Drinking Mead in the winter always reminds me of Dandelion Wine, in which Ray Bradbury talks about those sips of dandelion wine in the dead of winter, where each mouthful is sunshine, and freshly mown grass, and memories, and happiness and warmth.
I’ve held on to these bottles of Chrisman Mill mead for 2 years now. I thought that mead was not really supposed to age gracefully, but this is still blooming, and I think that I’ll try to keep the last bottle a little longer. I don’t want to overdo it.
This mead is a wonderful golden color, and still has the tastes of clover, honey, and sunshine that I enjoyed so much in it when it was new, but they have blossomed a little. It no longer tastes quite so green, while at the same time, you can taste, somehow, magically, a golden delicious apple in there somewhere. And, the last time I tasted this, it was still just on the edge of being too sweet. That is completely gone – no more syrupy sweetness – and just the lovely summer flavors are left.
This is truly a wonderful wine, and I only wish that I was not about to run out of it. And I wonder if I will ever get my copy of Dandelion Wine back that I loaned out at the end of last summer.