SPIRIT LEVEL It’s

mead the maker T

Forget sickly sweet meads from the seventies. This age-old drink can be as delightfully dry and effervescent as you like, says Brooke Magnanti

There is something about living in a post-Brexit, post-pandemic world that has brought out the domestic in many of us. With carefree jaunts to Costa del Wherever off the menu, at least for now the smart money has been fl uffi ng their nest and sharpening their homebody skills for a wee while. A confession: I’ve been known to haunt socalled ‘prepper’ forums, where the God and Guns variety of American shares tips on how best to collect rainwater and shoot intruders. Over and again, would-be post-apocalyptic warlords tickle the hive mind to try and fi gure out which goods would be best stockpiled for barter in case of the end of the world as we know it. It is not, in my opinion, bullets or tobacco or cans of squeezy cheese or any of the other myriad usual answers. It’s obvious to me that the twilight of human civilisation is going to need some alcohol. But you needn’t hoard it when it’s a doddle to make. Welcome back to the column that takes you on a magical mystery tour of my memory every few months or so. Yes, I’m talking about mead. Put out of your mind whatever sickly-sweet mead your parents brought back as a souvenir from a monk-infested British beauty spot in the 1970s and relegated to the back of the drinks cupboard never to be sipped again. The simple combination of honey, lemon, tea and yeast, left to ferment, can be as dry as a Pinot Grigio, and when bottle conditioned as delightfully effervescent as champagne. Without distillation it reaches only the upper heights of winerange ABVs, but believe me when I say that will be plenty boozy when it counts.

I fi rst got into making mead when I moved to Scotland. Thanks to the impulsive purchase of a winemaking kit from a home brew shop before leaving Bristol I was already familiar with the rudiments, but our move to the West Coast brought new pressure because we’d spent all, and I do mean all, of our money on a house. The domestic budget for that fi rst year in Strontian was ruthless. What was the cheapest way to drink agreeable tipple? Why, by making it. Enter Morrison’s value honey, high alcohol tolerant yeast bought online, and visitors having to put up with the gentle bubbling of carboys next to the guest room radiator all night.

I learned a lot in that fi rst year. That if you forget the tannin it will taste off (and we’ll drink it anyway), and that if it goes ropey it will look scary (and we’ll drink it anyway). As wiser heads than me have opined, no one ever died from drinking homebrew. Well... not specifi cally from that anyway.

Over time it improved. This is how I learned that the tea used for tannin will make some difference to the fi nished product, that replacing fresh lemons with cost-effective citric acid crystals none at all, and that the addition of a handful of foraged raspberries or gorse fl owers elevates it from an everyday drink to something approaching delightful. I also learned, painfully, never to mix mead with lager – the so-called ‘turbo shandy’ that tasted of nothing more sinister than lemonade will live long in my catalogue of regrettable hangovers.

But you needn’t be house-poor nor pandemic-stranded to enjoy mead. Nor do you have to make it yourself, though I’d urge anyone to give it a go, as it is far more forgiving a hobby than crafting drinkable beers. Gosnell’s London Mead is a very crisp and modern take on the ancient drink, with a sessionable offering available in cans, while the Cornish Mead Co blackberry mead (technically a melomel) will tempt those whose taste runs to fruit-spiked ciders. So as the nights draw in, why not channel your inner Viking (or your inner Hobbit) with a glass of man’s oldest brew?

MONIACK MEAD

Produced at Moniack Castle in Invernessshire by Highland Wineries, this mead is smooth and warming with a certain dryness. It has prominent honey and caramel flavours.

THE ROOKERY LAVENDER MEAD

The Rookery is a ‘craft mead’ producer based in Perthshire. Complex and rich, it tastes firstly of lavender, then mellows with gingerbread and burnt sugars.

LYME BAY RHUBARB MEAD

Rhubarb mead showcases the delicious pairing of honey and rhubarb. Served chilled or on the rocks, this tangy mead is sweet and fruity, and pairs well with blue cheese.