One Fat Man

Morebath Tea, for the feast of St George, Patron of England: 23rd April

St George is awesome, and it's his feast day tomorrow. Whether he trampled a real live dragon or not we do not know. He may well have in some way stuck one to the very real dragon that is Satan. He may be an archetype, a character who exists to prompt our meditation and edification. One thing that is certain is that he's jolly popular as a patron. Tons of countries have St George as their patron, and of course the best of these countries is England.

In thinking of something for St George I simply had to do something English, and what is more English than a cream tea? Being more emotionally aligned to Cornwall than Devon I've always rather pooh-poohed Devon Cream Teas... but the cream tea for St George is going to be Devonian. This is because I want this cream tea to commemorate the sixteenth century inhabitants of the parish of St George in Morebath, Devon.

Morebath is the plucky little village described by Eamonn Duffy in his excellent book The Voices of Morebath (Yale, 2003 - most recent edition). In the book Duffy looks at the parish records kept by Sir Christopher Trychay, vicar of Morebath from 1520 - 1574. From the cusp of the English Reformation until after the Elizabethan settlement. The astonishing thing about the book is the way it shows how the people of Morebath didn't  really like the nasty new protestant ways. They squirrelled away the vestments and bits of the altar piece, statues and plate. They were involved in rebellion. They rejoiced in the reign of Good Queen Mary. Duffy, through Trychay's journals, shows how Morebath loved their patron St George, and loved their revels. The carver Thomas Glasse was given 13/4d of money, to carve a new George in 1531, together with the old 'George' in part exchange. If he did a good job this was to be upped to 15. This was just one - but an extremely large - part of an expensive range of redevelopments funded by the great piety in Morebath, at this point a prosperous parish. Sadly with the Reformation Morebath's humble treasures would be taken away, and indeed - as Sir Christopher's later journals show - the Reformation would mean that the parish would find itself enduring great penury.

The wonderful thing is the way all the devotions returned under Mary I, and with them Morebath's devotion to St George, and the parish stores which through the small incomes given to devotions and feast day revels gradually made Morebath prosperous again, and able to operate as an organised and charitable parish.

[St George's Church, Morebath]

Duffy points out that there is nothing substantial to show that Morebath's regular pre-Reformation revel was for St George (others assert this), but St George's Day was certainly a day off in Morebath, and a day of great festivity. So I think it's likely there was sometimes a St George's revel, or fair, perhaps a play showing the killing of the dragon. There was certainly boozing, I'm sure there must have been.

But would the people of Morebath have enjoyed a cream tea for St George?

Well now, that is not known, but I've decided it's likely. A few years ago local historians claimed to have found the first reference to a cream tea in an 11th century manuscript from the Benedictine Abbey of Tavistock. I've only found reference to this in news stories, and annoyingly can't find a photograph of the manuscript, or a transcription of what it says -- apparently it shows that monks were eating bread with jam and cream. So it seems we may well have the Benedictines to thank for the cream tea, and from the 11th to the 16th century is certainly enough time for the tradition to spread the 60 miles or so from Tavistock to Morebath.

So, here's a recipe for scones which are jolly easy, and very quick, to make. You must serve them with lovely strawberry jam (raspberry is also valid in my book), and thick clotted cream. The Devon way is cream first and then jam.

So let us pray for the heroic people of Morebath, striving like St George to fight the great dragon that was the English Reformation. Let's thank God for their humble devotion to St George, who kept them on the straight and narrow.

PS Of course I won't be having a cream tea myself, because I'm on a diet.

 

 

Asceticism, and Reluctance for St Anselm and Good Shepherd Sunday (and a brief Proslogion - if you will - for Polenta)

[Image of St Anselm from the Bodleian Library]

Today in the Novus Ordo calendar it is Good Shepherd Sunday, a Sunday which has also come to be known as Vocations Sunday. It's also the feast of St Anselm, the great Abbot of Bec and Canterbury... and Archbishop of Canterbury.

St Anselm was renowned for his asceticism, and his strong mindedness. Indeed, in his famous Proslogion (which, despite thinking Guanilo was right, I like all the same) he gives us a profound argument for the existence of God.

I was reflecting this morning at Holy Mass on St Anselm's role as Good Shepherd, and how fitting it is that we were remembering Christ's role as Shepherd (and indeed the priest's role as shepherd) on a day usually set aside for Anselm.

St Anselm didn't want to be Archbishop of Canterbury, he actively fought it, and they had to thrust the pastoral staff into his hand and carry him into the Church. And yet he was a great archbishop, able to stand up to dastardly kings on big issues... despite a couple of exiles for generally not letting the King steal the Church's money, and for taking the Pope's side and not the King's. Quelle surprise.

Anyway, the element of reluctance with which Anselm took up his episcopal office is deeply striking to me. Indeed, it seems to be emblematic of good bishops and leaders that they do not crave power. Looking at Pope Francis, and Pope Benedict, it has been striking to me that both of these men do not seem to have wnated the power. Pope Benedict was a deeply shy man, who had repeatedly tried to retire back to Bavaria (but JPII wouldn't let him), and who ultimately followed the example of Celestine V in resigning the Papacy. Pope Francis was perfectly happy as Archbishop of Buenos Aires, doing the Lord's work amongst the very poorest... and seems never to have sought high office.

So this  has made me wonder about possible links between Anselm and our two most recent Holy Fathers. With Benendict the links are easy to spot. Anselm was one of the greatest Churchmen of his generation, and his writings still move and influence people. In the same way, Pope Benedict has been hailed by those both outside and within the Church as one of the greatest minds of his generation. Indeed a friend of mine who is not religious (and may even be an atheist - I'm not sure) has repeatedly said to me that she considers Benedict to be the most educated and literate man alive today. Benedict's writings will inspire people for generations to come.

When it comes to Francis one can draw the similarity that both Anselm and Francis share an ascetic outlook. Anselm once fasted for so long that he nearly died. But there is also a wonderful similarity when it comes to speaking of the Devil, which Anselm was great at. The element of this new Pontificate that I have absolutely loved is Pope Francis' regular words on the Devil. They remind me of an anecdote about  Anselm, who once saw a small child teasing a captive bird. Anselm said to the child; 'that is how the Devil plays with us'. It's a powerful image, and an accessible image, and one I can almost imagine coming from Pope Francis.

But where does this all fit in with food? For this is a food blog after all.

Sadly (or not as the case may be), I've been living high on the hog of late. I've been eating like a king, several greedy kings all at once in fact. So, with my trousers threatening to burst, I am now embracing a wave of asceticism incompatible with delicious feast day recipes.

But this does not preclude me offering you some thoughts on food for St Anselm.

Anselm - despite being 'of Canterbury' - was born in Aosta. Consequently, I think that the only thing one can really suggest for Anselm is polenta. Now the fool may say in his heart that Polenta is tasteless and revolting. But the fool needs to have Polenta the Northern Italian way, and that way alone.

Aostan Polenta:

For Aostan St Anselm you would want to prepare the Polenta with cream and butter according to the packet instructions, and then layer it in an ovenproof dish with slices of Aostan fontina cheese (if you can't get it try taleggio, or failing that mozzerella and a gruyere - in fact a little gruyere would be a delicious addition regardless) making sure there is cheese on the top layer. Then you would bake it in the oven for 15 minutes or so until the cheese is bubbly and melted. Then enjoy with bread... perhaps some sausage, and a nice dry white wine.

[Picture from google]

Well, I'm off for a plate of spinach and a glass of water now... but I leave you with one of my favourite quotations from the start of Anselm's Proslogion:

'Come now, little man, come away from your duties for a little while, and hide for a space from your tumultuous thoughts... Give yourself up to God and rest for a time in him. Enter the chamber of your mind and shut out everything but God and what helps you to seek him, and with the door closed, seek him out.'  (Benedicta Ward translation).

Now how's that for a closer on 'Vocations' Sunday? Because of course, this applies to all of us. What is God calling us to? Whether priesthood, social work, married life or whatever... time to shut the door and find out.

Easter Biscuits!

Happy Easter!

I hope you had a lovely Easter, indeed I hope it’s still continuing as we will enjoy Eastertide for a few weeks more, until Pentecost.

As you know, I spent Easter at St Louis Abbey, and I had a marvellous time. The Triduum was wonderful, but always underestimate how draining it can be, and this year it – being in a monastery, rather than at home – it was even more draining than usual… in a good way.

After the Triduum Fr Bede and I went up to ‘Apple Hill’, the Abbey’s retreat house, for a well-earned (in Fr Bede’s case, at least) break. This took up much of Octave Week, and it would be incorrect of me to say anything other than that we ate sumptuously.

During this time I made some Easter Biscuits. I remember going on an errand for Easter Biscuits when I was quite small. It was one of the first trips I was allowed to make by myself, all the way to the local bakery. They were big and round, and delicious. They’re buttery, and crumbly, and sugary… and English. They are very, very, English. Sadly that bakery has long since closed. God Bless Supermarkets.

Having failed to prepare, I was lucky that my mother was able to find the time to email me the recipes for Easter Biscuits from my Grandmother’s cookbook. There are two, and I sort of combined them.

I don’t remember exactly what I did (sorry). But I think I followed the printed recipe more than the hand-written one, for the simple reason that I didn’t see the point of leaving the mix overnight, and thought egg-white and sugar halfway through was a sensible idea.

I don’t know much about the history of these biscuits. It’s clear that they’re something to do with being able to eat nice things again after Lent, and the recipe is very traditional, so it could be quite ancient. A little research (really, a very little, on Google) doesn’t turn much up. I would hazard a guess, however, that these possibly have their origins in the blessed breads given out at churches in medieval times. It’s very common for such breads or baked goods to feature currants, or raisins, symbolising drops of the blood of Christ, and at Easter this would make a lot of sense. In a time before the laity regularly received communion (and indeed they wouldn’t have receieved communion during Mass) these baked goods were very popular… and, even if the recipe for Easter Biscuits is later, it’s pretty clear to me that the style and ingredients hold with them the memories of this older element of our pious culture.