organic Cane Sugar, fresh-squeezed organic orange and lemon juice (regrettably out of season), and raspberries I picked at a u-pick place in Ohio.
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