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By Root 319 0

had come from because he knew they, er, harvested the place from east to west and so the western grapes got that many more hours’ sun. Well, well, what? I’m eating steak, and that means, er, red, doesn’t it, Percy? What’s a good one? Burgundy’s good, isn’t it? Right, I’ll have some.” Don’t sound sarcastic or amused or superior—play it straight. The object is to make knowing about wine seem like an accomplishment on the level of knowing about the flora and fauna of Costa Rica or the history of tattooing—well worth while, but hardly in the mainstream of serious thought.

Another time there may be someone like Percy present but not declaring his presence, so never offer an opinion yourself. If asked what you think, say breezily, “Jolly good,” as though you always say that whatever it’s like. This may suggest that your mind’s on higher things than wine, like gin or sex.

If this goes wrong, say suddenly, “I don’t suppose any of you chaps have seen last year’s French government report on wine manufacture?” Which is pretty safe, since there wasn’t one. Continue. “No surprises, of course, but a bit upsetting here and there. Apparently in some districts as a matter of course they just . . . oh well, never mind. Cheers.” Take a hearty swig from your glass, give a worried frown and follow with an unconvincing laugh. Say finally, “Oh well, I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with this. How much did you say it was?”

This is the time of year when thoughts naturally turn to hot alcoholic drinks. These are of two main sorts—basically spirits and hot water, such as Whisky Toddy and Hot Buttered Rum which I described the other week, and heated wine with spices and usually a slug of something stronger, today’s subject.

I said spices, but this raises a question. Some people go to endless trouble with cinnamon sticks and grated nutmeg, even sticking cloves into an orange, roasting it in the oven and crushing it into the brew, or rubbing lemon rind off on lumps of sugar, a most exhausting business. I wonder whether it’s worth it for the marginal effect on the finished product. Those shakers of ready-ground spices are quick enough, but in my experience they contribute more sediment than flavour. What I have been known to do is simmer a cinnamon stick in water for a few minutes before I start making the main drink. You’ll taste it then all right, too much perhaps for some palates but worth trying. Certainly throwing in a few slices of lemon and orange only takes a moment, and they look cheerful.

Now at last to the drink itself. What I’ll call simply Mulled Wine is best made as follows. Pour into a saucepan a bottle of decent red wine, nothing fancy but one you could face drinking in the ordinary way. Mix in a glass or so of French cooking brandy and add any fruit and spices. Heat the mixture slowly, stirring in castor sugar as you go until it tastes right. When it’s hot but not yet bubbling pour it into preheated or otherwise protected glasses so that they’re half full. Add half as much boiling water, stir and serve.

So much for the basic formula and method. Variations start with substituting a sweet liqueur for the brandy and cutting back the sugar, and there’s no doubt that Grand Marnier or Cherry Heering raises the whole concern to a more exalted level. Some people replace half or all of the brandy with run-of-the-mill ruby port. If based entirely on port with the wine omitted, the drink becomes Bishop or Hot Bishop— this is where the roast orange comes in, and those who enjoy messing about with drinks will probably have a go at it whatever I say.

A number of the recipes for these mulls leave out the water. The case for putting it in is that you can get the drink hotter, because you can boil water but not booze.

The punchiest of all hot punches is Glögg (rhymes roughly with berg), by origin a Swedish winter-sports beverage. No two recipes for it are more than rather similar. Mine is a Swedish one. Take first a bottle of aquavit, the Scandinavian white spirit, and ideally it should be the Swedish sort, but that’s rare in the UK and the Danish