For me Christmas is the heart and soul of the cold months, the jewel in the crown of midwinter, a time to feast and to give. But it is, after all is said and done, just a few days that sit at the heart of the season. Three months of our year in which to offer warmth, welcome and something good to eat to all.
A toast to the winter solstice
‘What can I get you to drink?’ Never has a simple question been so bursting with delicious possibilities. The word ‘welcome’ put instantly, joyously into motion.
It is true, I do love pouring someone a drink. In my time I have worked in a country pub (all gumboots, roaring fires and golden labradors) and behind the bar of a grande dame five-star hotel. You probably didn’t know that. Whether it is as simple as a cup of coffee, a beer served in a small, ice-cold glass or a home-made fruit liqueur that has been steeping in my pantry for six weeks, I get quite a buzz handing someone a glass of ‘welcome’.
Drinks are different in winter. I often want something sweeter, darker and more alcoholic when the weather is cold. This is the only time of year I have a fancy for sweet wines, by which I mean the muscats and Pedro Ximénez sherries, the fruit-based eau-de-vie of quince and plum and the sloe gin that light up the drinks cupboard like the stained-glass window at Midnight Mass.
There are drinks I make especially for a winter’s night. A tiny glass of apricot brandy, glowing like a candle, the fruit steeping quietly for a month with orange zest and star anise. A liqueur made with dried figs and fennel seed, and another of sticky prunes in sweet wine. Served very cold, in diminutive glasses, the drinks warm, soothe and delight. The other contenders are the hot drinks, the mulled ciders and spiced mixtures. Drinks that will melt anybody’s frost.
The best known of cold-weather tipples is probably the least well regarded. I speak of mulled wine. I like the idea of this ancient winter ritual (the instant bonhomie of sweet spices, rosy cheeks and hot red wine) more than the drink itself. Wonderful, I think, is a spiced punch of hot cider or apple juice. This is the drink whose cinnamon-scented fumes fill the air on Guy Fawkes Night, Hallowe’en and in many of Europe’s Christmas markets. The stir-up of ingredients – baked apples, brandy, cider, cloves, cinnamon and allspice – actually makes sense. A drink with a winter nose and too good to be left for wassailing. I shall start right here.
A hot apple drink for a cold night
Slice an apple in half, then into quarters, discard the core and pips, then cut each piece of apple into two thick segments. Warm 3 tablespoons of apple juice in a shallow pan, add 2 tablespoons of brown sugar and lower in the apples. Let them cook until soft, stopping before they fall apart. Remove from the heat.
In a deep, stainless steel saucepan put 100ml of brandy, 400ml of cloudy apple juice, a clementine, 3 cloves, a stick of cinnamon, 3 allspice berries gently bashed with a heavy weight and bring to the boil. Reduce the heat, so the cooking continues at a gentle bubble for fifteen minutes. Ladle into four glasses, dropping a few of the cooked apple slices into each drink.
A welcoming drink, may I suggest, is not just about other people. Something good in a glass can be a rather lovely way to welcome our own arrival home. God knows, we deserve it. Finding a rare moment of peace and quiet, there are surely few greater joys than pouring ourselves a drink as we curl up on the sofa with a book after a long hard day. It might only be a stolen few minutes, but I regard this time as deeply grounding. Something that, just for once, is about no one but ourselves.
I was brought up in a family that drank sherry. Not a chilled manzanilla with a dish of crisp, salty almonds or an amontillado the colour of amber, but Bristol Cream sherry, sweet as fudge. We drank it from a glass called a schooner and had it with Twiglets (in the days when Twiglets were long and thin, rather than dumpy and puffed up with air as they are now). Occasionally there would be a bottle of Italian fizz and at Christmas my father would make snowballs with advocaat and maraschino cherries for everyone. To this day I would hardly call myself much of a drinker, but pouring something into a glass for someone remains one of life’s pleasures.
This week seems a prudent time to put drinks down for Christmas and the chilly weeks that follow. There are few fresh fruits, save the pear and the quince, that will make a fruit liqueur dazzling enough to show its face in candlelight at Christmas. So I turn to the store cupboard, and especially to the stoppered jars of dried fruits, the ‘Christmas pudding fruits’, to make drinks that will shine a light on the dark nights.
The suggestions that follow are meant for any cold night but are particularly useful at Christmas. I also include uses for the fruits that remain after the liquor has been drunk. Fat, alcohol-soaked little fruits, each one pissed as a newt, that can be served as dessert.
Three dried fruit drinks for winter
Apricot, orange and anise
Deep, golden fruit notes here. Rather delightful after dinner, with crisp, dark chocolate thins.
Enough for 20 small glasses
dried apricots – 500g
an orange
whole star anise – 4
brandy – 300ml
granulated sugar – 150g
sweet white wine – 300ml
Put the apricots into a stainless steel saucepan. Using a vegetable peeler, slice thin strips of zest from the orange and drop them into the pan. Add the star anise, brandy and sugar and bring to the boil. Stir until the sugar has dissolved.
Into a sterilised preserving jar, spoon the apricots and star anise, then pour in the liquor (breathing in at this point is highly recommended) and top up with the sweet white wine. Seal and place in a cool, dark place for a good fortnight (better still, a month) before pouring the golden liquor into glasses.
The fruit
Once the ravishing, honey-hued liqueur is finished (and you have dried your tears) you will no doubt want to use the plumped-up fruits for something. My first suggestion is to serve them, whole and fat with alcohol, in a beautiful glass with a jug of cream at their side. Even better, perhaps, is to serve a thick, strained yoghurt with them and a scattering of toasted, flaked almonds.
Figs with maple syrup and anise
Christmas pudding in a glass. Though perfect for Guy Fawkes too if you start it early enough. The remaining fruit – little bundles of joy, soft as a pillow, juicy as a xiaolongbao dumpling – should not be wasted.
Enough for 20 small glasses
granulated sugar – 250g
maple syrup – 100ml
dry white wine – 750ml
dried aniseed – ½ teaspoon
dried figs – 500g
vodka – 250ml
Put the granulated sugar into a medium-sized, stainless steel saucepan and add the maple syrup, white wine and aniseeds. Cut half the figs in half, then put all the figs into the pan. Bring to the boil, then lower the heat and let the figs simmer for twenty minutes, until soft and plump and bloated with wine.
Spoon the figs into a sterilised storage jar, then pour over the liquor. Pour in the vodka, then seal and store in a cool, dry place for three or four weeks, or better still, until Christmas.
The fruit
Later,