Baker - The boozy baker : 75 desserts for spirited sweets

So take up your bottle opener and your jigger, dear explorer, and gowherere your daring and the spirit moves you!

RUTH VENDLEY NEUMANN, COOKING WITH SPIRITS, 1961

H ere is a memory: I am six years old, standing in the kitchen in a nightgown covered with tiny purple flowers. I have just finished breakfast. My mother is on the phone in the other room. With silent, barefoot steps, I approach the counter and place my palms facedown on its top. Then I take a deep breath, muster all my strength, and hoist my chubby little body onto the surface.

I freeze and cock my head to the side, listening to make sure that my mom hasnt heard me.

When Im confident that shes still engrossed in conversation, I continue with my mission. Bit by bit I inch my way across the countertop: past the sink filled with soaking cereal bowls, past the toaster, past the breadbox overflowing with English muffins, and even past the open package of Entenmanns miniature powdered donuts. Today, I will not be distracted.

Finally, I stop in front of a cabinet that I have watched my mom rummage through countless times. I ease open the cabinet door, wincing as it creaks a little. Then I lean in and inhale the heady, spicy smells emanating from all the tiny jars and containers. There, perched way up on the top shelf is what I have been looking for: the brown glass bottle of vanilla extract.

Whenever my mom baked a batch of her famous fudgy brownies, or the raisin cupcakes from a recipe passed down from my grandmother, she added a teaspoonful of vanilla. It was my favorite part of the baking process. Vanilla extract was the most wonderful-smelling thing in the world: warm and sweet, like a mixture of flowers and ice cream. Surely, I thought, it must taste even better.

I snatched down the bottle and unscrewed the red plastic cap. Then I tilted it to my lips and took a giant swig, pouring about a quarter of the contents into my mouth. It tasted terrible. Like medicine. Gasping and sputtering, I spit the vanilla out in a shower of brown drops that splattered down the front of my nightgown. I coughed loudly and lost my balance, tumbling from the counter to the floor, landing startled but safely on my bottom.

My mom came running. What happened?

I wanted to try the vanilla. I thought it would taste like it smells.

Oh, Honey! Laughing, she explained that vanilla extract didnt contain any sugar. It was made mostly of alcohol.

Strange. I remember thinking, why would anyone want to bake cakes or cookies with that?