|Glühwein|

The rains had begun. The forecast for southern Germany wasn’t looking good for the first two weeks of December, a slog of on-again-off-again drizzles accompanied by great pushes of open downpour predicted to haunt those who sought to enjoy crisp (but dry) holiday nights. However, the people cannot be stopped. And as an American imposing my will upon a country I am forcibly calling my own for the time being, neither can I. So on the 2nd of December, with my belly already full, I sought the greatest and most common comfort of the Weihnachtsmarkt; this is the classic, the big shot, the undisputed and uncontested champion of the season: Glühwein.

I have this thing with red wine, and I believe it started when watching one of the earlier seasons of Game of Thrones, where I believe a part of my genetic code is accessed and mobilized within my brain, actively transporting parts of my consciousness to medieval times when red wine and ale weren’t just for fun, but were nearly all that was available. There’s a feeling of attachment to those who were here before, a handshake with the past. This effect is only amplified by the pleasures of Glühwein. Used in Ancient Rome as early as the 2nd century, the mulled wine, or “glowing wine” as it is literally translated, is steamy hot, spiced up, and very effective at rapid inebriation. It’s fun to imagine a Roman encampment passing the stuff around on a bitter winter night just before a bloody ambush by the Ottoman’s fighting to retake their stolen land. The drink is pure magic.

The particular cups of Glühwein I purchased were from a stand in the center of the “little village” portion of the Weihnachtsmarkt, where anxious celebrators can book tiny little barrel shaped cabin-table things months in advance and enjoy their meals sitting down. They look like this:

As predicted, the first boiling sip in the cold December rain was a direct transport to an ancient and otherworldly time. And yet, as always, it also felt like home. It was a little on the sweet side, but I tend to like that in the first cup. After that, it’s nice to gradually go down the rabbit hole of increasingly bitter and dry Glühwein until you find yourself outside your body, ordering the “römischer Glühwein” despite your closest friends begging you to reconsider. But you insist, throwing your coins indiscriminately on the counter. You’re having three blackouts a minute and sputtering words in a jumbled mix of two languages nobody can fully understand. Finally, you finish the last cup and enter that blissful stage of eternal warm vibration. Then, the clock strikes 8:30 and it’s time to go home.

Glühwein Scores

Taste 🎄🎄🎄🎄 

Price  🎄🎄            

Fullness  🎄🎄🎄