An English Christmas on a Tuscan farm

Puneetinder Sidhu column (please take logo)

In my mind, there is no greater pleasure than a glass (or three) of warm mulled wine to offset a dreary January drizzle as it runs its course in these parts. An easy DIY beverage derived, in its most basic form, from heating inexpensive dry red wine (cider, even) with whole spices, sliced oranges, lemon rind, a piece of fresh ginger, sugar or honey, and some cooking brandy.

A winter tradition that coincides, more or less Europe-wide, with plummeting temperatures, it’s been warming hands and hearts since millennia. Cleopatra, some say, swore by its medicinal properties, as did Hippocrates the Greek physician. The Romans — if any were still around —would have us know it was they who first came up with the idea of braving bitterly cold months in this manner. The spicy brew as we know it today was quite the rage in Britain in the 19th century, despite the Victorian frowns alcohol invited those days. A generous libation of this British favourite is what kept me snug and spirited through the recent Christmas and Boxing Day revelry with friends in Tuscany. I mean a crackling fire around the clock can only do so much on an off-grid farm!

Much of the conversation in the days leading up to Christmas had revolved around food, with my hosts discussing meals and menus, as animatedly as the usually reticent English allow themselves. I was simply glad all that talk resulted in several unforgettable experiences for me. The day began as always with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting up to the attic, my lodgings while there. A late, leisurely breakfast of poached duck eggs, smoked salmon, aged cheese, truffle pate and freshly baked sourdough bread was washed down by rounds of champagne. Earlier, the wood fired oven out-front had been readied to slow roast our dinner — a bacon-wrapped, chestnut-stuffed, and herb-smeared duck.

A large baking tray laden with olive-oil drizzled potatoes, carrots, and balls of leftover stuffing topped with sprigs of rosemary, queued up for its turn. Red cabbage stewed on the stove top inside. While a sizeable pot of spiced wine sat mulling beside it. In one corner, an invitingly iced fruit-cake patiently waited to catch our attention. Our dessert for the day, tiramisu, perched in the larder while we gorged our way through the day. We eventually got to it late evening, over a parlour game, once the excited kids of the house had ploughed through their gifts and gone to bed. Did you know tiramisu tastes just as divine with spiced wine?

A few days later I was ringing in the New Year in Madrid, with another set of friends, gallons of Rioja tintos and a host of tapas. Platters of Manchego cheese, Granada-style spinach and chick peas, fried eggplant soused in honey, Manzanilla olives, ham, chorizos, fried cod, shrimp in garlic sauce, and heaps of bread covered a better part of the dining table. Set to one side was a bowlful of grapes, 12 for each guest. As per Spanish tradition, they are to be consumed within 12 seconds of the clock striking midnight on December 31. As per Spanish superstition, not doing so is likely to bring bad luck. I believe my success in the matter was aided largely by huge gulps of the mulled wine I’d offered to make for the evening. Never mind that I mistook a vino rosado (Spanish for rosé) for a vino rosso (Italian for red)! I imagine that counts as the culinary equivalent of a hit and a miss. Here’s to many such in the year ahead, for all of us. Cheers!