Schramm turns Pemberton potatoes into a beautiful and luxurious vodka.

Here come some spirited concoctions for fall—for cooking and stirring, solo sipping and mixing. Spirits from as far afield as Oregon, Thailand, Poland, and”¦Pemberton. They’re mostly new to us in B.C., but there’s one old-timer; let’s start there.

Many, many years ago—like, when city parking meters ate pennies and nickels instead of loonies and toonies—there was Žubrówka Bison Grass Vodka from Poland, and it cost $9.65 a bottle (in 1981). It’s still on the shelves, but now it has a new label, a classier bottle (not quite Frank Gehry–designed, like that $50 one from Wyborowa), and a fiendish plastic cork that requires a tool kit to get it out. But it’s the same stuff: still has the single stem of buffalo grass tall in the bottle, as it has since the 14th century, when—reading the label now—“Bison grass from the north Podlasie lowlands has been used to infuse a unique vodka, the original singular spirit of smoothness.”

Memory rush from the first whiff, same pale-green, avocado-flesh colour and intriguing aroma, with just a hint of chocolate in the taste; there’s nothing like it. So, if you’ve been questing for a chocolate-companion vodka, here’s your drink—an acquired taste well worth acquiring. One more thing: it costs $24.45. That’s still a good buy. I’m sipping mine iced and neat, but try it with a demi of freshly brewed espresso, a little sugar to taste, and a smidge of vanilla extract.

Or you can make what might well be the best hot chocolate yet, taking half a cup of milk; half a pound of semisweet chocolate, chopped into fine bits; half a cup of sugar; a full cup of whipping cream; a few twists of orange peel; half a cup of Žubrówka; a hint of vanilla extract; a dash of chili powder; and lots of vanilla ice cream.

Heat the milk, sugar, and chocolate in the top of a double boiler, whisking until it’s smooth. Don’t let it boil. Now whisk in the cream, vodka, orange peel, vanilla, and chili. Take it off the heat and pour it into mugs (this makes two) and top with ice cream. Marshmallows? Sure, they get all nicely gloppy. Hot White Russian, anyone? Go ahead. Or use the vodka as part of an Alfredo sauce for pasta. The possibilities are endless.

Oregon’s enterprising Rogue Brewery has a spirits division, where it makes Spruce Gin (another time, soon) and Hazelnut Spice Rum. The latter is incredibly good, suffering only from a punishing price tag—$74.64. Gold medals in Geneva, best in class at the International Wine & Spirit Competition, and about a dozen more world-class accolades are already in hand.

The still master points to “toasted hazelnut flavours with orange overtones and rich vanilla scents mingled with cinnamon and clove”¦” The colour is surprisingly pallid, but the flavour is intense, starting with a slightly sweated filbert aroma and having a finish that’s dry as sin but totally gorgeous. A lovely, if costly, luxury. Iced is nice too, but warmed is better, especially when you slow-melt a few Turtles. How about some sliced bananas, skillet-cooked with butter and brown sugar and a generous tot of this?

Mekhong is Thailand’s national spirit, and we finally get some here. From Bangyikhan Distillery, it costs $39.99 for 700 millilitres. It looks like rye whisky (which is hardly ever made with rye in this country. More on that soon, too; there’s an Okanagan connection coming) and smells like the famous Queensland rum Bundaberg.

And tastes like? Something light and sweet-edged, with a little touch of toffee, a little hint of honey; the character changes when it’s iced instead of at room temperature. Sabai Sabai, the classic Thai “welcome drink”, calls for two shots of Mekhong, two shots of fresh lemon juice, one shot of simple syrup, and a pinch of sweet Thai basil, all of which you combine in a mixing glass. Add lots of ice, shake hard, strain into a chilled martini glass, and top with club soda.

Blend some Mekhong into a spicy barbecue sauce and use it to coat pork tenderloin. It’s also great for sweating baby carrots, with macadamia nut oil and a little maple syrup, or flambéing scallops or prawns.

And here’s the hometown advantage—or close to home, anyway. From the newly minted Pemberton Distillery comes its IPO, Schramm potato vodka ($49.99). Well, it’s Pemberton, isn’t it? More famous for potatoes, at least in these parts, than Idaho, so it makes sense.

Suddenly the locally available selection of potato vodka has doubled, from one (Polish, called Luksusowa, costs $23.75) to two. If you’ve never tasted potato vodka, your palate’s in for a treat. In North America, the idea of potato vodka has been something of a myth—very little vodka was/is made from potatoes. In poor rural areas, you distilled whatever was cheap and plentiful; flavour wasn’t as much of an aspiration as getting a good buzz on. Which meant mostly grain.

Today, potato vodka has almost taken on a note of luxury. Certainly Schramm fits right in there. And yes, it’s well worth the 50 bucks. There’s a natural sweetness from all that starch that makes it velvety soft as it slides down. Ingredients: organically grown Pemberton spuds and mountain water. End of list.

The pretty label image heralds a breathtaking clean, clear taste. (Anybody here remember Wolfschmidt?) You can mix it—you can mix any spirit!—but I’m doing mine iced and neat again, with sashimi and just a little flaked sea salt, smoked mackerel and red onion and capers, salmon, or sprats. It’s sensational with oysters any which way.

Still master Tyler Schramm gets his name on it, and that’s surely deserved for making such beautiful vodka. This weekend, set out some favourite fresh fish and line up four or five of your favourite vodkas, plus this one. You’ll be a believer within a sip. Wait till the world discovers it at the 2010 you-know-whats, up there in Whistler. Neighbourhood vodka; who saw that one coming, then?

I’ve got a few more too, for another time.