A short while ago, I discovered that – horror of horrors! – there are people in this world who do not consider mulled wine to be a pretty good reason for continued life on this planet. It was a harsh moment of revelation, but one with which I have managed to come to terms (based largely on the fact that all is still right with the world – my poll thingy showed that many more people think MW is fantastic, and those freakish few who disagree are just… well… wrong).

But!

Just when I thought it was safe to relax, to consider my fellow man with a warm and festive glow in my tender little heart (shut up), I learn that there are people in this world to whom mincemeat is anathema! Anathema! Admittedly, this person is not English. Perhaps this is what is wrong with them. (I jest. No, really.)

Anyway, in an act of striking defiance, I present the following:

Mincemeat

Wossinit?
About five large Bramley apples, peeled and chopped as finely as you can be arsed with doing
8 oz vegetable suet (handily, this is nearly all of a the size of box one gets in UK supermarkets)
About two pounds of mixed dried fruit (also known as ‘one large bag’)
A pot of candied peel
Zest and juice of two large oranges and a couple of lemons
12 oz soft dark brown sugar (or half a large bag – detecting a pattern?)
A handful of sliced almonds
Several large pinches of mixed spice, cinnamon and ginger
About half a grated nutmeg (or a teaspoon of the dried version)
Seven tablespoons of something strongly alcoholic (the traditional thing is brandy; we used some damson brandy we made last year, but I’ve also had success with flavoured vodka in the past)

Then….
Sling the entire lot into a large – and I do mean large – bowl and mix like buggery until it’s all looking oddly like mincemeat. At this point you have two options: either have the foresight to have soaked the fruit in the brandy or alcohol the night before, or cook the mincemeat on a low heat for a while. This is to stop it exploding when it’s in the jars – I know: exploding mincemeat sounds exciting, but remember that it will probably be a total swine to get out of your hair, and no-one likes crunchy (or glassy) mincepies. I made ours in a very large metal mixing bowl, which I then put on top of the woodburner for most of a day. Result: gently cooked mincemeat (the oven temperature would only need to be about 100°c) and a house which smells like Chrimbly. When the mincemeat has cooled down, whack it in some jars and bingo! Normally keeps pretty well – we ran out last year after having made some I think two years prior to that, and there were no explosions and, more importantly (and in a distinct break from the norm, given the Witchery’s dank conditions) no mould.

This week, I have mostly been boiling vast quantities of sugar, together with more spices than you can shake a large, and very prickly, stick at. Some weeks ago, I decided that I’d have a bash at concocting a sort of festive cheer drink effort, without the, er, festive cheer. Well, without the alcohol, anyhoo.

Yule, and midwinter celebrations no matter what their name, really appeal to me, not least as winter is my favourite season. (Yes. Really.) Food, drink, a pleasant smell of spices and pine, and the traditional cold-weather-walk are all elements of this time of year with which I would be reluctant to part. And mincemeat. Did I mention mincemeat? Oh, so nice. Oh, and fircones and dried orange slices on a real tree. I love that smell. Particularly as it means weeks of fiddling about with small twigs to make the wooden stars we now stick on our tree. I do like to have something to faff about with while listening to the radio or whatever. We are probably going to get a tree the weekend before Christmas. (Hang on. Is that this weekend? And if so, I demand to know who has stolen most of this year since, well, June.) So, basically, I’m something of a sucker for the cooky-drinky-preparationness of midwinter. Pass me a few slices of orange to dry, and maybe the odd clove to stick in too, and I’m happy as Larry (who the fuck is Larry, anyway?).

I digress.

Getting back to the drinking whatsit, there are, it transpires, approximately eight billion recipes for mulled wine, gluhwein, glögg and various other stupour-inducing drinks available on the internet, but the options for anyone wishing to enter the new year with anything approaching a shred of dignity make for fairly slim pickings, I can tell you. Now, I am something of a lightweight. By which I mean that one glass of wine and I am decidedly merry; two, and I’m so merry that the underside of the table becomes fascinating enough to warrant a very close inspection indeed. It’s not clever, and it’s certainly not funny (for me). (Onlookers may disagree on that last bit.) So, I began this exploration with a recipe which included a sort of sugar syrup crammed with the usual Chrimbly suspects (cloves, cinnamon sticks, orange zest et al), the idea being that you make the syrup, and then sling in a bottle or two of vodka for the ultimate hey presto! The difference with my version is that I’ve gone for grape juice. And much to my (and quite probably your) surprise , it’s really quite palatable. So, here it is:

Crumphole Festive Spirit*

1 cup sugar (I used dark brown)
1 ½ cup water
3 cinnamon sticks, broken into smallish pieces
13 cloves
Good pinch of ground allspice
½ grated nutmeg
3 tsps whole peppercorns (I had some natty red, green, white and black ones)
½ pack of mixed candied peel or the zest of one large orange (both have worked pretty well)
3 large spoons of honey
Grape juice (I used red, but I bet white would be pleasantly tolerable too)
Bung the lot in a smallish pan; heat gently until it’s all mixed in together, and then boil reasonably briskly for about twenty-five minutes. I put ours on top of the woodburner once I’d got it up to the boil, and it did really well – wood-fired cordial: Yay! Allow it to cool down a smidgen, then strain out the odd bits (although the smaller odds and sods look quite pretty floating about in the bottle), and add about a litre of grape juice, stirring to make sure the syrup doesn’t just stay at the bottom. When you’re ready to drink the blighter, you can either go for the cold option adding about a half-glass of water (sparkling works quite nicely), or have it hot, with boiling water. Not sure how long it’ll keep as I’ve only just made the first lot, but I should imagine a few weeks in the fridge would be fine, or longer if you’ve got a sterilised bottle and a decent stopper.

And, of course, if you insist on being pie-eyed, you could always stick a shot of whisky in too.

Anyone got anything to add? Suggest? Offer up as a gift to the wondrousness of Drinks Which Involve Spices? All contributions most welcome. And it’s not even because I is pissed.