Approaching the solstice

Trying something new, mulling cider (or wine) tips, plus 2 recipes

Sunrise from this week

Happy turning of the planet. We are on the edge of the longest night or day depending on your location on this beautiful spinning earth. As we near the solstice I thought I would share something warm and cozy today. But first a story.

It is a couple of minutes shy of 9 am, and the sun still hasn’t poked over the ridge but looking out the window next to me to the west, I see it illuminating the waning gibbous moon—brilliantly white against the soft blue sky.

I sit here waiting for the sun and writing to you with a bruised fourth toe, purple but not broken, and some very sore lactic acid thigh muscles, but I wear these discomforts with some pride.

On Wednesday, my granddaughter invited me to her acro and ballet classes. It was parent participation day. I probably don’t need to say I was the only grandparent. We walked into the acro room as the teacher, age 20 tops, unrolled the thick gymnastic mats. We got to it immediately with high kicks and booty kicks to Here Comes Santa Claus—a song that can feel long in the best of circumstances. Huffing and puffing, we moved on to a series of core exercises to a fish song I had never heard.

Cartwheels next. Across the length of the mat in succession. My mind is thinking of all the ways to escape. It hasn’t been 30 years since I have done one simply because the same granddaughter talked me into doing one last summer. I saw stars. I learned that I have never done a cartwheel starting on my right side. Left felt automatic, right was not pretty. To be clear, left didn’t give my cartwheel grace, but I made them. I still saw stars.

Then, it was time for some forward rolls. When I was a bit younger than my granddaughter is now, Nadia Comăneci enchanted me (and the rest of the world) with her performances at the 1976 Montreal Olympics. In the common lawn outside our apartment at the university’s married student housing, I did cartwheels and somersaults, tried to do splits, and rigged up a balance beam with concrete blocks and a 2 by 4. This was serious business. I still thought I could be that girl. Of course, I couldn’t because nobody would pay for gymnastics lessons, but it kept me entertained for the rest of the summer.

Forward rolls, no problem I thought. I’d done those all the time as a child. I lined up my body to roll over itself and was suddenly terrified. My granddaughter cheered me on as I froze—tucked and not ready to roll. They did not feel the same. Dizzy and momentarily disoriented, I decided one was plenty. (Later there would be a backward roll.) I still marvel at how something that had been so easy and second nature at one point in my life felt so awful.

Next, the (grand)parent and child teams did two-person acro stunts. I was the base. I lay on my back with my legs in tabletop position. My granddaughter did a handstand on to my feet, at which point I needed to hold her feet. My job was to use my legs to lift and support her as she snapped up into a sitting position. Once that was accomplished, there was a little kick-up so she could change her leg position and do some twist thing. The person at the top is called the flyer after all. We had a lot of successes and quite a few fails. My granddaughter was so happy.

“Let’s do it again!” she sang out over and over.

She had no idea what my body was saying to me, something like “Are you kidding me?”

After acro, it was on to ballet. My first class ever—and after some tendus, pliés, relevés, and so many other terms I did not know, there were some leaps across the room. I loved the moments spent with my granddaughter. It was not only fun to see her in her element; she has been at this for four years now, but it was also touching to see her take the initiative to help and encourage one of the other girls who couldn’t do everything. It was a gift. And a reminder to me on how important it is to push oneself out of one’s comfort zone. There are rewards.

Also this week. Took a walk with a friend and met this beautiful madrone.

Mulling Cider (soft and hard)

When the light is just right in southern Oregon, I can trick myself into believing that the conifer ridges are the foothills of the southern German Alps. In my nostalgia, I put pots of mulled apple cider on the woodstove for the kids. For the adults, well, there is something simmering as well.

There are a few things to keep in mind when you set out to mull drinks. Despite what you might think, like “Let’s rescue that not-so-tasty bottle of wine by mulling it,” you will want to start with good (or at least decent) wine. Fresh sweet cider is always a treat and good jarred cider or juice will be just as tasty.

My first memory of a mulled drink has the magic of a cauldron in the woods. Really, there was a copper cauldron suspended by a tripod over a small fire, behind a cabin, in the snow-dusted conifer landscape of southern Germany. It was filled with spicy warm wine called Glühwein. I was there with my older, wiser cousin. The wine and the flames together left an impression of deep warmth I can feel to this day. (Soon, drinking fires would mean old trucks parked with their tailgates facing a stack of burning pallets in the desolate desert of rural Arizona—teens with Jack Daniel’s, Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill, and cheap beer—but I digress, then and now.)

When I first started mulling cider and wine, I literally just tossed orange slices and some cinnamon sticks, whole cloves, and ginger—the pumpkin pie troika—into the pot. Usually, it was fine, sometimes even good, but often the flavors were a little lopsided. The kids never cared, but I did. One year, I found a bottle of premixed Glühwein in a holiday end cap and was so excited. I imagined my sixteen-year-old self out in the woods dipping a ladle into a cauldron and extracting magical liquid. Okay, I admit the Glühwein I had that night may not have been any better than this bottle—I wouldn’t know now—but I can tell you this: don’t do it. I’ve found the premixed, bottled mulled wines are not made of tasty wine in the first place, and it relies largely on sugar. The same could be said for premixed (read generic) mulling spice blends. Make your own: the spices will be fresher and tailored to the juice or libation you want to mull.

At some point along the way, I discovered chai, and I realized that coriander and cardamom can add wonderful flavor to mulled drinks as well. This opened up a number of possibilities including black peppercorns, rosehips, lemon peel, and lemongrass. All of these flavors can take your mulled beverage to the next level, but—not unlike a watercolor painting that can become a muddy mess quickly—great results require adding these intense flavors thoughtfully.

When you are thinking up a spice combination, it is best to keep your base in mind. For example, when mulling sweet cider, think of flavors that pair well with apples: that trio of cinnamon, cloves, and ginger is amazing, but remember that ginger can take over, and even cinnamon can overpower. Add a little allspice or black peppercorn to bring in warmth and depth. Star anise will add a touch of licorice flavor and look pretty. Cardamom is maybe one of my favorite spices. I don’t think of it as a go-to for most folks, but it has a floral spiciness that is all its own and goes well with warm, soothing drinks. (Crush the whole green pods lightly to crack the hull.) A few whole coriander seeds will give your drink earthy citrus notes. Use whole spices: the flavors stay cleaner, and so does the drink. If you have the time, a quick toast on a dry pan will stimulate the release of oils and add more flavor.

If your base drink is sweet, add some acids to balance out the flavors. Citrus is a natural choice, but I have had wonderful results with other flavors, such as lemongrass, dried rose hips, and fresh cranberries (sliced in half) or a little unsweetened cranberry juice.

If your drink is tart or acidic, on the other hand, the counterweight is sweet. Sugar works, but honey can be tastier. It can be fun to find ways to add subtle sweetness to the drink using other ingredients. For example, you may use a sweeter cider or wine than you might drink. I also found that pear and candied ginger add sweetness and make a wonderful treat at the bottom of the glass.

Mulled drinks suggest warmth, coziness, exhales, long winter nights, Sunday afternoons—and as such they require some slowing down to really shine. For sweet cider, a long, lazy mulling time not only allows the spices to infuse the cider, but more importantly, the extended heat reduces the water content, making the cider’s apple-y taste richer and much sweeter. You definitely don’t want to boil wine or hard cider, though, as this will cook off the alcohol.

Think low and slow—more leisurely than even a simmer. Ideally, use a slow cooker or have a spot on your woodstove where you can allow your mulled beverage to slowly mull and make your house smell amazing at the same time. Be sure to use a nonreactive pot—stainless, enamel, or tempered glass—not cast iron, even though it looks cool. If you don’t have a wood stove or slow cooker, you can use your stovetop set at its lowest heat. If your beverage gets too warm, place your pot on a diffuser or set it in a heavy skillet to distribute the heat.

Taking hours to simmer can seem like a luxury, and the reality of life, especially with a busy family, is that sometimes you want the “magic of mulled” quickly. You can toss in your mulling fruit and spices and just go ahead and bring your cider or wine to a simmer. The flavors will steep into your beverage in much less time. If you are in a hurry, there is the temptation to boil the drink; however, try not to bring to a full boil. At a full boil, fresh apple cider will get cloudy, any fruit (sliced pears, for example) are more likely to fall apart, and you may have to skim off some foam before serving. The high heat affects appearance more than flavor in a warm nonalcoholic drink. However, flavors and alcohol will have broken down in a hard cider or wine that was boiled rapidly.

Whether you are warming your bones after an afternoon in the chill or having a long winter evening with friends and family, hands embracing a piping cup of grog, wassail, or other mulled drink is an ancient comfort.

Basic Mulled Sweet Cider

This is a nice amount for a small dinner party or a family, but it you are having a bigger gathering you may want to double the recipe.

I don’t cover my mulled drinks because I like the smell wafting through the house, and I also like the intensified flavors after the cider reduces. That said, if you have a pot mulling through the evening, you may want to cover it when the flavor is perfect so as not to lose any more to the atmosphere. Serves 6.

2 or 3 three-inch cinnamon sticks

2 star anise pods

6 cardamom pods, cracked lightly

6 whole cloves

2 quarts apple cider

4 cubes of candied ginger, sliced

3 orange slices

¼ cup fresh cranberries, sliced in half

Brandy, especially pear or apple brandy (optional)

Several Lemon twists, for garnish (optional)

Heat a small pan over medium-high heat and add the cinnamon, star anise, cardamom, and cloves. Dry toast, stirring frequently, until fragrant.

Pour the cider into a nonreactive pot or slow cooker. Add the toasted spices and the candied ginger, orange slices, and cranberry halves. Place the pot over medium-low heat or set the slow cooker to medium and heat the liquid until it comes to the point right before a simmer, then lower the heat to maintain the temperature. (For a slow cooker, adjust to the low setting at this point.) Cook until the spices’ flavors have infused, about 1 hour.

Serve with a few cranberry halves and slices of ginger in the bottom of each mug. Add brandy and/or top with a small ribbon of lemon zest, if desired.

Glühmost

This is my version of this German mulled apple wine, which is the lesser-known cousin of Glühwein and near and dear to my heart as a hard-cider fan. My version takes one on a journey of culinary fusion. This uses American hard and fresh sweet cider and a spice palette from Southeast Asia. The lemongrass lends a light, lemony acidity without being overwhelming. The black pepper and ginger give it a warm quality after a chilly day. If you are feeling a cold coming on, add a little honey and this will give you the same comfort as a hot toddy before bed. Makes 4 – 6 glasses.

¼ teaspoon whole coriander seeds

500-milliliter or 16-ounce bottle of semi-sweet hard cider

1 cup fresh apple cider

8 to 10 black peppercorns

2 sticks of lemongrass, cut into 2- to 3-inch lengths

3 thin slices of fresh ginger

3 cubes of candied ginger, sliced thin

Heat a small pan over medium-high heat and add the coriander. Dry toast, stirring frequently, until fragrant.

Pour hard cider and fresh apple cider into a nonreactive pot or slow cooker. Add the toasted coriander, peppercorns, lemongrass, and candied and fresh ginger. Place the pot over medium-low heat or set the slow cooker to medium and heat the liquid to the point right before a simmer. Then, lower the heat to maintain the temperature. (For a slow cooker, adjust to the low setting at this point.) Cook until the spices’ flavors have infused, about 30 minutes.

Serve in mugs.