Tincturing has become my newest obsession. A dear friend of mine likes to say she can (and will) tincture ANYTHING. A dirty shirt? No problem. Soiled socks? Toss those puppies in the sauce! After throwing ideas at her, her list of 'I Will Tincture' starts to sound like the ingredients to a very potent witch's brew. Skin of toad and eye of salamander, toe of a condemned criminal and the ex's blackened soul. *Cackle!*
And maybe in some small sense, this is what I'm trying to do within my tincturing adventures -- find some special witch's brew of essence.
Like this dark, soupy, almost resinous green tea tincture that's more like an essential oil or diluted absolute than anything else. When I sniff it, I think of bongwater, mossy rocks in a cold running stream, the loamy soil of a warm forest floor.
Tincturing is an artform itself. No, it isn't difficult to gather up the materials, fill a jar with them and pour a good alcohol over the top. But selecting the right materials at the right time, finding the just right proportions and knowing when to decant the resultant sauce is a trick.
I now have requests to tincture from customers. Can you believe that? One woman wants me to tincture her bra to extract the essence of lactation and warm mother's skin. Wild.