In its widest sense, writing about food means embracing liquid nourishment and celebratory drinks.
The mollygrubs associated with February—my grandfather always maintained it was the shortest month “because a body couldn’t stand any more of it”—bear all too much promise of a chronic case of cabin fever.
So, let’s celebrate traditional mountain beverages meant to warm the inner man, lift the spirits, and in some cases, “lighten one’s load.” (The latter is an expression I once heard in connection with enjoying a toddy, and it struck me as an apt and eloquent way of describing a touch of tippling.)
Obviously, moonshine or liquid corn has long been associated with the southern Appalachians. Sometimes, with the writings of Horace Kephart in Our Southern Highlanders being a prime example, the matter reaches a point of shameful stereotyping. Certainly many winter beverages do involve a dram of tanglefoot or a tot of brandy coming from a fine crop of fall apples. But there are plenty of non-alcoholic choices as well.
The selection ranges quite widely, with such drinks including hearty broths bridging the gap between simple liquid and a cup of soup; “herbal” type teas made from spice bush, sassafras roots, or dried and shredded hot peppers; cherry bounce, syllabub, golden moonbeam, mulled cider, metheglin, and many more. All promise a measure of comfort on a cold winter’s day. When sipping, many suggest an almost tangible sense of connection with yesteryear.
Here’s a solid sampling of traditional cold-weather beverages in the high country. A number of them are also being associated with either a holiday season, or are considered a “pick me up” in the folk medicine category.
Hot Pepper Tea
My Grandpa Joe swore by it both as a sort of “cure all” and as the perfect drink during the depths of winter. Preparing pepper tea is the essence of simplicity. Use red pepper flakes which have just been parched or toasted and then steep them as you would tea. Pour through a strainer to remove the flakes and serve piping hot. Rest assured, it will carry plenty of heat from the pepper as well as the hot water. Grandpa would make it so sweat beads would pop out on his brow as soon as he took a couple of slurps of the “sassered” tea (he was unwilling to wait until it cooled sufficiently to drink from the cup).
The ideal way to make pepper tea is by growing and drying your own cayenne peppers, although the kind of flakes you can purchase to sprinkle atop pizza or to season soup beans will work perfectly well. Incidentally, an easy way to dry cayenne peppers is to pull up the entire plant before the first frost, hang it upside down in a dry, airy place, and let nature take its course. When fully dry, the pods will keep almost indefinitely. If you prefer to rush matters, place the pods in a dehydrator. When ready to make tea, you can control the “heat” or capsaicin content by removing or leaving the seeds—the latter makes a more powerful beverage. It’s not for everyone, but if you want a quick warm-up after being out in the cold on a bitter day or maybe feel a cold coming on, it’s something well worth trying.
As an aside, I would note I don’t ever recall Grandpa Joe having even so much as a cold, much less a case of flu, and there are plenty of indications of capsaicin having health benefits.
Syllabub
Syllabub is an alcoholic beverage traditionally associated with Christmas and New Year’s, but is suitable for festive occasions any time of the year. Its appearance definitely enhances the drink’s appeal.
- 1 quart cream
- ½ pint sweet wine steeped in lemon peel for at least an hour (homemade elderberry wine has long been a favorite among old-time mountain folks)
- ½ pint of apple brandy (Madeira can be substituted)
- Juice of two lemons (use peel to steep in wine)
- Pinch of powdered allspice
- Sugar to taste
Whisk all the ingredients together in a large glass bowl, stirring vigorously until froth begins to rise. Skim away the froth, saving in a separate bowl, and continue whisking. Fill glasses half way or a bit more with liquid, then top with froth. Something of a novelty, but it’s mighty tasty.
Sassafras Tea
- 1 cup small sassafras roots, thoroughly washed and pounded with a meat hammer or similar tool until well broken up and yielding their spicy scent.
- ½ cinnamon stick
- 3 tablespoons honey
- 6 cups cold water
Put the crushed roots and cinnamon in a saucepan with the water and bring to a rolling boil. Decrease the heat and simmer for 15 minutes. Pour through a fine strainer (cheese cloth topped by a coffee filter works just dandy) and then add the honey and stir it in. The beverage can be served hot or poured over crushed ice.
Golden Moonbeam
To me, the name for this alcoholic beverage is as irresistible as it is ingenious. I first encountered it in the writings of Archibald Rutledge, a prolific twentieth-century scribe who hailed from Low Country South Carolina. However, his family regularly spent portions of each summer in the Flat Rock area sometimes known as “Little Charleston,” and it is likely the drink came from there while its name was a product of his fertile imagination.
To a wineglass of whiskey or brandy add the juice of half an orange, a teaspoonful of sugar, the slightest “tetch” of red pepper and a heftier pinch of powdered cinnamon. Stir the result into crushed ice and bits of orange peel. Rutledge suggested it renewed youth—at least temporarily.
Russian Tea
As the word Russian makes abundantly manifest, this drink likely originated half a world away from the Smokies. Yet in my boyhood home, and many others, it was intimately associated with Christmas and the cold months on either side of Yuletide. It was served at family gatherings, to visitors who dropped by unexpectedly, at church functions, and simply as a welcome way to warm up on a cold winter’s day. My Grandpa Joe absolutely loved the beverage, which he called “Rooshian” tea. I guarantee he had no idea whatsoever of the geographical connection or, for that matter, that Russia was a country or where it might be located. But he would take a lip-scorching hot cup, “sasser and blow” it to cool the tea down a bit, and then drink with ample evidence of having been transported into a realm of pure bliss.
- ½ teaspoon whole cloves (4 to 6 cloves)
- 1 cup sugar
- ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
- 1 gallon water
- 1 tall can (16 ounces) orange juice concentrate
- 4 tea bags
- 1 pint boiling water
- ¾ cup fresh lemon juice
- 1 tall can (16 ounces) pineapple juice
- 1 quart apple cider (optional)
- 1½ cups fresh orange juice
In a large pot or Dutch oven, combine cloves, sugar, cinnamon, water, and juice concentrate, adding extra sugar if desired. Bring these ingredients to a boil and continue boiling for five minutes. Meanwhile, steep tea bags in boiling water for five minutes. Add steeped tea to the liquid mixture, then add lemon juice, pineapple juice, orange juice, and, if desired, apple cider. Stir to mix and serve hot. Refrigerate leftover beverage.
Metheglin
Metheglin is an old-time mountain drink easily traceable back to the British Isles from whence so many of those living in the high country traced their roots. The great English diarist, Samuel Pepys, praised the beverage even as he tendered a warning, noting that it was “the naturallest drink of the country, a decoction of water and honey,” but then warned it was “strong in the superlative, [and] if taken immoderately, doth stupefy more than any other liquor and keeps a humming in the brain.”
Honey may not have been as plentiful as corn in the Southern Appalachians, but many a mountain farm had natural bee gums. Sometimes a portion of the resulting honey was fermented to produce mead, and from that point forward only one additional step needed to be taken in order to produce metheglin. That involved the addition of some type of herbs or spices, with sassafras, dried lemon balm, or any of the “pumpkin” family of spices (nutmeg, allspice, cinnamon, or cloves) being among the favorites. The resultant mix was then allowed to sit for a day or two while the flavors mixed and married.
Suffice it to say metheglin is nothing more or less than spiced or herb-infused mead. I could fill pages with recipes, some that begin as the mead is being fermented, and some that involve steeping herbs in the mead, or adding herb extracts.
Traditionally metheglin was used as a folk medicine for treatment of colds, pneumonia, bronchitis, and other chest ailments, but it was also a celebratory tipple particularly favored in the months following peak honey productivity.
If you’re lucky and there’s a mead maker nearby, you have a great place to begin. Otherwise, the metheglin seeker can peruse the internet for recipes.
About the author: Jim Casada is a son of the Smokies and a full-time freelance writer. To learn more about his most recent book, A Smoky Mountain Boyhood: Memories, Musings, and More, or his forthcoming work, Fishing for Chickens: A Smokies Food Memoir, visit jimcasadaoutdoors.com.