Is pastis the perfect summer aperitif?

My obsession with liquorice, from Choo Choo Bars to this iconic aniseed flavoured spirit. Plus, how to use pastis in cooking including a gorgeous recipe for pasta with prawns, garlic and cream.

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My love for the flavour of liquorice is deep and unshakeable. I can trace the long black coil of this fondness back to my childhood, when my health-conscious mum would rarely allow us sweets other than liquorice because it contained the least sugar. And so I developed a habit for the intensely sweet, bitter, salty, sour, tongue-staining highly divisive black stuff.

Choo Choo bars and pillowy snakes of treacle-rich Darryl Lea liquorice. Chocolate bullets and Liquorice Allsorts, with pastel stripes of teeth-meltingly sweet fondant. When I moved to the UK, there were now liquorice joys: liquorice pipes and pinwheels, pontefract cakes and liquorice toffees. I’m still like a woman possessed when I’m around these sweets, unable to stop scoffing them until I’ve made myself feel ill. I’m sad but grateful that Lakrids can’t be found anywhere near my home.

Anyway, I’m also very partial to pastis, the liquorice-flavoured spirit that magically turns from clear to creamy-opaque as soon as it meets water. I’m drinking quite a lot of it while I’m here in Provence (where it’s said to have been born), because I have to. Like so many foods and drinks that taste ambrosial on a hot clear-skied day while on holiday watching the world go by from a sun-soaked cafe terrace - pastis somehow loses its sparkle at home.

As Peter Maybe wrote in Toujours Provence, "I cannot imagine drinking it in a pub in Fulham, a bar in New York, or anywhere that requires its customers to wear socks. It wouldn't taste the same. There has to be heat and sunlight and the illusion that the clock has stopped. I have to be in Provence." Truth. And a beautiful way to put it.

The word pastis comes from the Provençal for mixture, made as it is from a base of liquorice root and star anise, and a bouquet of Mediterranean aromatics that might include (although every brand closely guards its recipe) thyme, rosemary, savoury, sage, verbena, hyssop and lemon balm. These are macerated in alcohol to produce the heady scented drinks that are found in many different countries, from ouzo in Greece and arak in the Arab world, to ouzo in Greece and raki in Turkey. Each tastes deliciously different.

Pernod and Ricard are the most well known brands in France (strangely, they’re now owned by the same company but marketed separately). But Henri Bardouin is widely praised and upstart independent distilleries are now popping up with their own particular versions.

Pastis is traditionally sipped in a ratio of one part pastis to five parts water (I go stronger but this is a devil-may-care approach, especially when sitting in the sun when the ‘clock has stopped’. It’s 45% alcohol). Often you’re served the spirit in a glass with a jug of water on the side - so you can choose your own adventure.

In cooking, pastis is used widely in sweet and savoury dishes. The trick is not to use too much, so as not to wipe out the other flavours. Some French chefs say flambéing the stuff (as is widely recommended) is pointless, as it destroys the flavour completely. If you do go down this route, add a dash at the end of cooking as well to ensure some of those bright aniseed notes are discernible.

What to cook with it? Pastis and seafood are happy companions; a good slug is often added to bouillabaisse and creamy sauces to accompany fish. Consider dishes where tarragon or fennel work well, and a splash of pastis will serve a similar, although sweeter and boozier purpose: sauces for chicken or pork, for example, or in a vinaigrette for tomatoes.

Pastis finds its way into sweet dishes, too, including the brioche-like cake pastis béarnaise, crumbles, poached fruit and and ice confections. I adore the idea of cold melon soup bolstered with a soupçon of Ricard. I’ve also tried poaching apricots in a sugar syrup to which I’ve added a glug of pastis, and it’s wonderful.

For my recipe this week I’ve gone savoury with a very tasty pasta dish of prawns with pastis and cream. It’s based on a recipe on the Ricard website although I went about it differently. I didn’t have any fennel seeds so add a touch if you want a pronounced aniseed flavour. I think you’ll like it even you’re not partial to sipping it from a glass. Enjoy - with or without socks.

Shrimp with Garlic and Pastis

• 400g fettuccini, tagliatelle or spaghettti

• 2 tbsp butter

• 1 tbsp olive oil, plus more for tossing the pasta if needed

• 1 fennel bulb, finely sliced, core discarded

• 1 onion, finely sliced

• 3 fat garlic cloves, finely sliced

• 60ml olive oil

• 450g - 500g king prawns (shrimp), peeled and deveined

• 1 tsp fennel seeds (optional)

• 70ml pastis

• 70ml single cream

  1. Cook the pasta for 1 minute less than the packet instructions. Note: the pasta will be ready a few minutes before the sauce so when done, drain it and reserve a cup of the cooking liquid. Toss with olive oil and set aside somewhere warm - a colander set over the hot pan (off the heat!!) works well.

  2. While this is happening, melt the butter in a large frying pan and when foaming add the sliced fennel bulb, onion and a good pinch of salt. Fry for a minute or so over medium heat, then add a splash of water and reduce the heat. Cover and gently cook, stirring now and then, until the vegetables are very soft, about 10 minutes.

  3. Add the garlic and fennel seeds (if using) and fry for 2 - 3 minutes, or until the garlic has softened. Increase the heat to high and add the prawns. Cook for 1 minute while stirring and turning the prawns over. Add the pastis and cook for 2 minutes more. Add the cream and cook for another 2 minutes, then add enough of the pasta water to make a loose sauce. Season with salt and pepper.

  4. Tip the pasta into the frying pan and toss well to coat in the sauce. Distribute between bowls, making sure everyone gets their fair share of the prawns and sauce.