Mince Pies, Cradles, and Christmas Wayfarers

It is early December, and as I write this morning a hard frost is turning liquid on the leaves. I am waiting to taste the first mince pie of the year. It is an old English tradition, the preparation and consumption of these potent fruit pies, and my mother made them every year throughout my childhood. They consist of a medley of fruit such as dark and golden raisins, currants, dates and apples, along with almonds, suet (I use butter), and a lavish slosh of brandy. This mixture is then allowed to settle and mature for a while—ideally a whole year—before becoming the filling for these little pies.

According to the website of the Mince Pie Club (yes, there’s actually an entire organization dedicated to this festive edible), the tradition of mincemeat pies dates back to the medieval period. At that time these delicacies, true to name, contained large quantities of meat in addition to fruit. They were larger and shaped into an oblong to represent Jesus’ cradle, earning them the name of “crib pies.” When the Medieval crusaders returned from their brutal forays in foreign lands, they brought back spices which were subsequently added to the mincemeat. Gradually the fruit and spice element increased and the meat diminished as the pies became sweeter and smaller. Now referred to as “wayfarer pies,” they were destined primarily as sustenance for wandering guests during the Christmas season.

Out of the oven my pies are the color of golden sand, finely crusted with sugar, and bubbling exuberantly at the edges. I pry one delicately from the tray, lift the lid, and spoon on a knob of brandy butter. I eat mine with a glass of sherry, alone in my little studio with the unfamiliar winter sunshine dancing across the concrete floor and warming my cloud-paled skin. The rich jumble dissolves on my tongue into a toothsome interfusion of fruit and almonds, feather-soft pastry and heady brandied butter. As my fingers pick the last plump raisins off the plate, I think of this as an inaugural feast—December has begun, and with it the Christmas season and its epic amount of feasting.

This year, I decide, December is going to be an awesome odyssey cooking and eating. I am not particularly religious, but rather follow the philosophy that embraces almost any excuse to turn the daily trudge into celebration. Raising the tiny glass, I allow the last trickle of the nutty, amontillado sherry to warm my throat. Here’s to the baby Jesus, God love him!

If you too love the baby Jesus, make some mince pies! Here’s my way of constructing the mincemeat, but it is definitely an occasion for wild improvisation.

½ pound beef suet or butter, finely diced
2 ½ pounds mixed dried fruits such as raisins, golden raisins, currants, and dates (for a Northwest twist I like adding some dried huckleberries or blueberries)
¼ pound almonds or hazelnuts
¾ pound chopped apple
Zest and juice from 2 lemons
1 teaspoon freshly ground mixed spices such as cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice
2 glasses of brandy

Combine all ingredients, pack into jars, and leave to mature. Ideally you use last year’s mince for this year’s pies, making a new batch now to keep until next season, and so forth. I find this adds a comforting sense of continuity and rhythm to this ritual.

To prepare a batch of pies, I use a basic butter-flour-water pastry. Roll this out thinly and cut into rounds big enough to line a tray of muffin molds. Spoon in enough mince to fill each hollow and press a pastry lid on top. Brush with milk and sprinkle with granulated sugar. Bake for about 20 minutes at 375F or until golden and bubbling.

To make the brandy butter, whip up 3 ounces butter until light and fluffy. Slowly add 3 ounces powdered sugar, and beat well. Very gradually, dribble several tablespoons of brandy, tasting as you go. There needs to be enough brandy to cut the fatty taste of the butter, but no more otherwise it will go runny and possibly curdle.

Eat the mince pies hot, with a spoonful of brandy butter slathered under the pastry lid. According to mince pie superstition, you should eat these morsels in silence, and with the first pie of the season, you should make a wish.