From Copenhagen’s almond-laced glögg to Vienna’s citrusy glühwein, Budapest’s berry-rich forralt bor to Paris’s honeyed vin chaud, mulled wine offers a sensory map of Europe in winter.
The idea of heating wine with spices long predates Christmas. On a food tour in London, a guide once told me that the Romans brought spiced wine to Britain—but “back then it was more of a medicinal tonic than a festive drink.” By the Middle Ages, Europe knew it as hippocras, a heady blend of wine, honey, and ginger-family spices such as galangal, served to those wealthy enough to afford imported flavours.
English manuscripts like The Forme of Cury from the 14th century describe versions that would “pack a punch”. Even the word mulled points to sweetness: it comes from the Old English mulse, meaning a honeyed drink, and musled, or “mingled with honey”.
Spiced wine’s deep association with Christmas owes much to literature. In A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens immortalised Smoking Bishop, a warming mix of red wine, roasted oranges, spices and, sugar that was gently “smoked” as it was served.
That Bishop travelled beyond fiction. “One of the most popular drinks in the 18th and 19th century before gløgg was Biskop,” Bauer said. “It was a punch made with red wine, bitter orange, cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, nutmeg, cloves, and sugar,” she added.
The fact that London and Copenhagen both enjoyed Bishop, long before gløgg became Denmark’s seasonal signature, links today’s Christmas markets over centuries.
Today, in Germany, glühwein is not just a seasonal drink; it’s the taste of Christmas. At Weihnachtsmärkte from Nuremberg to Berlin, red wine is gently simmered with cinnamon, cloves, star anise, and orange peel. Glühwein is derived from the German words glühend (glowing) and wein (wine) and is served hot in thick ceramic mugs, glühwein offers both warmth and ritual.

Variations abound: Weißer Glühwein, made with white wine, is lighter and aromatic; fruit-forward versions use cherry or raspberry wine; and mit Schuss—fortified with rum, brandy, or amaretto—offers extra winter warmth.
From Germany’s bustling markets, the mulled-wine trail drifts naturally south to Vienna. The Austrian capital glows during the season, its façades illuminated and its squares transformed into candlelit wonderlands. The Christkindlmarkt at Rathausplatz draws visitors with collectible mugs and classic glühwein infused with citrus peel and warming spices.
“Vienna’s Christmas markets feel almost fairy-tale-like,” says Barbara Vrdlovec, a born-and-bred Viennese guide with a deep love for the city’s art and culture. “And there’s no better way to end a cold winter day than with a glass of glühwein, generously spiced, gently warmed, and best enjoyed outdoors.”
Hungary’s traditional hot wine, forralt bor, is gently warmed with cinnamon, cloves, star anise, and citrus peel, and is finished with a touch of sugar or honey. Berry-rich versions, made with cherries, blackcurrants, or forest fruits, give the drink its deep ruby colour and wintry richness.
“We drink wine throughout the year, but in winter we usually drink it hot,” says Gábor Földes, PR & Marketing Manager at Anantara New York Palace Budapest. “Forralt bor is deeply associated with Christmas because it warms you from the inside out during cold evenings and fills the air with festive aroma.”
While markets have helped cement its seasonal popularity, he notes that the tradition begins at home. “You can make it with red or white wine and whatever spices you like; every family has their own recipe.”
At Vörösmarty Square, enormous steaming cauldrons anchor rows of wooden chalets selling handmade crafts and festive treats. Indoors, the tradition continues. “Forralt bor is something we offer as a Christmas amenity for our guests,” says Földes. , adding that it is served in a special collectible mug at the opulent New York Café.
About 1,200 km away, Paris in December is a study in light and shadow. Montmartre’s cobbled lanes come alive with buskers, sketch artists, and fairy lights. Here, mulled wine takes the form of vin chaud, literally “hot wine”, gently perfumed with honey, star anise, cloves, and citrus peel.

“Vin chaud goes back to medieval France, when wine was heated with spices and honey for warmth and well-being during the cold months,” says Jean-Luc Moreau, a longtime winter market vendor in Montmartre. “Over time, it became part of outdoor markets and winter gatherings. In Paris, we keep it lighter and more aromatic than elsewhere.”
Many vendors add a regional touch such as lavender or Provençal herbs, giving Parisian vin chaud its signature floral elegance. “It is something that you can sip as you wantder and is meant to comfort you rather than overwhelm,” Moreau added.
London’s festive markets, from Covent Garden and Borough Market to the Southbank Winter Festival, offer some of Europe’s most inventive takes on mulled wine. Apart from the classic red version, mulled cider, whisky-laced blends, berry-forward mixes and alcohol-free infusions scented with citrus and cardamom are on offer.
At Borough Market, Borough Wines, founded in 2002 with its pioneering wine-on-tap concept, offer a standout mulled wine that is slow-infused with a blend of 17 herbs and spices, including cinnamon, nutmeg, star anise, orange peel, ginger, coriander, lavender, rose petal, and vanilla. Rich and aromatic, it’s available not just by the cup but also in return bottles and reusable flagons.
“I usually take it home rather than drink it at the market,” says James Holloway, a south London resident. “The layers of spice really come through, and it’s perfect for winter dinners or small soirées.”
Few winter scenes rival Prague’s Old Town Square at night, the Christmas tree glowing against the spires of Týn Church. Here, mulled wine appears as svařák, lighter and slightly sweeter than its Western counterparts.

“Svařák is usually made with a lighter red wine than glühwein, gently heated with cinnamon, cloves, and citrus,” says Petra Nováková, who has been serving mulled wine at Prague’s Christmas markets for over a decade. “What makes it distinctly Czech is the addition of blackcurrant or sour cherry syrup.”
Drink it while browsing stalls selling glass ornaments, honey cakes, and traditional puppets, or climb toward the Astronomical Clock and drink in the view and the warm wine together.
Kraków’s Rynek Główny is an illuminated fairytale in December. Its version of mulled wine, grzaniec, is often served in ceramic mugs painted with winter motifs.

“Grzaniec is usually made with Polish red wine, gently heated with cloves, cinnamon and dried forest fruits,” explains Marek Kowalczyk, a vendor at the Christmas market. “Many stalls add honey or cherry or raspberry syrup, showcasing Poland’s tradition of preserves.”
Locals often pair it with oscypek, the smoked mountain cheese whose salt and smoke balance the wine’s sweetness on bitter nights.
At a Christmas market in Bath, my hands wrapped around a mug of seasonal cheer, I realise that long before these markets became destinations, people were already heating wine, sweetening it with what they had, and sharing it to ward off the cold.
That instinct—to warm, gather, and linger—continues to define mulled wine, which turns winter’s harshness into something communal and celebratory.
Avoid tourist traps: Follow locals to smaller neighbourhood markets, including Vienna’s Spittelberg, Budapest’s Basilica market, or Prague’s Peace Square.
Alcohol-free options: Popular alternatives include Austrian Kinderpunsch, French vin chaud sans alcohol, and spiced apple punches.
Etiquette: Warming your hands on your mug is not just acceptable—it’s encouraged. Check whether a mug must be returned or is a keepsake.
Souvenirs: Spice kits from markets make ideal gifts: Danish ones often include almonds and raisins; Hungarian versions may contain dried forest berries.
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