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.