
Chef Klaus
Apfelschorle
Cloudy apple juice, sharp mineral water, and no sugar bowl: the German Schorle that belongs in school bags, beer gardens, picnic baskets, and the table when supper is quick.
A cooking platform built around craft, culture, and the stories behind what we eat.

Created by
The North Sea sailor's warmer, dark rum, hot water, and sugar in a heatproof glass, decided by order and temperature rather than decoration.
Grog belongs to the German coast, especially the North Sea and Frisian table, where wind and wet weather teach a drink to keep its promises. It is winter work: after a cold walk, at the Silvester table, beside the Christmas biscuits when Glühwein would be too sweet and too loud. A good Grog is not a spice cupboard in a mug. It is rum, hot water, and sugar, clear enough to see what you've done.
Im Norden anders, im Süden anders. In Nordfriesland and Ostfriesland the argument is strict: rum must be there, sugar may be there, water is treated with suspicion. Inland, people start adding tea, lemon juice, cloves, cinnamon, and soon they have made Punsch and called it Grog. Das ist kein Bierzelt, and it isn't a Christmas-market Fertigmischung either.
The technique is the order. Warm the glass, dissolve the sugar in hot water, then add the rum. Pour boiling water onto the rum and the best smell leaves before the drink reaches the table; add sugar after the rum and you grind crystals around the bottom while the drink cools. Erst verstehen, dann kochen. Or in this case, mix.
Use a dark rum with enough backbone, not a thin sweet bottle pretending to do the work. The drink should be amber, sharp at the nose, sweet only where you decide it. Schön ist, was schmeckt.
Grog traces its name to British Admiral Edward Vernon, nicknamed Old Grog for his grogram cloak, who in 1740 ordered Royal Navy rum rations diluted with water to reduce drunkenness at sea. Through North Sea shipping and port taverns the drink moved into German coastal habit, especially in Frisian and northern seafaring regions, where rum had already arrived through maritime trade. The Frisian saying, Rum muss, Zucker kann, Wasser braucht's nich, records the local preference more neatly than any recipe card: the farther north you go, the less patient the drink is with dilution.
Quantity
50ml
40 percent ABV or stronger
Quantity
120ml
rested 30 seconds after boiling
Quantity
1 to 2 teaspoons
Quantity
1 strip
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| dark rum40 percent ABV or stronger | 50ml |
| freshly boiled waterrested 30 seconds after boiling | 120ml |
| sugar or sugar cube | 1 to 2 teaspoons |
| lemon peel (optional) | 1 strip |
Fill a heatproof grog glass or mug with hot tap water and let it stand for a minute, then empty it. A cold glass steals heat from the drink before the sugar dissolves, and then you start chasing warmth with more rum. That is not a method.
Put the sugar in the warm glass and add the freshly boiled water after it has stood for about 30 seconds. Stir until the sugar is gone. Boiling water poured straight onto rum drives off the nose and makes the drink flat; sugar first lets the hot water do its one honest job.
Pour in the dark rum and stir once, no more than needed. Rum goes in after the water because the drink should smell of rum when it reaches your hand, not the ceiling. Nicht aus dem Glas as a premix, and not from a spice packet either.
Serve it immediately, with a spoon if you like the sugar settling sweet at the bottom. Taste before you meddle. The Frisian rule is dry and correct: Rum muss, Zucker kann, Wasser braucht's nich, rum must, sugar may, water needn't. I still put in water, because we are cooking for people, not proving a point.
1 serving (about 175g)
Culinary guides, cultural storytelling, and the editorial depth that makes cooking meaningful.
Discover Culinary Explorer
Chef Klaus
Cloudy apple juice, sharp mineral water, and no sugar bowl: the German Schorle that belongs in school bags, beer gardens, picnic baskets, and the table when supper is quick.

Chef Klaus
Frankfurt's long drink for a warm table: dry Apfelwein, cold mineral water, and the ribbed Geripptes glass that tells you where you are.

Chef Klaus
Berlin's summer glass: sharp, pale Berliner Weisse softened with a red raspberry or green woodruff Schuss, cold enough to bead the glass and never from bottled syrup.

Chef Klaus
The Easter bottle from yolks, sugar, cream, and good spirit, beaten warm just enough to thicken, then cooled into a yellow liqueur for cake, coffee, and small glasses.