Elderberry wine

We have almost three gallons of elderberry wine sitting in front of the dining room window at the moment, making the merry glugging sound of active fermentation through an airlock. We’re fortunate to have a number of elder trees dotted around the croft, as well as access to many more on the farm opposite, so we’re able to make quite a few things from flowers and berries. As the berry crop was particularly heavy this year, we decided to make a large batch of elderberry wine. 

I found quite a few recipes, but many were flavoured with assorted spices or used a mixture of elderberries and other berries. I was after a recipe that preserved the full flavour of the elderberry, and eventually decided to strip three recipes down before merging them into one that met our needs. My starting points were Elderberry and Blackberry Wine (A Cook on the Wild Side, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall), Granpaw’s Elderberry Wine (Maw Broon’s Cookbook for Every Day and Special Occasions), and Elder Wine (Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management). All required the berries to be stripped from their steps—and the Other Half stepped forward for this job.

When the Other Half finally decided she’d had enough, we found we had 4kg of elderberries to work with. After analysing all the recipes and some rough calculations, I decided to use them with with 8 litres of water, 4kg of sugar, and a sachet of Gervan high-alcohol wine yeast. The elderberries were rinsed, any green or rotten ones picked out, and then split between two large pans.

The elderberries were covered with the water, then brought to the boil and simmered fast for 30 minutes. While they were cooking, I cleaned a 5-gallon brewing vat and hung a large piece of muslin inside the top, securing it over the rim with a couple of elastic bands. When the elderberries were ready, I mashed them hard before ladling them into the muslin hanging inside the vat. As the liquid drained through, I added more elderberries until I’d emptied one pan. Wearing stout gloves and being careful, I lifted the muslin out so the Other Half could wring the remaining juices out—using a couple of stout wooden spoons to turn the “bagged” elderberries. The process was repeated with the second pan of berries.

The sugar was stirred into the hot liquid until it had fully dissolved. The resulting must was then allowed to cool to 15C overnight. I drew off 250ml of must the following morning, sprinkled the yeast over the top, and whisked it in hard. After waiting 20 minutes for the yeast to activate, I poured the 250ml back into the vat and vigorously stirred it in. The must was then racked off into one-gallon glass demi-johns. (Don’t be tempted to pour hot liquids into cold glass vessels.) I also drew off a 100ml sample to measure the original gravity, which came in at 1110.

The three demi-johns were placed in a sunny spot on the sideboard and left to get on with the fermentation. I wouldn’t normally place the demi-johns in full sun, but our house is quite cool in the autumn and winter so this is one of the few places where I can be fairly sure temperatures will hit 14-16C. Fermentation almost slows to a stop overnight, but picks up again from about 8am. After 10 days, I’ll draw off a sample and decide whether to add raisins, as some recipes suggest, and perhaps lemon juice to adjust the acidity. Elderberries have quite a lot of tannin so I’m wary of using raisins as they’ll up the tannin still further and that means ageing will take even longer. In the meantime, the must tastes sweet, astringent and a little medicinal. I’ll also move the demi-johns to a dark place at this point and let it ferment even more slowly for a couple of months.