Jasmine Tea Wine - The Making Of...

14 Februrary 2021 - Update. Loads of people are looking at this post today. Can someone drop me a comment to explain why? Thanks!

For several years I have been thinking about the letter J for my wine alphabet. I had rejected 'Jam' as a cheat, though there is a recipe and we have many jars of ancient and random jam in our attic. Jack-fruit comes in tins, is fibrous and has an odd, meaty texture. Much as I would like to turn Jerusalem Artichokes into wine, I don't think we are growing them in sufficient quantity. The solution presented itself at my wine party last week. Rodney suggested Jasmine flowers, which would be expensive and difficult to obtain. Liz refined this to Jasmine Tea, which is sold in Sainsbury's and works out at 10p a bag.

The ingredients, plus a gate-crashing orange

On checking my diary for Tea Wine, I noticed that I had written "Never make this wine again", or words to that effect. Advice is there to be ignored. Anyway, that was black tea, and this is Jasmine Green Tea, so it is bound to be different. I remember that my previous tea wine had too much flavour - it was cloying, strong and too sweet - so I have cut down the quantities of most ingredients.

Measuring the tea

It being the end of October and with me not having made any wine so far this month, I started the wine this morning, 29th October. This time I have used 1¼ oz of tea (which was 15 tea bags, ripped open and shaken out), 3 oranges (just the juice), 1 lb minced sultanas and 2½ lbs of sugar. I boiled 2½ pints of water and poured this over the tea in my bucket. This brewed while I squeezed the oranges and minced the sultanas (in the food processor). I put these in the bucket, added the sugar and then poured in another 5½ pints of boiling water. I can't imagine that adding the water in two stages will have made any difference, but this is what I did last time (and that was obviously such a success).

Stirring the tea

When I came to put in the fermenting aids on Sunday evening, I found my wine-making tin bereft of yeast. A quick Facebook message to Liz and a saunter down Bentcliffe Drive saw me returning with her tub. I added a teaspoon plus nutrient and pectolase. The wine went into my demijohn on Thursday evening, 2nd November. Currently its colour is an unattractive greeny-beige, and I fear this will taste awful. But now, at least, the alphabet is complete!

The end of the alphabet

If you want to see how this wine turned out, click here.

Zucchini Wine - The Making Of...

Back in the early summer, I freecycled a stack of roof tiles that had been in our garden, gathering spiders and snails, since we bought the house. The woman who collected them gave us a courgette plant in thanks and Claire planted it in our front garden. It did not seem to be particularly fruitful and we mostly ignored it. This is a dangerous strategy when it comes to courgettes. The smallest fruit will, when you turn your back, grow into the most enormous marrow. And so it came to pass.

Our innocent looking courgette plant

Claire went out on Wednesday to harvest what we knew was a large courgette and staggered into the house with a seven pound, twenty inch monster. This was too big to cook and I was given permission to turn it into wine. In honour of my half-American heritage I feel justified in naming this brew 'Zucchini Wine'. Because of my Wine-Alphabet odyssey it is a wine that I had always planned to make, being the natural choice for Z, but I wanted it as my last letter. I have yet to tick off J, so that hasn't quite worked.

Anyway, I consulted my recipe books and have adapted C J J Berry's recipe for Marrow Wine. On Friday 1st September, I grated the zucchini (must not call it 'marrow') using the food processor, only discarding the very ends. I put this in my bucket, along with the juice of two oranges and 2-and-a-bit ounces of grated ginger. I added 2 lb 12 oz sugar and poured over 6½ pints of boiling water. At this stage what I have made is a sweet zucchini soup.

The grated zucchini

On Saturday morning I put in two teaspoons of citric acid (the recipe book asked for four), a teaspoon of tannin (not mentioned in the recipe), a teaspoon each of nutrient and pectolase plus the yeast and gave it all a good stir.

Tuesday (5th September) was my only night in this week, so that is when I sieved the liquid into its demijohn. Once I had removed the bulk of the vegetable matter with a colander, this was a quick job. It is probably not worth noting that I should have used a pint less water (it is highly likely that I won't be making this again). The taste at this stage is unpromising and its colour is dishwater grey-green. I will deem anything better than 'nasty' for this wine as a monumental success.

If you want to see how this wine turned out (and I recommend that you do so if you are thinking of following this recipe), click here.

Nectarine Wine - The Making Of...

My wine making thumbs have been twitching. Having made Blackcurrant in July this year, it looked like August was to be an empty month. This, of course, would be sacrilege, and Something Had To Be Done. On Saturday morning, 18th August, I dropped Claire back at the house with our week's shopping and drove to Harehills, promising that I wouldn't come back with anything too exotic. My thoughts were either Tomato or Nectarine - I have not done either - depending on which were cheap.

Nectarines were being sold twelve for a pound and that fitted the bill nicely. The argument 'against' is that my attempts at peach wine have been Bloody Awful, and nectarines are closely related. The argument 'for' is alphabetical. My only other N wine has been Nettle, which Claire described as tasting like chopped liver and fag ash, and this has to be better. Right?

The Stones

Anyway, I started the wine on Sunday, making it up as I went along. I weighed out 5 lbs of nectarines - which came to 30 in number, washed them and chopped them into small pieces, discarding the stones. (The stones themselves weighed 11 oz). I put the fruit into my bucket and gave it a thorough mashing. Having read that peaches give very little body to a wine, and I presume the same is true of nectarines, I added 8 oz of minced sultanas. At this stage the mixture looked like particularly colourful vomit, but smelt divine.

I added 2 lbs 12 oz sugar and poured over six and a half (UK) pints of boiling water. About eight hours later, when the mix had cooled, I added the yeast and a teaspoon each of pectolase, tannin and nutrient.

Particularly colourful vomit

On Thursday night, 24th August, I sifted out the solids and put the liquid into its demijohn. I could have used at least half a pint less water in the recipe. The wine is an attractive peachy-orange, but I hear from Facebook posts that it will take an age to clear.

If you want to see how this wine turned out, click here.

Inca Berry & Raisin Wine - The Making Of...

An Inca Berry (or Physallis) (or Cape Gooseberry)

Back in April last year, at the Extended Family Do, I was complaining that it was difficult to find a fruit that began with the letter 'I' for my wine alphabet. Adam, being a modern-day technologically connected teenager, pulled out his phone, did a quick search and discovered both Inca Berries and a place that sold their seeds. Now, I know this fruit as 'Physallis' and others call it 'Cape Gooseberry'. However, that the seed packet said 'Inca Berry' is good enough for me to tick the letter 'I', leaving only 'J' and 'Z' to go.

Inca Berry seedlings - taken to Cornwall

We planted the seeds in mid-April, sending a pack to St Albans for Lou and Adam to fail to grow, and took the seedlings with us to Cornwall for a week's holiday in May.

Inca Berry Plants in Summer

By July the plants were putting out flowers - an attractive yellow and brown mix, and by September these had turned into green lanterns surrounding the nascent fruit. This is really where it started to go wrong. Our summer was not hot enough and the autumn not dry enough for the lanterns to turn brown, crack open and reveal a small yellow globe. Some did, but on the whole the lanterns and their fruit inside stayed resolutely green.

Over time Claire and I harvested what we could - even bringing three of the plants inside (this helped) and this weekend, 15th January, I harvested everything that had not gone rotten. Overall, this produced only 1 lb 8 oz of fruit in various stages of ripeness. This is not enough for a batch of wine, but I couldn't waste what had grown, so I have made do with 'Inca Berry and Raisin Wine'.

I mashed the Inca Berries in my bucket (and they made a satisfying 'pop' as I crushed them) and added 1 lb 8 oz of minced raisins. Raisins have their own sweetness, so I added 2 lbs 8 oz sugar (which is half a pound less than I usually add to a wine) and poured in six and a half pints of boiling water. The Inca Berries are perfumed, which gives me hope that this won't be the blandest wine ever made (I think Ya Ya Pear may get that particular prize).

I left the mixture over night and added the yeast and a teaspoon each of nutrient, pectolase and tannin on Monday 16th January. I had earmarked Friday to put the wine into its demijohn, but by the time I returned from practising bassoon pieces with David on the piano, Claire had started a fire, downloaded an episode of QI and opened a bottle of wine, so I left it until this morning, 21st January.

The wine is exceptionally brown, and Claire says it suggests a bad attack of cholera. Yum!

If you want to see how this wine turned out, click here.

Ugli Fruit Wine - The Making Of ...

We have a new greengrocers within walking distance. This makes my middle-aged, middle-class heart sing with joy. It is considerably more expensive than the fruit & veg shops in Harehills, but it is much better quality and we do not have to drive. On Saturday, though, my unwavering loyalty to the new place became assured.

7 Ugli Fruit - I think Homeli rather than Ugli

Claire told me to inspect the fruit on display outside the shop carefully. I had a look and wondered why Dutch strawberries were quite so worthy of comment. Then I looked at the back row and saw a box of Ugli Fruit. Claire was watching through the window all this time and said that my face literally lit up. I have been looking for Ugli Fruit since I decided I wanted to do a wine alphabet (probably five years) and have never found a vendor. Not really knowing how many I needed (I still don't), but because they are far larger that oranges, I took seven. They were meant to be £1.25 each, but seeing as I was buying in bulk, the owner said I could have them for £7. As I say, undying loyalty.

I don't have a recipe, but had a quick look at the Thirsty Gardeners' instructions for grapefruit wine (Ugli Fruit are a grapefruit-orange-tangerine chimera) and pretty much ignored them. On Sunday, 15th May I thinly peeled two of the fruit, putting the shavings into the bucket. I squeezed six using the usual orange juicer but one with my hands, having peeled it first. Claire and I shared a segment and it was an undistinctive citrus fruit.

The juice went into the bucket along with 2lbs 8oz sugar and six and a half pints of boiling water. On Monday morning I added the yeast and a teaspoon each of pectolase and nutrient.

Putting this into its demijohn on Friday night, 20th May, was a quick job. I was relieved about that as I had already bottled 30 bottles of crab apple wine, didn't start on the Ugli Fruit wine until 9 o'clock, and still had 3 gallons of rhubarb wine to put into its demijohn. My adjective for the evening would be "sticky". The Ugli Fruit wine is beautiful in colour - a bright, sunshine yellow.

If you want to see how this wine turned out, click here.

Ya Ya Pear Wine - The Making Of ...

Claire, if you asked her, would say that she is Long Suffering. She has to put up with wine bottles in every room, fruit in the freezer and demijohns in the bath. All because one year she bought me a wine-making kit for Christmas. On Saturday, 19th March, Claire proved that, despite all this, she does actually love me. She asked whether I had yet ticked 'Y' off my wine alphabet (I haven't) and told me that she had seen something called 'Ya Ya Pears' for sale at Noshis. Now, I have made pear wine before, and that was disgusting, but I was really struggling for the letter Y. Apparently there is an edible plant called Yarrow, but I don't know where to find that, and Yam Wine sounds fraught with peril. So Ya-Ya Pears fit the bill nicely (though when I have looked them up on Wikipedia it calls them 'Ya Pears').

I hot-footed it to Noshis and found the pears selling at five for a pound. Fifteen came to about 5 lbs in weight, so that is what I bought. They are pale - a yellowy-greeny-white skin that is speckled with faded brown dots, and rounder than European pears.

On Sunday morning I cut each pear into small pieces and put these in the bucket. I tried a piece and the overall taste was bland with a hint of pear, so I don't hold out too much hope for the resulting wine. I added 2 lbs 12 oz sugar and seven pints of boiling water.

The afternoon and evening were spent in Ilkley practising and then performing Brahms' Tragic Overture, Elgar's Cello Concerto and Dvorak's Seventh Symphony. On my return the liquid had cooled sufficiently to add the yeast and a teaspoon each of pectolase and nutrient.

I left this until Friday evening, 25th March, though stirred it once or twice a day. Putting the liquid into its demijohn was a quick job, and mostly done during a traumatic episode of The Archers, where the domestic abuse storyline with Helen and Rob must surely be coming to a denoument. The wine has an undead look to it, as if made by ghosts.

I racked this on 4 June, which is a bit later than I would ordinarily rack it, and I tried to video myself doing this, to show how the racking works. Unfortunately, for some unfathomable reason, the video decided to stop after a minute and sixteen seconds. I have no idea why, and it remains a tale half told. Anyway, here is the video.

If you want to see how this wine turned out, click here

Mango Wine - The Making Of ...

When walking home from work a few weeks ago, Avishek metioned that mangos were really cheap at Kirkgate Market. My ears pricked up immediately. This is a flavour that I have been keen to try because I love the taste of mangos, but have always been discouraged by the price. Just as importantly, this adds the letter M to my alphabet. Everyone's a winner.

I had meant to make this wine last week, but the house was in chaos. Claire was decorating the kitchen, with paint brushes and ovens all over the shop. This week the house is still in chaos, but it is the back bedroom she is decorating. So on Saturday, 18th April, I got the bus into town and found a stall selling mangos at four for a pound (I will gloss over the £4 bus fare). I bought eight, along with a ton of other fruit and came home. Eight mangos weigh 88 oz with stones and 75 oz without, so I have 4 lbs, 11 oz fruit in my bucket.

On Sunday I sliced the flesh from the mangos, ignoring the fact that the greenest of the fruit had the brownest flesh. I ate little bits of brown fruit, and they all tasted fine, so into the bucket they went. The mangos were sliced into small pieces (though in retrospect not small enough), but my attempts at mashing them were woeful. I poured over 6½ pints of boiling water in the hope that this will extract their flavour and added 2 lbs 12  oz sugar. The same evening I added a teaspoon each of nutrient, pectolase, citric acid and tannin together with the yeast (champagne variety).

Mango Wine just before I put it into the demijohn

On Thursday evening, after a socially inept attempt at going to a solicitors' function (I walked into the bar, recognised one person, who didn't see me, saw everyone was already in groups, and left), I poured this into its demijohn. The sediment looks massive and I fear the wine will be bland in the extreme. Watch this space ...

If you want to see how this wine turned out, click here

Xmas Tutti Fruti 2014 - The Making Of ...

I can take or leave Christmas these days. Days off work, spending time with family, feasting and drinking are all good points. Exchange of gifts and having to be in a jolly mood from early December are rubbish. However, for me over recent years, Christmas begins with carrolling around Moortown with the Wrights. It is the only time of the year that I sing in public, and Christmas carols take me back to my childhood. The tunes are simple and evocative, the lyrics are often unintentionally hilarious. Fourth verse of We Three Kings anyone? How about abhoring not the Virgin's womb?

Anyway, after singing heartily in North Leeds on 22nd December, I came home to measure fruit. This year I have 8 lbs 14 oz of ingredients plus 2 satsumas. This is made up of 1¼ oz rosehips, 9 oz sloes, 14¾ oz apples, 1 lb 1 oz gooseberries (mostly green), 10 oz gooseberries (entirely red), 1 lb 14½ oz blackberries, 2 lb 5 oz blackcurrants, 1 lb 1¾ oz elderberries and 4¾ oz rose petals.

I let it all defrost overnight, during which I got exceptionally cross with Aggie for her unearthly mewing, and the next day, which was my last day in the office until 5 January.

On the evening of 23 December I boiled 12 pints water and poured this over the mashed fruit. I added 6 lbs sugar. Claire kept me company in the kitchen, crocheting bladder tumours while I crashed about, mostly dropping things and saying "oops". It has been a lovely evening and we have spent the last half hour finishing the Christmas jigsaw in a vaguely competitive manner.

The Christmas Jigsaw

I put the yeast and a teaspoon and a bit each of nutrient and pectolase on Christmas Eve morning and spent the next few hours working more dilligently than befits one on holiday. The contents of the bucket were given a stir and then left until we came back from Newcastle on Saturday afternoon, when it got another stir.

The mixture fermenting

I put the liquid into its two demijohns on Monday afternoon, 29 December, while suffering from a heavy cold. I made sure that my sneezes and hacking coughs were always directed away from the wine. It is currently an attractive dark purple and the taste I took at the end was encouragingly fruity.

NB - This is my 700th post since I started the blog in April 2011.

NB2 - If you want to see how this wine turned out, click here

Blackberry Wine 2014 - The Making Of ...

In the dying days of August summer has returned. Much of the month has been cool and damp, and the central heating has been on more than once. However, this weekend has seen bright, hot sunshine and skies of a late-summer blue. This made picking blackberries a delight. As ever for blackberry wine, Claire and I are in York and we ventured into the Victorian Cemetery on Sunday morning, 31st August, armed with baskets and bags. We set our watches at 11 and arranged to meet back at the car at quarter past noon.

Initially picking was slow; the blackberries were small and we were obviously not the first to gather fruit. Once I left the main paths, however, and started climbing into bramble patches and balancing on grave stones, collecting berries became faster and more satisfying. At 12:15 Claire and I met, compared our spoils and departed for another half hour's foraging. In the end I came away with 7 lbs exactly and Claire picked nearly six.

Graves to mention are Walter Rymer, John Carr, Ada Jane Duckitt, Alexander and Isabella Nortman Druthett, and Florence Charlton.

Blackberries and sugar

Back in Leeds, I measured 12 lbs of blackberries (having finally worked out that I can weigh fruit in larger containers than the scale pan, making this a quicker, less sticky process) crushed these in my bucket, threw in 7½ lbs of sugar and poured over 15½ pints of boiling water. On Monday morning I added the yeast (a red wine yeast) and 2 teaspoons each of pectolase and nutrient.

Blackberries fermenting

I left this in its bucket until Saturday, 6th September, stirring occasionally. Then on Saturday, which has been a quiet day in which I finished an excellent book about conscientious objectors in the First World War (We Will Not Fight by Will Ellsworth-Jones) and watched the drizzle from indoors, I put the wine into its three demijohns. As with Fig Wine, I began by dredging the fruit with a collander and then switched to the 'sieve over a funnel' technique. There was some spillage and I could have added another half pint of water at the beginning. But it is now fermenting away in its demijohns and is its usual attractive dark red colour.

If you want to see how this wine turned out, click here