The chestnut seller on the South Bank got me thinking about Christmas. It wasn’t his welcoming spirit – God no. He was French. And the most miserable mobiler I’ve come across in a long time. But he still got me thinking. At this time of year, when I’m dreaming of long wreaths of sausages, hocks of ham, and seething bowls of punch that make the front room dim with steam, I like to wassail. The English have always “wassailed” rather well at Christmas. In Speculum Stultorum by Nigellus Wireker (an ideal stocking filler, by the way) the English students at the university of Paris were praised for their generosity, but damned for being “addicted to wassail”.

The wassail bowl was as big as a cauldron, and kept warm over the burning yule log. On New Year’s Day, the children would take the bowl to their friends – a practice that became known as ‘wassailing’. If there was any left over (unlikely, given that this was before Diamond White cider was freely available from unscrupulous off-licences) the holiday ale would then get poured over the land – or fed to the livestock – in an attempt to boost fertility for the next season. It was a strong old drink – guaranteed to have you decking the halls whether you want to or not.

In A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens, Scrooge proposes that he and Bob Cratchit discuss the future “over a bowl of Smoking Bishop”. This punch, sometimes called ‘purple wine’, earnt the name ‘Bishop’ from its colour. Although a real bishop does give a very particular flavour. It’s made by pouring red wine over ripe, bitter oranges. The liquor is heated (or ‘mulled’) in an old pan which can be pushed back into the fire. Sugar and spices (chiefly cloves, star anise, and cinnamon) are added to taste. Smoking Bishop always gets me donning my gay apparel.

I can’t wait. Champagne for breakfast, sherry with the neighbours, and then dry white wine with lunch. Followed by heavy red wine, sweet white wine, port, brandy and whisky. I never remember the Queen’s speech. In France, their Biere de Noel arrives for a limited season only. A friend of mine was in Normandy on Boxing Day last year, and had the temerity to ask the bar owner for a Biere de Noel. He was met by scenes resembling a Bateman cartoon. “Mais Monsieur, Noel est…parti”. Wonder if the bar owner was related to that chestnut seller on the South Bank?

I remember a time when it was different. When a ‘free refill’ was a threat rather than a promise. When coffee tasted like tea. I remember industry insiders talking about toasted bran and chicory as “the new coffee” because coffee was dead. But then came Frasier and Friends, and all of a sudden we were ordering double skinnies like we knew what it actually meant. Now coffee shops are everywhere. Baristas are busily swathing espressos in hot milk, whipped cream and flavoured syrup, and handing us back something that looks like an ice-cream sundae. Which isn’t always a good thing.

You see espresso isn’t a solution but a colloid—a mixture of liquids, gases and finely dispersed solids. It has more than 1,500 chemical components detectable by taste and smell—far more than wine. A good espresso will give you an aftertaste that can last for 20 minutes, making it a good match for a short cigar. Wine, which we get terribly uppity about, is judged to have ‘a long finish’ when its aftertaste lasts for over 60 seconds. So the bean and the roast are important. The double dash of raspberry syrup doesn’t really help.

My biggest gripe is with the big coffee chains who buy pre-ground coffee. Or grind enough to last them for two days. I’m here to tell you that oxidisation is public enemy number one. Which is why I liked the smaller places. All the mobilers I know use freshly ground beans. They don’t extract the espresso too quickly (anything under 20 seconds, and I recommend a simple grinder adjustment) and they don’t try to pull multiple shots from one load of coffee. They even put the right amount of steamed milk into my cup.

All I want is my uncommon grounds. Like the coffee I tasted this week from Lean Green Machine. They deserve their success. I know that it’s fashionable to knock Starbucks. And I would always prefer a good coffee cart, given the choice. But all Starbucks is actually doing is free-market capitalism. Better than anyone else. Go live in Cuba, I say. Which doesn’t sound much of a threat any more. And it’s not like we’ve got a British coffee culture to get sentimental about.

To judge by the applications I’ve had so far, Best Hot Drink is shaping up to be a busy old category. This piece in Caterer Search explains why……. 

Click here for coffee article.