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Keep It Simple

by

Meg Reilley Photo

There are a lot of things I don’t know. I don’t know why my cat Harold tries to swat me every time I walk by him. I thought he and I were better friends than that.

I can’t explain why I’m so moved by the Vangelis tune “Chariots of Fire,” from the eponymous film. As a child, I’d openly weep whenever I heard it and, even now, in the final year of my 30s, it renders me profoundly emotional at every listen, as though hearing it anew. And I certainly have no idea why my four-year-old son yells “the trombone!” when asked if there’s a musical instrument he’d like to learn. We don’t know anyone who plays the trombone, and my son’s 34-pound stature isn’t exactly the physique   required of such an unwieldy instrument. 

What I do know, though—what I’m more and more certain of with each passing year—is that, for me, what is simple is often what is best. 

Sure, there is something to be said for the culinary movement known as molecular gastronomy, which approaches food from a playful, scientific vantage point, offering avant-garde spheres of juice or pea foams created by a quick injection of carbon dioxide. Similarly, a case can be made for haute couture and garments painstakingly crafted from delicate or synthetic fabrics, fashioned into unusual styles. It could also be argued that overt, grandiose gestures—be they of love, appreciation, devotion, or in acknowledgement of a momentous occasion—are those which are the most welcome. 

Excess and whimsy, the unfamiliar and the atypical—these are the obvious and necessary contrasts to the restrained, the tame, the mundane, and the ordinary. They set the balance, and are measures on a continuum of human experience. But as I age, I tend to find that those things in life that require the least amount of meddling, interference, or adjusting—those things that allow the flavor, texture, or aroma of a thing to simply exist—often ring as the most sincere, comforting, and abiding. As we enter the time of year when excess has a way of taking center stage, I’d like to advocate on behalf of the simple things. 

Wassail, a beverage hailing from the cider-producing regions of southern England, is simple yet full of complexity. A combination of fruit juices and spices is simmered and reduced over the course of several hours. The resulting drink invites conviviality and communion and fellowship. It is basic, yet special. Ordinary yet extraordinary. It speaks to the season at hand, in the gentlest of ways. Few other beverages showcase both individual and combined flavors so effortlessly. 

While I may not know a lot of things, I do know that wassail is what I’ll be making this holiday season and offering as a simple, sublime toast to my loved ones. This humble gift leaves a lasting impression.

About the author: Candler, N.C., homesteader Ashley English is the author of seven books. See smallmeasure.com.

Wassail That Packs a Punch

At once a wish for good health, a hot beverage, and a traditional British ceremony that blesses apple trees for a fruitful harvest the following year, wassail covers many bases. This recipe comes from Asheville native Byron Ballard, who is a writer, scholar, and expert on nature-based traditions and folklore. 

Don’t forget to wassail your trees, per her suggestion, by offering them the first cup.

Makes around 10-11 cups

You Will Need:

To Make:

1) Combine all of the ingredients except for the rum in a deep pot or Dutch oven. Whisk gently to combine. 

2) Simmer the mixture over the lowest setting for at least three hours, stirring periodically.

3) When you feel the flavors have all come together to your liking, remove the pot from the heat. If desired, stir in rum according to taste and inclination. 

From Quench: Handcrafted Beverages To Satisfy Every Taste & Occasion, Roost Books, 2014.

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