Pineapple Cider Wassail

New Year 2027. The first weekend of the new year. The cold front blew through Sunday and dropped temperatures to 38 — Houston cold, which is not real cold, but which is enough to make the smoker work harder and the heater click on more often. Smokey wore his sweater (the one Lily bought him last December, navy blue with a fleece lining). I wore my heavy sweatshirt. The two of us looked like we were attending the same low-key family gathering, which we were.

The cookbook draft proofs arrived Tuesday. Vy FedExed two physical copies — one for me, one for Lily and James. The book is 312 pages. Hardcover. The brisket cover. My name third on the cover, after Lily and James, but printed at the same size. I held the proof for an hour before I opened it. Once I opened it I could not stop turning pages. The headnote for Mai's pho was there — the "four-decade conversation with the dead" version. The brisket photograph took two pages, the smoke ring catching the kitchen light. The shot of Mai in profile making spring rolls covered the chapter divider for the family-recipes section. The photograph from my smoker compound at dawn was the page-one image. I looked at me on the page. I looked like myself.

I called Mai Saturday. I said, "Ma, the book is here in draft form. I want to bring it over." She said, "Bring it over." I drove over. We sat at her kitchen table. I opened the proof to the spring roll page. Mai stared at the photograph of herself for ninety seconds without speaking. Then she said, in Vietnamese, "Bao. I look old." I said, "Ma, you are old." She laughed. She laughed for a full ten seconds — the longest laugh I have heard from her in a year. Then she said, "Yes. Old. Good. The book has me. It is good." We turned the pages together for forty minutes. Mai approved.

The three kids are now adults. Tyler is the small oldest, Emma is the small middle, Lily is the small youngest. The small divorce in 2015 (after Bobby’s affair) had been the small marriage-end. The small kids have been the small slow-rebuild of the small father-trust. The small Linh (Bobby’s older-sister, the small pediatrician in Houston) has been the small adult-presence the small kids look to.

The small backyard grill is the small Houston-cooking-engine. The small Vietnamese-grilled-pork (thit nuong), the small grilled-shrimp (the small irony of the small ex-shrimper still grilling shrimp), the small bo nuong (grilled-beef), the small ga nuong (grilled-chicken). The small charcoal-grill in the small backyard of the small Bellaire-bungalow runs almost every weekend.

The small Houston-summer-heat-and-humidity is the small weather-reality. The small grill outdoors at five-AM-on-the-weekend trick is the small same trick the small Phoenix-firefighter Marcus uses but for different climate-reasons. The small Texas-Gulf-coast humidity is the small constant. The small Vietnamese-summer-cooking traditions are the small adaptation.

The small Sunday-publishing-rhythm of the recipe blog continues to be the small organizing-spine of the small week. The small Sunday-cooking happens in the small late-morning-to-early-afternoon window. The small photographing of the finished dish happens at the small three-PM kitchen-light-window. The small writing-up of the recipe happens at the small four-PM workspace at the kitchen-counter. The small final-edit happens at the small five-PM. The small post publishes at seven PM. The small ritual has been running for years.

The small recipe-development-philosophy continues to be the small small-batch-test-then-publish approach. The small first cook of a small new recipe happens on the small Saturday afternoon. The small adjustments are noted in the small kitchen-notebook. The small second cook happens Sunday with the small adjustments incorporated. The small Sunday-cook is the small version that gets photographed and published. The small two-test process catches the small recipe-flaws before they reach the small reader.

The small kitchen-equipment-inventory has the small key-pieces that show up in nearly every recipe. The small heavy-bottomed Dutch oven for the small braises. The small twelve-inch cast-iron skillet for the small sears and the small pan-roasts. The small half-sheet baking-pans for the small roasted vegetables and the small cookies. The small wooden-spoon-collection in the small ceramic-pitcher on the counter. The small chef-knife and the small paring-knife and the small bread-knife that are the small daily-tools.

The small grocery-shopping rhythm runs through the small Tuesday-evening trip and the small Saturday-morning top-off. The small Tuesday-trip is the small weekly-stock-up for the small staples and the small produce and the small protein. The small Saturday-trip is the small quick-fill for whatever the small Sunday-recipe requires that is not already in the small pantry. The small two-trip-per-week pattern keeps the small grocery-bill manageable and the small food-waste low.

The small meal-planning happens on the small Sunday-evening for the small week-ahead. The small dinners are mapped out across the small Monday-through-Saturday. The small repeating-meals are slotted in (the small pasta-Monday, the small taco-Tuesday or similar pattern). The small new-recipes are slotted for the small Wednesday-or-Thursday for the small variety.

After we closed the proof and Mai stood up to refill the tea, I drove home through the cold and thought about what to make that evening — something warm enough to honor the moment without turning it into a ceremony it didn’t need to be. The cookbook had taken three years. Mai had laughed for a full ten seconds at her own photograph. That called for something in a mug, held with two hands, shared without much comment. This pineapple cider wassail is what I reached for: spiced, warm, slightly tropical in a way that felt right for January in Houston — and for a family that has always cooked somewhere between two traditions.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 10

Ingredients

1 gallon apple cider
2 cups pineapple juice
1 cup orange juice
1/2 cup lemon juice (freshly squeezed)
1/2 cup honey or brown sugar, adjusted to taste
3 cinnamon sticks
1 teaspoon whole cloves
1 teaspoon whole allspice berries
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 orange, sliced into rounds for garnish
1 apple, sliced into rounds for garnish

Instructions

Combine the base. Pour the apple cider, pineapple juice, orange juice, and lemon juice into a large pot or slow cooker. Stir to combine.
Add spices. Add the cinnamon sticks, whole cloves, allspice berries, and ground nutmeg to the pot. Stir in the honey or brown sugar.
Heat slowly. Warm over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, until the mixture is steaming and fragrant — about 20 to 30 minutes. Do not boil.
Taste and adjust. Taste the wassail and add more honey if a sweeter finish is preferred, or a splash of additional lemon juice for brightness.
Strain and serve. Use a fine mesh strainer or ladle the wassail through a slotted spoon to remove the whole spices. Ladle into mugs and garnish with a slice of orange or apple.
Keep warm. If serving over a period of time, transfer to a slow cooker set to “low” and leave whole spices in for continued steeping — taste occasionally so the cloves do not overpower.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pineapple Cider Wassail — The Warm Toast We Raised the Night Mai Said the Book Was Good