Mulled Ale, Champagne, and Pate de Foie Gras

In the book, The Wind in the Willows, there is a scene of friendship and domestic beauty that brings tears to my eyes and howles of laughter from the mouths of my son Anselm. If you have not read the book let me give you some background. Mole has come out of his hole, has made friends with Rat and the two of them have been traveling around since the spring of the year. On a mid-winter night they were walking back to the Rats house on the river bank when Mole was suddenly seized by the compulsion to return to his own home. Upon arriving Mole is ashamed of hiself for bringing his friend Rat to his little for-months-abandonded house. Mole is dejected but his friend (and never a truer friend has there been) Rat is determined to be of good cheer, and sets to dusting and cleaning the little house. Mole joins him and is starting to feel a little beter when he realizes that they are hungry and have no food.

If you read these words with the right inflection there is no way you can but smile, and perhaps shed a tear of joy.

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"Rat", he moaned,"how about your supper, you poor, cold hungry animal? I've nothing to give you - nothing - not a crumb!"

"What a fellow you are for giving in!", said the Rat reproachfully. "Why, only just now I saw a sardine-opener on the kitchen dresser, quite distictly; and everybody knows that means there are sardines about somewhere in the neighborhood. Rouse yourself! Pull yourself together, and come with me and forage."

They went and foraged accordingly, hunting through every cupboard and turning out every drawer. The result was not so very depressing after all, though of course it might have been better; a tin of sardines - a box of captain's biscuits, nearly full - and a German sausage encased in silver paper.

"There's a banquet for you!", observed the Rat, as he arranged the table. "I know some animals who would give their ears to be sitting down to supper with us tonight!"

"No bread!" groaned theMole dolorously: "No butter, no-"

"No pate de foie gras, no champage!" continued the Rat, grinning. "And that reminds me - what is that little door at the end of the passage? Your cellar, of course! Every luxury in this house! Just you wait a minute."

He made for the cellar door, and presently reappeared, somewhat dusty, with a bottle of beer in each paw and another under each arm. "Self-indulgent beggar you seem to be, Mole", he observed. "Deny yourself nothing. This is really the jolliest little place I was ever in. Now, wherever did you..."

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My little boys, Basil and Anselm have been walking around for two days saying, "No pate de foie gras! No campgne!" and busting up laughing.

Just as Rat and Mole were about to tuck into their supper they heard the field mice outside in the fore-court caroling. Mole explained to Rat how the field mice were a local institution and that he often in the past would invite them in for a drink or a meal. At rats urging the two friends stepped outside to listen to the sining. The song is beatiful but I won't reproduce the lyrics here.

Rat in his exuberance invited the field mice into moles house, gave some coin to one of the mice to run to a shop and bring back food enough for all. Whale waiting for the mouse to return with the food they chit chatted and had what to me seems to have been a lovely good drink.
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The Rat meanwhile, was busy examining the label on one of the beer bottles. "I perceive this to be Old Burton," he remarked approvingly. "Sensible Mole! The very thing! Now I shal be able to mull some ale! Get the things ready, Mole, while I draw the corks."

It did not take very long to prepare the brew and thrust the tin heater well into the heart of the fire; and soon every field-mouse was sipping and coughing and choking (for a little mulled ale goes a long way) and wiping his eyes and laughing and forgetting he had ever been cold in all his life.

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Here occured a scene where Mole encourged the mice to recite lines from a play they had ltely put on. But it wasn't long before the food arrived.

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"Under the generalship of Rat, everybody was set to do something. In a very few minutes super was ready, and Mole, he took the head of the table in a sort of dream, saw a lately barren board set think with savoury comforts; saw his little friends' faces brighten and beam as they fell to without delay; and then let himself loose - for he was famished indeed - on the provender so magically provided, thinking about what a happy homecoming this had turned out to be, after all. As they ate, they talked of old times, and the field-mice gave him the local gossip up to date, and answered as well as they could the hundred questions he had to ask them. The Rat said little or nothing, only taking care that each guest had what he wanted, and plenty of it, and that mole had no trouble or anxiety about anything.

"They clattered off at last, very grateful and showering wishes of the season, with their jacket pockets stuffed with rememberances for the small brothers and sisters at home. When the door had closed on the last of them and the chink of lanters had died away, Mole and Rat kicked the fire up, drew their chairs in, brewed themselves a last night cap of mulled ale, and discussed the events of the long day. "

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There is a little more to the chapter, and it is beautiful in a homey way. nd it is a good story to end a day with. A good story for the boys to hear after baths and prayers as they rest their heads on their pillows and close theit eyes.

Today I decided to find a recipe for mulled ale. It was easy enough, as Google seems to know all. But I can not find fire-heated tin immersion heaters anywhere. I can find electric immersion heaters, but none of the variety that are described in the passage you have just read. If any of you, respected readers, have heard of where I might find one would you, please, tell me where that might be? I think they might be put to good use this coming Nativity Feast.