The Name of the Metheglin

In my last post I mentioned a metheglin that was inspired by a well loved book. The book is The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss. In it, the protagonist is served a mug of metheglin, which he describes thus:

I took a drink from the tall tankard to give myself a chance to clear my wits, and something wonderful happened in my mouth: cool spring honey, clove, cardamom, cinnamon, pressed grape, burnt apple, sweet pear, and clear well water. that's all I have to say of metheglin. If you haven't tried it, then I am sorry I cannot describe it properly. If you have, then you don't need me to remind you what it is like.
 

Being a bit of a crazed mazer, I immediately decided I had to try making it. I did some research into how the various spices and fruits were used in other recipes to get a grasp on what proportions to start with, since I had done very little experimentation with spices before, and settled on a recipe. I put about a week into deciding this before finally going out and buying myself myself some high quality ingredients and went to work.

Mead is a product of patience, and I am not a creature of patience, so while it's been a fairly short wait for a mead, for me, it's been torturous and I've been half-convinced it was going to be a disappointing or even disastrous batch.

Last week I finally poured off an ounce to taste it since it had finally cleared. A bad batch? I couldn't have been more wrong. It was amazing. Certainly the most delicious thing I have brewed, probably the best mead I've ever tasted and maybe even the best thing I've ever tasted. Well, perhaps not, but I can't think of anything that compares, aside from my grandmother's fudge. I nursed that one ounce of metheglin for more than half an hour (the batch being only one gallon, I wanted to savor it).

 

That said, the batch wasn't perfect, or at least, not exactly what I was planning. The clove was a little stronger than I intended (though my fellow tasters enjoyed the clove) and it was overall sweeter than I had anticipated. The pear was almost indiscernible. The apple and cinnamon were right about where I wanted them, and I'm hoping that the cardamom will be more prominent once the clove is dialed back. Also, I forgot the grape entirely.

For all my nitpicking though, it is truly delightful and if I could never improve on what it is now, I would not mind in the least.

The only thing remaining was a name. With some of my meads, I've gone the amusing route for naming. My first batch was called the Hammer (in reference to a cult neo-classic musical video blog), one of my bacon recipes is Sir Francis Bacon Mead. For others, I've opted for simple, such as Traditional Honey Wine or Apricot Mead. In this case I'm going to go slightly sentimental and name it in honor of the friend who introduced me to the book which inspired the recipe. 

The name of the metheglin is simply Meadow Wine.