There’s the bewitching word itself, a mash-up of the Latin “acid” and “honey.” There’s its olden-days guarantee: Hippocrates prescribed it; Pliny the Elder wrote of it. There’s its many dazzling health claims: In old England, oxymel was recommended for gout, insomnia, coughs, congestion, and pained throats, ears, and backs. It was rubbed on vegetables to ease digestion—also on sore joints.
It also tastes so good, so unlike “medicine,” that it’s become an ingredient in today’s kitchens and bars.
If you haven’t seen oxymel in drinks and dishes across the globe, you’re not the only one. Except for Fire Cider, an eye-twitchingly strong oxymel popularized by Rosemary Gladstar in the 1980s, oxymels are still most spotted on the herbalist circuit (and Etsy). That said, Emily Han, the author of Wild Drinks & co*cktails, told me that “the revival of vinegar-based drinks, as well as the growing interest in healthful and alcohol-free drinks, certainly paves the way for oxymels.”
The herbal elixir is like shrub and switchel, but, whereas fruit-forward shrubs and gingery switchels can be made with any type of sweetener, oxymel is always made with honey along with vinegar and herbs. It’s sweet and sour to the extremes, with a savory herbal flavor slithering through.
Oxymel tastes like a honeyed vinegar or a vinegared honey depending on how you make it. Most versions start with raw honey and raw apple cider vinegar and a selection of fresh or dried herbs. Humberto Marques, the bartender at Copenhagen’s Curfew, makes an oxymel with parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme for his Simon and Garfunkel-inspired Scarborough Fair co*cktail (get it?). Geraldine Lavin, the farmer and formulator behind Suntrap Apothecary in Philadelphia, suggests “ginger and garlic to fight off a cold, rosemary for digestion and circulation, chamomile for soothing nerves, or nettles for a mineral-rich tonic.” I use whatever’s gone crunchy in the bottom of my fridge.
You could simmer your way to a quick oxymel, or infuse the vinegar or honey with the herbs before combining, but the nearly one-size-fits-all method would be a cold infusion. Stuff half or a quarter of a jar with herbs; add honey and just-warm apple cider vinegar in a 1:1 or 2:1 ratio. Warm vinegar will help jump start the infusion, but avoid boiling if you want to preserve the vinegar’s do-gooder properties. Screw on the top, shake, and let it hang out on your counter for 2 to 6 weeks. (If you’re using a metal lid, stick plastic wrap between the liquid and lid to avoid corrosion.) Strain the oxymel, then store it in an airtight container in the fridge forever. Okay, like a year.
Then, cook with it as you might a sweet-ish vinegar or pickle brine. Let it wake up a salad dressing, savory porridge, or marinade (hi, escabeche). Or take cues from sekanjabin, a popular Persian mint oxymel, and use it as a dip for lettuce or in a very reviving drink with grated cucumber, lime, and some water.
Drink it straight up in tablespoon shots or diluted in sparkling, still, or warm water. Add a spoonful to herbal tea or smoothies. Celery soda maybe? And, of course, co*cktails. Marques says it’s great in a White Lady, Daiquiri, Sidecar, or Bee’s Knees. It likes to third-wheel gin and tonic over at my house. Is oxymel curing all my ailments? I’m not sure, but I’ll keep drinking those G+Ts until I find out.
