He thinks for a moment, as his hands put the claret, spices, and orange together to simmer, and demurs, "Nothing so formal! Still, all welcome. Muses, too, If their hair's let down.
Though sadly hampered By British grocers' fancy, At least there's ginger!" He rubs a root of it spiritedly on what looks rather like a plate grown tiny spines, brushes the resultant paste into the simmer, and adds thoughtfully. "You've had a good thought. Please help yourself while it warms... I'd better make more." He repeats the recipe on a larger scale, in a rather bigger pot, and stirs idly (and, it must be said, with a trace of smugness).