Surprise yourself with crystal-clear cocktails that look nothing like how they taste

NEW YORK (TND) — A few weeks ago, I came across an Instagram reel about "extrovert-level drinks." The drink in question, ordered by a self-proclaimed introvert, involved a lime wedge engulfed in blue flames to the point of being unidentifiable as anything other than a mystifying ball of fire until the server cooled it atop a mound of ice. Anyone who's ever wanted to slide under the table at the sight of waiters gathering for a clap-heavy rendition of "Happy Birthday" can relate to the embarrassed-but-still-trying-to-appear-enthusiastic-but-not-so-enthusiastic-that-it-seems-weird facial expression that comes with such a spectacle of a cocktail.

If the mixology marvels that arrive tableside in an attention-grabbing blaze or trapped within a smoke-filled dome are for extroverts, clarified cocktails appeal to the socially anxious among us. Producing transparent drinks devoid of odor and most, if not all, color, clarification allows wallflowers to experience the element of surprise, sans interaction with others. Though there’s a sublime elegance to a crystal-clear concoction, the oohs and aahs won’t come from tables halfway across the bar but are instead reserved for that more private moment of a first sip.

No one, of course, is stopping an extrovert from oohing and aahing over a milk punch of their own. There’s plenty to go around — clarification seems to be an increasingly employed technique, beloved by mixologists not only for its potential to dazzle customers but for the effects that the process has on both the drink’s texture and taste.

As bars flirt around with the idea of clarified cocktails, a new spot in Manhattan has skipped right past those early stages of a relationship to get down on one knee and profess its everlasting devotion to the mixology technique.

From a name meaning “clear” in the Malay language to a ceiling dripping with crystal chandeliers and lucent adornments, Jelas is a love letter to the clarified cocktail. The clever usage of mirrors in the narrow 12-person bar creates the illusion of an endless corridor of opulent decor. On shelving units from a bygone area, votive candles illuminate elegant drinkware and unmarked bottles that very well may contain secret potions. Those same candles, twinkling on tables in delicate glass containers, turn each drink into an effulgent display.

Every drink at Jelas celebrates the art of clarification. A menu that would otherwise be fairly standard — margaritas, Singapore slings, a boozy take on a Vietnamese coffee — becomes unlike any other in New York City.

Here, the margarita does not have the cloudy appearance typically associated with the tequila-based drink. Instead, it’s as transparent as a clarified milk punch (a much more common utilization of this mixology technique). The Singapore sling is recognizable only in taste, its distinctive vibrant pink hue replaced by a glassy amber.

For Jelas’ co-founder and head bartender Colin Stevens, the new street-level cocktail lounge is an opportunity to evoke the playful energy of sister bar Singlish while simultaneously exploring a novel approach. Located at the same Union Square address on the second floor, Singlish serves an innovative selection of drinks, including a Singapore sling called Built to Order that comes not as a single vessel but as a whole tray of potential ingredients in carafes and eyedroppers. It’s up to the customer to assemble their cocktail, creating far greater fanfare than the version on Jelas’ menu.

Extroverts, head upstairs. Introverts, snag one of Jelas’ limited tables. (But really, try both.)

I remember ordering my first clarified cocktail a few years ago. Expecting a drink called a “milk punch” to have a cloudy appearance much like that of milk itself, I was baffled by the transparent liquid I was served.

By looks alone, milk punch can seem like a misnomer to those unfamiliar with the technique.

This isn’t the case, though, of the green tea shot, which contains no green tea whatsoever. On the contrary, whereas the green tea shot is named solely for its hue, milk-washed cocktails have no resemblance to familiar dairy products but rely on the inclusion of milk to achieve their characteristic look.

The recent popularity of milk-washing can also feed the misconception that clarified cocktails are a modern marvel. But according to cocktail historian David Wondrich, the first known recipe dates back to 1711, when housewife Mary Rockett combined two gallons of milk with a gallon of brandy, five quarts of water, eight lemons, and two pounds of sugar. She then strained the mixture through a flannel bag to divide the clear liquid from the curds. Benjamin Franklin has a recipe, too. Penned in 1763, Franklin’s is similar to Rockett’s, save for some adjusted proportions.

Even prior to Rockett's recipe, there was talk of milk punch back in 17th-century England. Aphra Behn, an English writer and spy regarded by many as the likely inventor of milk-washed cocktails, often mentioned punches in her plays, and politician William Sacheverell wrote about milk punch in his travelogue of the Scottish isle of Iona in 1688.

Despite the cocktail’s lengthy history, many present-day recipes are merely adaptations of those centuries-old records. The basic formula remains — mix a spirit of choice with some type of acidic component and other desired flavors, then introduce milk and allow it to curdle. Slowly strain the concoction to separate the liquid from the curds; repeat as many times as needed to achieve the desired clarity.

It seems like magic, albeit a time-consuming spell requiring plenty of patience. But there’s a scientific explanation for the stunning transformation.

Milk is a colloidal solution, meaning that tiny floating particles of fats and proteins are dispersed throughout the liquid. It gets its white color from proteins called caseins, which self-assemble into colloidal particles known as micelles that scatter almost all wavelengths of light equally. When milk meets an acidic spirit mixture, pH levels drop, disrupting its usual structure. Protein molecules that usually repel each other instead clump together, along with acidic and alcoholic molecules. These white clumps, known as curds, float to the top of the liquid.

Straining the mixture, through coffee filters, cheesecloth, or otherwise, traps the curds. Without the casein micelles, the resulting liquid will be clear, rather than white.

From one recipe to the next, the precise details vary.

Should the milk be hot or cold? Which ingredient should be used to create acidity? Does it have to be cow’s milk, or could it come from a camel? Should the spirit mixture be added to the milk, or should the milk be added to the spirit? (Today, there’s a general consensus that the latter order is a better setup for success, as it drops the pH level at a much slower speed.)

And, why milk wash a cocktail at all?

There’s the appeal of transparency, but it’s tough to imagine drinkers in the 17th and 18th centuries caring quite so much about appearance as we do now in a society enamored with social media and viral visual content.

Likely a bigger draw in the days before refrigeration is the fact that whey, the liquid that remains post-curdling, is shelf-stable. Milk-washed cocktails can be made in large batches (a frequent recommendation, due to the laborious process) and stored for quite a while.

Long-term storage might be of less concern to milk washing’s biggest fans, who may find it far too easy to go through a whole batch of punch in a matter of days. If a well-made Singapore sling is a pleasure to imbibe, a well-made clarified Singapore sling will suggest the involvement of magic all over again. There seems to be no logical rationale for the irresistibly creamy texture and the easy drinkability of a fully see-through drink — unless science could once again provide some insight.

And it can. It can even offer a few different reasons, for the curious. The first echoes the way in which clarification effectively strips a cocktail of its color and opacity. As the spirit blend is added to milk, astringent polyphenols, notable in wine, tea, and aged spirits, bind to the casein micelles. When the mixture is strained, any would-be bitterness from the polyphenols is filtered out of the end result, meaning that even bourbon-phobes can experience the inviting pinot noir foam of Jelas’ Whisky Cloud cocktail without hesitation.

There’s also the whey, which acts much like egg white or aquafaba to enhance the drink’s texture. Dairy fats that make their way past the straining stage and into a customer’s cup contribute to the silky mouthfeel, too.

To best achieve these effects, grab a carton of whole milk. Otherwise, half-and-half has been used with success; so have full-fat milks from goats, sheep, and camels. Skim milk and reduced-fat milk won't curdle well enough, and plant-based alternatives, without whey, won’t have nearly the same impact.

Vegans aren’t completely out of luck, though. Agar-agar, sourced from seaweed, can trap solids in a gel, such that liquid extracted from the gel, either through whisking or freezing and thawing, will be free from the components that make a drink appear murky. A centrifuge is another way to separate particles from liquid, although the machine comes with a hefty price tag.

Clarifying a well-known cocktail is a surefire way to introduce a playful element to a familiar formula. After all, a transparent liquid that tastes almost exactly like its cloudy counterpart, if not better, comes with a certain undeniable sense of enchantment. And especially for drinks in danger of monotony (margaritas and piña coladas come to mind), milk washing provides an opportunity for new life.

That's not to say there isn't room to experiment beyond the classics.

One of the standout selections at Jelas is the Che Chuoi, inspired by the Vietnamese dessert of the same name. Combining rum with banana, coconut, peanuts, and vermouth creates an experience plainly evocative of the banana tapioca pudding enjoyed in Vietnam. With a smattering of peanuts atop its large ice cube, the cocktail even resembles a clear version of the thick, creamy pudding.

It’s science, of course, that allows this entirely see-through beverage to taste just like a tapioca-based dessert. But the resemblance, so seemingly impossible and yet so remarkably striking in its accuracy, begs the question: couldn't there be some magic involved, too?