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Spiced Apple Cider Jelly Shots — The End-of-Summer Toast We Take Every Year

Labor Day weekend. The last gasp of summer. Beach Wednesday becomes Beach Monday — the holiday beach, the end-of-summer beach, the beach that says 'we're closing this chapter and opening the next one.' The entire crew came. Emily, Pri, Jessica, their kids. Christine and Marcus. Ava the photographer. Seventeen people on Ocean Beach, more sunscreen than a pharmacy, enough sandwiches to feed a platoon. Caleb and Marcus body-surfed for two hours. They're getting good — actual body-surfing now, catching waves, riding them in. The boys who met in kindergarten are now second-grade ocean athletes. Hazel built another fortress. This one had a 'swimming pool' (a hole filled with ocean water) and a 'restaurant' (sand shaped like a counter, with shell 'plates'). She served us 'sand soup' and 'ocean salad.' The girl runs a restaurant. A sand restaurant on the beach. The kitchen is everywhere. The kitchen is always. Sunset. The sky turned orange and purple. We sat in a row — all of us, the military wives, the kids, the neighbor mom, the photographer — and watched the sun go down on another summer. 'Same beach next year?' Emily asked. 'Same beach every year,' I said. Same beach. Same friends. Same sun. The staying. Made Mom's Sunday roast that night. The end-of-summer dinner. Year three. The chapter closes. The next one opens.

After seventeen people on the beach, two hours of body-surfing, and a full sunset watched shoulder-to-shoulder, the night called for something that felt like a closing ritual — warm spice, something a little celebratory, something that tasted like the hinge between summer and fall. Mom’s Sunday roast anchored the table the way it always does, but these Spiced Apple Cider Jelly Shots became the toast at the end — passed around to every adult at the table, the same way Emily passed the question: same beach next year? They’re easy enough to make ahead while the roast rests, and they carry that exact feeling — sweet, warm, a little sharp, already reaching toward autumn. Year three. Same as it ever was.

Spiced Apple Cider Jelly Shots

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 5 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours 15 minutes (includes chilling) | Servings: 24 shots

Ingredients

  • 2 cups fresh apple cider
  • 1 cup spiced rum or bourbon (or substitute additional cider for non-alcoholic)
  • 3 tablespoons unflavored gelatin powder (about 3 standard envelopes)
  • 1/4 cup granulated sugar
  • 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
  • 1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
  • 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
  • 1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
  • 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
  • Cooking spray or neutral oil, for greasing
  • Cinnamon sugar (optional, for garnish)

Instructions

  1. Bloom the gelatin. Pour 1/2 cup of the apple cider into a medium saucepan. Sprinkle the gelatin evenly over the surface and let it sit undisturbed for 2–3 minutes to bloom.
  2. Heat and dissolve. Place the saucepan over medium-low heat. Add the sugar, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and allspice. Stir gently until the gelatin and sugar are fully dissolved, about 3–4 minutes. Do not boil.
  3. Add remaining liquid. Remove from heat. Stir in the remaining 1 1/2 cups apple cider, the rum or bourbon, and the lemon juice. Taste and adjust spices if desired.
  4. Pour into molds. Lightly grease a 9x13-inch baking dish or silicone shot molds with cooking spray. Pour the mixture in evenly. If using a baking dish, you will cut into squares later.
  5. Chill until set. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or until fully firm. For cleanest cuts, chill overnight.
  6. Cut and serve. If using a baking dish, cut into 1 1/2-inch squares with a sharp knife. Dust lightly with cinnamon sugar if desired. Serve cold directly from the refrigerator.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 48 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 6g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 4mg

Rachel Abernathy
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 489 of Rachel’s 30-year story · San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.

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