In November I made some Winter Spiced Vodka, courtesy of Nigella (chuck a cinnamon stick, a dried chilli, three cardamom pods and a few cumin and coriander seeds into half a litre of vodka – but make sure it’s drinkable vodka in the first place – I used Stolly) and decanted it into some beautiful vintage looking bottles from Lakeland. Had a slight disaster with the first lot as I sterilised them by washing in hot water and then drying them in a low oven, which is the correct way of doing it and made me feel very goddessy – however I didn’t think about the tops which are plastic. I was scraping melted plastic off the bottom of the oven for days, which isn’t very goddessy.
Anyway, they made beautiful Christmas presents, trimmed with tartan ribbon and brown parcel tags.
Saved one bottle for us and I have just sloshed half a bottle into a jug of organic tomato juice (cheap as chips from Aldi) with a good shake of Worcestershire Sauce and a handful of ice cubes. Topped with some celery salt, its ultra delish and a great accompaniment to an afternoon on the sofa watching Ballet Shoes (how nostalgic!) and day dreaming.
Even though I have left this six weeks, the flavours have infused after about a week, so you could make some today and have some ready for next weekend. Just the thing to slurp when reading the papers, and because you mix it with tomato juice it almost certainly qualifies as "healthy"...
I think that the nicest thing about the Christmas holiday, apart from an escape from the horror and panic that is modern life, has been a chance to spend some time with the people I love. Even if it has just been an extra long catch up phone call. So, with this in mind I have decided that this year I am going to revive the gentle art of letter writing. How much more civilised than texting or writing on a Face Book wall? Who doesn’t like receiving a proper letter – something that doesn’t come in a brown envelope or emblazoned with the words “This is not a circular”? Something that you can open and read on the bus which tells you on a bleak Wednesday morning that someone is thinking of you. Now, where are the stamps?
