Mulled white wine? Perfect for Christmas guzzling
For the same reason you wouldn’t enjoy a protein shake at your anniversary dinner, you wouldn’t enjoy mulled wine at any time other than Christmas. Mulled wine is a drink that is tied to a specific moment. It’s not enough for the weather to be cold, grey and rainy (god knows we experience that often enough in the UK), it needs to feel festive – preferably in the presence of at least one adult dressed as an elf.
In my head, mulled wine is a sort of goth sangria, a concoction that is flavoured, sweetened and spiced into something else entirely. This is also why people who don’t think of themselves as wine drinkers tend to enjoy mulled wine and sangria. It is stripped of expectation, of denomination and circumstance. It’s just plain fun.
Related: White mulled wine is on its way this Christmas, but is the UK ready for it?
But what of white mulled wine? M&S are offering it on the high street for the first time this year, perhaps as a novelty product, perhaps to test its popularity for years to come – or both. Mulled white wine has in fact been a thing for some time now, enjoyed at parties as far back as the Roman empire. In Europe they have glühwein, which I have enjoyed in Copenhagen, Germany and France. In central Europe it goes by the name kuhano vino, or “cooked wine”, which can be red or white. So, a white mulled wine is by no means anything new, but it’s certainly a curiosity for this year’s festive high street offering.
As someone who drinks frequently and broadly, I wasn’t thrown by its novelty factor. Trying to freak me out with a weird wine is like showing a seasoned dominatrix fluffy pink handcuffs. Been there, done that. I’ve even had a mulled orange wine, made for me by a wine industry pal, Oliver Dibben of Emile Wines – a catarratto with grated nutmeg, orange and cloves.
On the label, the M&S wine is said to be flavoured with pear, vanilla and mulled spice. It’s “made and bottled” in Germany, but I can’t really tell what variety it’s made from. Probably it’s a blend. The label goes on to say the wine can be warmed by heating gently on the stove or microwaving on high for one minute. I’m not sure who’s savouring a single mug of white mulled wine on their own; I’m in the business of getting a lot of people rather pissed quite quickly, so I would sling it on the stove. It also says to add lemon to “appreciate the subtle aroma”. If that aroma is the lemon you’ve just put in, that would make sense. I’m often wary of products that ask me to add things to adequately “appreciate” them, but this is mulled wine, and what is mulled wine if not a moist potpourri?
True, the addition of lemon perks up the preserved citrus notes. I also add cardamom, which feels right for a white wine; I wouldn’t put it in a red. With the addition of cloves, it feels a little more inviting. I give it a sip. Pears, yes. Pear drops, but not in a way that suggests volatile acidity, it’s just very, very sweet on the palate. So sweet that I think this will appeal to most people, even the ones who don’t particularly like wine. Christmas is not a time for critical thinking; a bearded man is coming down the chimney later. Mulled wine, whatever colour it comes in, is a wonderful thing to have thrust into your cold hands at a Christmas market or staff party, hastily guzzled without thinking about it too much.
So, lemon, pear and vanilla, which makes three tasting notes, discounting the addition of spices. There’s not much in the way of complexity, but at £6.50, does there need to be? I don’t think so. It’s perfectly fit for purpose. Ask me again after my fourth glass.
Hannah Crosbie is the author of Corker: A Deeply Unserious Wine Book
