Hot Drink

Back in the day when Min and her pal Philip Bernard attended Virginia Tech football pregame tailgate parties with fervent religiosity, a touch of special cider was often the incentive for warming up some team spirit. In truth, there is absolutely nothing Hokie about this fine cider punch, what with the assistance of the special team’s Tennessee whiskey and all.

THIS IS TRUE HOT CHOCOLATE——as opposed to cocoa—made by melting chocolate into hot milk. It doesn’t take any longer than hot cocoa to prepare but is a richer and creamier concoction. Top each mug with a dollop of whipped cream, marshmallows, or ground cinnamon, or dunk your favorite cookie into it.

Caffè latte is classic Italian, and for a Sunday brunch it would be the obvious choice over a regular pot of coffee. And while vanilla whipped cream is a small departure from the way you would find it served in any Italian café, it’s a nice way to make the jolt of caffeine a little richer and more special.

Though this is traditionally and usually made with persimmon, I find the flavor of cinnamon so overwhelming (and the availability of persimmon so limited) that I do away with it. An unusual but super meal ender, always served ice cold.

Most people find the distinctive flavor of this tea, which is served hot or cold, instantly appealing. Theoretically, it is a digestive aid, but in any case it’s a great alternative to soft drinks or sweet tea.

One of the national beverages of India, chai—often called masala chai—is simply sweetened tea with milk and spices. Which spices? Ah, there’s the question. I like a simple, minimal mix; other people use complicated spice mixtures; many would eliminate the fennel and use a mixture of cloves, cinnamon, and ginger.

This is a gentler version of the preceding Indian Masala Chai, perhaps better suited to the palates of Western Europe. Yet it remains exotic and delicious, as does cardamom-spiced coffee (still consumed in the Middle East). Wonderful iced.

This groglike drink has been popular in Russia for centuries. It’s usually prepared without alcohol, but it’s pretty good with it, too—just add 1/2 to 3/4 cup vodka or brandy during the last couple of minutes of simmering. It’s not often served cold in Russia, but I like it that way, as a kind of spicy, odd relation of Masala Chai (page 668).

Tea is usually served black in Russia, with preserves. You can add milk or cream if you like. Also completely optional, but not inappropriate, is a bit of vodka, brandy, or rum.

Traditionally served at Christmas parties in Sweden and elsewhere, this is powerful stuff, as you can see by its ingredients. Nevertheless, it goes down easily, so be careful. The wine and port should be decent but obviously need not be fantastic; most of their flavors will be overwhelmed.

A cold-weather tradition I remember fondly took place around the fogoler, or open hearth, of my maternal grandparents’ home. When neighbors would stop by to visit, everybody would gather around the crackling fire and talk. My grandparents would serve zuppa istriana, hearty spiced wine, to satisfy and warm their guests. My grandmother would roast some quince in the hearth, and have a pan of wine nestled in the coals, perking away. Then she would combine the two and pour the soup into a boccaletta, a ceramic pitcher. The pitcher was then passed around the hearth, and everybody would fish out a piece of quince with a fork (or sometimes with a thin sharp twig), take a good sip from the pitcher, and pass it on. The ceramic boccaletta was always considered a hospitable vessel, since no one could see how much one drank from it. Today I prepare zuppa istriana when the snow begins to pile up outside and I want to have something warm and comforting to welcome my friends and family in from the cold.

This is one of the oldest beverages in Mexico and uses two of the main ingredients indigenous to the Americas: cacao and corn. It is essentially a thick corn beverage made with a bit of chocolate and lightly sweetened. It is sold in markets, outside bus stations, and near churches. It is present at many celebrations, from birthdays to baptisms, and is a popular accompaniment to sweet tamales. This recipe was given to me in the state of Tabasco, where I visited some wonderful cacao plantations that are lucky enough to have the ivory criollo bean, one of the highest quality in the world. Originally, champurrado was made with the shells of the toasted beans, but it is now made with the chocolate tablets used for chocolate caliente. If you don’t have any homemade tablets or can’t find them in the store, you can substitute the same amount of bittersweet chocolate and add another stick of canela.

This is a very fragrant fruit punch enjoyed in the posadas and at end-of-year reunions all over Mexico. It is cooked in large batches and the aroma warms you from the moment it reaches your nose. Adults enjoy the punch with a bit of booze and call it piquete. I particularly like the ones made with tamarind because of the nice tartness that balances the sweetness of the piloncillo. Hibiscus flowers can be used if you want a nice burgundy color. Feel free to replace the fruits that you can’t find or don’t like for those of your own choosing.

Before roasters existed, coffee used to be toasted in ceramic plates and ground in hand mills or metates (a stone tool used to grind seeds and other ingredients) in small batches. Many small towns still prefer to hand grind their beans to prepare this aromatic spiced coffee.

The word atole comes from atl, “water,” and tlaoli, “ground corn.” These beverages have been consumed since pre-Hispanic times and the variations are countless. Made with water, milk, or a combination of the two, and commonly thickened with masa, the beverage is also made with ground toasted corn, fermented corn, rice, oatmeal, fresh corn, or mature corn cooked in ashes. It is sweetened with sugar and/or piloncillo and often mixed with fruit. This drink is enjoyed with sweet tamales early in the morning or at night. This atole is very popular in Michoacán, and I want to thank Ernesto Hernandez Doblas for the recipe.

When chocolate was introduced to European aristocrats from the New World, it was consumed largely in the privacy of the bedroom. Finishing a chocolate drink with the fragrant crunchy spark of Taha’a vanilla salt would not have been a good idea in this setting—it would surely have escalated things to the point where the presence of the bed weighed too heavily on everyone’s minds, turning a purely social invitation into something rather more.