Wassail! Wassail! All over the town,
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing bowl, we’ll drink unto thee.
—The Gloucestershire Wassail
The word “wassail” (pronounced like “wah-sull”) has an interesting history. From the Old Norse “ves heill” (or “be well”), it is a verb describing the act of something similar to what we know as caroling around Christmas. As a noun, though, it describes a type of drink for the winter months, often referred to as mulled ale (or cider or wine).
Before we get to the beer, let’s delve a little into the history. For this, I’ll turn, in part to Martyn Cornell. He keeps an incredible beer blog called Zythophile (from the Greek for “beer lover”), and I’m always guaranteed to be plunged into a wormhole of great, detailed articles. In one article, Martyn references “The Holly-Tree,” a short story by Charles Dickens in which a traveler is experiencing a particularly cruel winter, with ice blocks appearing in the Thames. Arriving at the Peacock Inn, this traveler “found everybody drinking hot purl—in self-preservation.” Purl is similar to mulled ale in that it is ale heated to the point of almost boiling, with a shot of gin added along with Roman wormwood, and potentially orange peel, ginger, spices and (in more recent history, when it became more readily available) sugar. In upper-class homes, there might be a wassail bowl for the express purpose of serving wassail.
Is one paragraph of history enough? It is when you have ales to mull. So I consulted ye olde Google search and tried to compile recipes that would allow me to make mulled ale in a relatively painless manner—by that, I mean not having to buy kitchen accessories that I would use a handful of times and then toss in a drawer with other rarely used accessories. What follows here can be accomplished using a pot, something to hold warm liquid, something with which to stir, and the ingredients.
The idea is simple: You start with a beer that is malty on balance. For my first attempt, I chose my friend of many years, Samuel Smith’s Winter Welcome. For this (and all following attempts), I poured the beer into the pot and stirred in spices and honey. I then warmed the beer to almost boiling; almost is essential, because boiling can lead to isomerization of any remaining alpha acids from the hops in the beer, resulting in an unpleasant amount of bitterness, even if you’re using the most lightly hopped of beers. Some recipes call for adding an egg to thicken everything up. If doing so, whisk an egg in a separate container, and slowly add and whisk the warm ale into it (this is called “tempering”) to prevent the egg from cooking too quickly and, therefore, clumping. In this first attempt, I added clove, cinnamon and honey, and then, at the end—just before I poured it into my mug—brandy. The result was an entirely pleasant and chest-warming experience that was perfect for the spate of cold nights we’ve been having recently.
My next attempt was similar to my first, with the use of Samuel Smith’s Nut Brown Ale and a touch more honey added. You might think a malty beer would have enough sugar, but—and this is coming from someone whose threshold for sweetness is low—you should definitely consider adding another source of sweetness here. Honey seemed best, but I can see simple table sugar, turbinado sugar or possibly agave syrup working just fine. With a little rebalancing of spices and an addition of orange zest, the result of this second attempt was an even more pleasant drink.
In my (minimal) research for this column’s topic, I found a simple recipe involving a Munich dunkel (Erdinger’s dunkel would do), lemon or lemon juice, and rum. It was prepared similarly to the previous two mulled ales, with the rum added at the last second—and the result was my favorite of the bunch. Thanks to the kilned German malts involved, the flavor was that of a slightly lemony bread pudding. This was all without being overly sweet, and if I continue to try to improve my mulling abilities, this will be my preferred way forward when it comes to warm beverages on coming winter nights.
In conclusion, I proclaim this experiment a success. If you, dear reader, decide to try this, let me know your thoughts and any tricks you found in the making of your mulled ale. As previously stated, there are similar recipes involving cider and wine, so if those are your preferred libations, by all means, give them a try. I could see myself trying this with a lovely cider of my choice (most likely a Samuel Smith cider, surprise, surprise). I would also suggest a serving container that allows the drink to remain warm for the entire time. Cold mulled ale is not terrible, but it kind of defeats the purpose.
And with that, I leave you to your hearty beverage.
Brett Newton is a certified cicerone (like a sommelier for beer) and homebrewer who has mostly lived in the Coachella Valley since 1988. He can be reached at caesarcervisia@gmail.com.
