Mulled Cider

Naomi Shulman makes a Mulled Cider recipe in this installment of KitchenDaily's Family Chef series, in which home cooks make recipes from our database and tell you how it went -- what they changed, what they kept and who was in the kitchen helping.




New Year's Eve ain't what it used to be. In days of yore, it was all about getting out of the house and onto the dance floor -- with plenty of bubbly drinks between songs. Family life changed all that -- in fact, in recent years I haven't even tried to stay up to midnight. We had a party this year -- from 4 to 9 p.m. There was still plenty of dancing, but most of the dancers were under ten.

Four p.m. is a little early to break out the champagne, but you want something special on New Year's Eve, so I made a big pot of mulled cider, leaving a large bottle of Bacardi on the counter -- so kids could share in the apple-scented goodness while grownups spiked their servings. It made the entire house smell warm and spicy, and the drink was just as satisfying as a mug of hot chocolate. Which made me consider: Why is mulled cider something we only make once or twice a year? It's easy, it's delicious, and it's arguably healthier than most other hot drinks I can think of (when you leave out the rum, anyway). We're big tea drinkers here, but the herbal stuff my kids drink is pretty bland without considerable added sugar. Cider, however -- it's naturally sweet as can be.

Thus inspired, I decided to put some cider on the stove before the girls came home from school today, thinking it would set a festive mood for homework and give our home that divine fragrance. Since it was just us chickens (and because I only had a quart of cider), I cut the recipe down two-thirds, leaving us with generous servings and a little left over. I added whole cardmom seeds -- I'd used them in the past and loved the little extra kick they provide. I subbed sliced lemon for the orange peel, and I skipped the cheesecloth step, partly because I couldn't be bothered, and partly because a guest on New Year's Eve had assured me that the presence of little particles was right and proper in one's mulled cider. Oh, and one more crucial deviation: I skipped the rum. No girls-gone-wild scenarios in our house.

"Ohhhh, I love this stuff," Lila said upon arriving home.

"I know!" Stella said. "It reminds me of donuts."

"Why did you make this, Mama?" Lila asked as she breathed in the fragrant steam from the pot. "It's not a special day."

But, at the risk of sounding a little cheesy, it made it feel special.