How mead became cool again

The last time I drank mead was 7 April 1978. It was my 18th birthday and —unforgettably — it was snowing heavily. My chum Mark had bought me a bottle of Lindisfarne Mead which I knocked back on top of several Tequila Sunrises, a bottle of Black Tower and a few Brandy Alexanders.

This toxic mix took its toll and I was violently sick during an all-comers’ snowball fight the length of the Fulham Road, before getting arrested for being drunk and disorderly outside the Café des Artistes at 3 a.m.

I only mention this because my younger son, Ludo, is now 18 and has developed a serious mead habit. But where mead in my day was limited to the aforementioned Lindisfarne — beloved of National Trust shops and historical re-enactors — today it is deeply trendy, thanks to dozens of new producers, modern packaging and a range of alcohol levels and flavours.

Ludo favours Gosnells hopped sparkling mead in cans, which he likens to a fragrant and fruity IPA. I joined him in a session and he was right. It smelled of hops but also of passion fruit, guava, elderflower and even Earl Grey tea. At only 4 per cent vol, it was deliciously refreshing and there at the finish was a delectable taste of honey.

And honey is what it’s all about. Mead has some claim to be the most ancient of all alcoholic drinks, with evidence it was first made in China in around 7000 bc. The recipe is simply honey, water and yeast. Honey on its own won’t ferment (too viscous) but add water and a little yeast and it will.

Mead can be sparkling or still, and sweet, medium or dry; and can range from 0.5