So, finally I have unearthed the mead recipe, which, to quote Ally‘s B, is ‘blinding’. And he’s not wrong, though I say it as shouldn’t; despite smelling like lighter fluid at one stage, the metheglin we have managed to produce is bloody marvellous stuff. The only thing I regret is not having made more.

Here is what we did.

For those not in the wine-know (that works best when read quickly, aloud…), you will need some kit:
- a demijohn
- a length of plastic pipe (thin, sort of about a centimetre bore)
- a large pan (to take a gallon of liquid, shitloads of sugar when needed and room for stirring without chaos)
- a large bucket (and when I say ‘large’, I mean large; ours takes five gallons)
- a rubber bung with trap (to keep the evils out while the witchcraft which transforms your pleasant-yet-ineffectual liquid into first-rate, corkingly blinding alcohol takes place)
- a funnel is quite handy if you want to avoid that hmm-wine-on-shoes-is-this-person-a-drunk? look.

You can get these things online, of course, but it’s also worth checking to see if there’s a wine-making shop in your area, because in my experience, there is always a handy chap called John, or a lovely lady called Margaret, who can tell you just what that strange plastic contraption is for, or why it might be necessary to add sodium metabisulphatetrichlorohdyricalendrate. (I jest.) Anyway, once you’ve got the kit you need, this is what you do.

Metheglin

Find yourself…
3½ lbs honey
6 pints water (see the need for the large pan now?)
7 oz Demerara sugar
Grated rind of a large lemon, and a good squeeze of the juice
Yeast and nutrient (most wine-shops sell these two in together, and you just add warm water to activate it)

Also, a large bunch of herbs. I used mint (but refrain from sticking lots in as it completely steals the show if you’re not suitably restrained), lemonbalm, rosemary, lavender, a cinnamon stick, 13 cloves (because I like 13, OK?), five cardamom pods, and a suitably butch-looking chunk of root ginger. Truss up your choices, together with the grated lemon rind, in a small muslin bag (heh – muslin – who am I kidding? I used a (clean) dishcloth and a piece of string).

Then…
Warm the water and dissolve the honey into it. This may take a while, but be patient, and don’t boil the water. Excessive impatience with the temperature will only lead to a most frustrating time, while you wait for the water to cool down again before you can move on. Trust me. I speak as one who knows. Anyhoo. When the honey water has cooled down, pour it into a demijohn, and chuck in the sugar, lemon juice, and yeast/nutrient; for quantities of yeast, check the bottle, but it’s normally a teaspoon per gallon, from memory (don’t hold me to this – exploding demijohns can be so… not fun).

Then, shove the little herby bag down into the demijohn, REMEMBERING TO HAVE A LONG STRING WITH WHICH TO EXTRACT IT AT A FUTURE TIME. If you forget this, it can be interesting getting said herby bag to vacate the premises. (For your future reference, don’t bother trying to poke it out with knitting needles. It doesn’t work. Make of that what you will.) Pop the trap and bung in the top of the jar, and Bob’s your auntie! Retire for seven days. (Or in my case, sixteen, I believe.) Return, having realised that the herby bag has probably flowered by now, and attempt to extricate it from its honeyish lair. Good luck with that. When you’re completely covered in a sticky substance, you’ll know at least that you have tried; if you’ve remembered the extracting string, though, you should be fine. (Learn from my mistakes, reader. That is all I am saying.)

Leave the mead to go for, well, a while, to be honest; the books often talk about hydrometers, which are natty little devils with which one measures the specific gravity of a liquid (aaargh! Physics! Or at the very least, something scientific!), from which you can calculate the alcohol level – hydrometers have always succeeded in outwitting me, so I tend to regard them as an instrument of evil, and leave them be. In theory, you should ferment your mead to a certain specific gravity, and then whack in some campden tablets to stop the fermentation getting too carried away; what I actually do is to wait until things have slowed down (you can judge by the voraciousness of the bubbling which takes place in the trap) and then just rack (transfer via syphon) the wine into a new demijohn, leaving the silt which has by now formed on the bottom of the first demijohn behind. My somewhat laissez-faire approach means I have no idea how strong the end result is, but let me tell you, it is pretty bloody strong. If you’re after a less alcoholic version, well, er, tough, really. I suggest lemonade. So, either use a hydrometer, or just rack the bastard into a new demijohn if things start to look too murky down at the bottom; whatever you do, though, don’t rack until the liquid has cleared, and you can begin to see through it, with a clear layer of whatever being visible at the bottom. There’s no point in racking before this point, as all you’ll do is move the crap from one place to another.

Then, wait.

And wait.

And wait some more. In short, wait for at least six months. Yes – it’s an age. Yes – it’s worth it.

And after you’ve waited as long as you can stand it, syphon the result into bottles. Or straight down your neck. Whichever you prefer, really.

So, there you go. Ferment, drink, and be merry!