The quiet pleasure of a slow-simmered drink

There is a particular sort of evening in January when the windows stream with condensation, the fire is ticking down to embers, and the kettle somehow feels like too much effort. That is the moment for a drink you have to stand over for twenty minutes — the kind that fills the kitchen with cinnamon and clove and makes the whole house feel warmer than it actually is. The good news is that none of it is difficult. A handful of spices, a pan, and a bit of patience will see you through the worst of the frost.

Mulled apple juice: the easy win

Slightly tart, deeply spiced and endlessly forgiving, mulled apple juice is the workhorse of the winter kitchen. It is cheaper than wine, suitable for everyone at the table, and it improves with the addition of a slug of something stronger for those who want it. Use a good cloudy apple juice rather than a clear one — the cloudy sort has more body and tastes properly of fruit once warmed.

For a litre of juice, you want:

• 2 cinnamon sticks, snapped in half
• 4 whole cloves — no more, or they take over
• 1 star anise
• 2 or 3 strips of orange peel, pared with a peeler and scraped free of pith
• 1 tablespoon of honey or maple syrup, added at the end to taste
• A squeeze of lemon juice, which stops the whole thing turning cloying

Tip everything except the sweetener and lemon into a heavy pan and bring it up to the barest shiver — you want steam, a few bubbles at the edge, and nothing more. Hold it there for fifteen to twenty minutes. Boiling hard drives off the aromatics and turns the spices bitter, which is why so much mulled drink tastes of disappointment. Taste at ten minutes and again at fifteen; spices vary enormously in strength from jar to jar. Strain into a jug, sweeten, sharpen with the lemon, and serve.

A proper mug of hot chocolate

The powdered stuff has its place, but a dark, thick, grown-up hot chocolate is a different drink altogether. The secret is real chocolate, whole milk, and a little patience with a whisk. It takes about four minutes per mug once you know what you are doing.

• 200ml whole milk per person — semi-skimmed works, but the result is thinner
• 40g dark chocolate, 70% cocoa solids, chopped small or grated
• A pinch of fine sea salt
• ½ teaspoon cornflour slackened in a little cold milk
• 1 teaspoon soft brown sugar, only if your chocolate is very bitter

Warm the milk until it is steaming but not boiling, then take the pan off the heat and add the chocolate. Let it sit for thirty seconds, then whisk steadily until it turns glossy and dark. Return it to a low heat, stir in the slackened cornflour, and let it thicken for a minute or so — this is what gives it the body of a good café version. Add the salt. For a variation, steep a strip of orange peel or a bruised cardamom pod in the milk for five minutes first, then strain it out before the chocolate goes in. A pinch of chilli powder is excellent on a really cold night.

Three more worth keeping in the cupboard

Once you have a stocked spice shelf, the options multiply. A whisky toddy is the classic: 25ml of whisky, a teaspoon of honey, a slice of lemon studded with two cloves, and 150ml of hot water. Never use water straight off the boil — it makes the spirit taste harsh and thin. A ginger and lemon infusion is the one to reach for when someone in the house is sniffling: simmer 30g of sliced fresh ginger in 500ml of water for ten minutes, then add honey and lemon off the heat. And spiced milk — warm milk with a little honey, cinnamon and a pinch of turmeric — is what to make when you want something soothing rather than stimulating.

Mugs, warmth, and the fire

The vessel matters more than people admit. A thin, dainty cup loses heat in three minutes and burns your fingertips in the process. Choose a thick-walled stoneware mug with a handle big enough for two fingers, and warm it first by filling it with hot water while the drink finishes. Tip the water out, dry it briefly, and pour. Do not fill to the brim — leave a centimetre of room so you can carry it without disaster. A tray is not fussy; it is the difference between one trip from the kitchen and three, and it gives the evening a sense of occasion that a house in winter sorely needs.

Batch it, hold it, don't rush it

Every one of these drinks doubles and trebles without complaint, which is the whole point on a weekend when people drift in and out. Mulled juice holds beautifully in a slow cooker on its lowest setting, or in a large vacuum flask if you would rather keep the kitchen clear. Hot chocolate does not hold well, so make it to order. If you have a fire, set a trivet or a couple of bricks to one side and stand the mugs there — not on the coals — while you settle in. Then put your feet up, listen to the wind against the glass, and take your time. That is what these evenings are for.