One Fat Man

A light summer picnic - the martyrs of Compiegne

We’re in the middle of the summer opera season. This is the time when English people put on evening dress and go into the countryside to have picnics in great formality, in the rain, and attempt to recreate their usual existences in the great outdoors. We take tables and chairs, and china plates, and proper glasses, and relish our ability to make everything as proper as possible (despite the fact that nowadays we don’t have as many servants as we used to). The only thing we don’t really manage is to have adequately chilled drinks, but for many English people ice is a relatively novel concept anyway. 

Chief amongst the summer opera outlets is Glyndebourne, but there are younger pretenders and one of these is Grange Park Opera in Hampshire. I admire this company very much. The first reason for this is that it was started from scratch by Wasfi Kani in 1997. Kani has managed to build a beautiful little opera house at the Grange, and to create festival that supports the work of her Pimlico Opera company, which exists to take opera to prisons.

The second is that Grange Park Opera stage repertoire that isn’t often heard and is in some ways beyond what many would imagine the scope of a small company with limited resources to be. This year they chose to stage Poulenc’s ‘Dialogues des Carmelites’. This is an opera, based on a play by Bernanos, which examines the real life martydom of the Carmelite nuns of Compiegne during the ‘terror’ of the French Revolution. The nuns of Compiegne refused to comply with the Revolutionary government’s law, which required the suppression of their monastery. As a consequence the nuns were imprisoned. This happened first at Cambrai, where they were locked up together with the English Benedictine nuns, who had been living in France ever since Fat Henry booted them out of England when he split with Rome because of his inability to father sons, and his need to fill his empty treasury by stealing Church property. But I digress. 

The Carmelites’ refusal to abandon their way of life led to them being executed. Sixteen of them. From the 80 year-old Sister Charlotte of the Resurrection, to the novice, Sister Constance. Before going to their deaths they renewed their monastic vows and chanted the Veni Creator Spiritus, a hymn sung at solemn profession. It is of course, an invocation of the Holy Spirit.

Shortly after the execution of the Carmelites the reign of terror came to an end, and some credit the Carmelites’ sacrifice with bringing this bloody period of history to a close. The English Benedictine nuns were allowed to travel home to England and set up a monastery there for the first time since the Reformation. They left in 1795, wearing the lay clothes that the Carmelites had been forced to wear in the place of their habits, and which had subsequently been forced upon the Benedictines, after the Carmelites had gone to their deaths. These clothes, some still preserved at Stanbrook Abbey, are the only relics of these great martyrs, who were buried in a mass grave along with over 1000 other victims of the guillotine.

So… a bold choice for a summer opera festival.

The Poulenc/Bernanos opera takes this amazing story of courage and adds to it two fictitious characters – the Prioress and a young postulant/novice - whose lives (and deaths) are a profound lesson for the audience in the nature of making a good death. They also show us the courage people need, and sometimes suprisingly find or lose, in their final moments. Poulenc changes the Veni, Creator Spiritus to a a Salve Regina, which starts with the voices of all the nuns all singing as one, the sound gradually thinning as we hear each go to the guillotine. It sends shivers down the spine.

Grange Park did an excellent job of the opera when I saw it in June, and despite the quails’ eggs and poached salmon, the champagne and strawberries outside… inside the theatre, the piece still packed its incredible punch.

Here is a version of that exceptionally moving final moment from youtube:

 

Grange Park’s run of ‘Carmelites’ sadly came to a close on 12^th July, and it’s a shame really that it is not being performed today, on their feast day. But still, in this good weather and season of summer opera, it is good to remember our own mortality, and to remember the great sacrifice of these Carmelite sisters.

And what of a recipe to accompany this post? It is, after all, a food blog. Well take the quails’ eggs, the strawberries and champagne. The picnic, easy and delicious. If I know anything of nuns then I know that the martyrs of Compiegne would have relished these items and found them delectable.

Veni creator Spiritus, mentes tuorum visita, imple superna gratia, que tu creasti pectora.

 Quails' egg, anyone?

 

 

 

Sweaty Sandwiches for the Ascension, a gift of macaroons, and a pilgrimage of sorts.

Last Thursday was Ascension Thursday. The feast of the Ascension. Well, it was in much of the world, but not in England because the English bishops <insert grumblings about the English hierarchy here> transferred it to the following Sunday.

Nevertheless, I felt determined to celebrate it. I took the day off work because my friend Fr Bede was over in Blighty on top-secret monk business and we'd earmarked his free day to walk a bit of the Pilgrims' Way from Guildford to Gomshall.

I'd been surprisingly prepared and downloaded an OS map on my ipad, and plotted our course (just under 8 miles). I also got up at the crack of dawn and made a packed lunch of cheese and apple-chutney sandwiches on white bread, and a few other bits and bobs... including a thermos of tea and some macaroons.

I had planned the day almost obsessively. We began by collecting Fr Bede at Guildford station at 9.13am. From there we went directly to St Pius X Catholic Church for the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. We then went into coffee after Mass for half an hour, enough time for Fr Bede to meet some family friends and my grandpa.

At 11.20 we departed for the start point. At 11.30 we waved goodbye to my father and headed up through Guildford's chantry wood. At 11.34am the heavens opened and it started to rain with such force that had it happened thus a couple of millennia ago in Palestine I imagine it probably could have delayed Our Lord's Ascension until the Sunday.

Between 11.34am and 11.39am we struggled to get the brightly coloured antique cagouls that I had packed in our haversacks. Between 11.39am and 11.43am we rested a while under a tree before recommencing the attempt. At 11.45am we congratulated ourselves on having got into cagouls pretty damn quickly, and set off again looking - but not feeling - like Anglicans of the tambourine bashing sort.

Our ascent (see what I did there) through Chantry Wood gave rise to a nice discussion about how stupid the Protestants were to get rid of chantries (which endowed an early form of social services), and a hope that Henry Norbrigge, 9 times mayor of Guildford, who'd given the wood to endow a perpetual chantry in 1486 had made it out of purgatory before the chantries act came into force in 1547. The chantries in Guildford is also one of the oldest bluebell woods in the country, and the bluebells are just coming out now. Before the rose the bluebell was our national flower.

At the top of St Martha's Hill we stopped at the church and enjoyed a thermos of hot strong tea and some macaroons which had been given to me by Margaret Vermes, the wife of the noted Jewish Historian Geza Vermes who had very sadly died the day before. I'd only just heard about Geza's death and was deeply saddened by it. I mention the macaroons because Margaret had given them to me after she and Geza had been obliged to break a lunch engagement with me earlier in the week - because Geza had been taken into hospital. I was so touched by this charming gift, and act of kindness at an extremely difficult time, and remembered and prayed for Geza as I looked down on the old track of the Pilgrims' Way from our high vantage point. Somehow it seemed a fitting place to remember a great figure.

Moving on we continued to Newlands Corner, and the weather began to improve. A short while later we stopped for lunch, on a log near the path, and enjoyed our slightly sweaty sandwiches wrapped in foil. If Fr Bede hadn't been here I'd have done something different, but sweaty sandwiches in foil is the true English experience, and Fr Bede doesn't like tradition to be messed with.

After lunch, and some more tea, we pressed on towards Shere, walking along the North Downs Way and down a particularly fine example of a Surrey Lane. Shere is considered to be Surrey's prettiest village. It was used in the filming of Bridget Jones, and we're very proud of that.

Upon reaching Shere we sat down on a bench by the river for a bit and looked at the ducks. Then we went to find the church, which is remarkable. It's a proper 12th Century church with a squint for an anchoress's cell, and all sorts of cool Catholic stuff. This naturally fanned the ever-glowing embers of our shared Catholic resentment. Indeed, St James' Church, Shere is really quite astonishing and I wish it was still Catholic. They even have Tudor brasses in situ, which is extremely rare, including one for the former rector, Robert Scarlif.

It was heartening to see from the weird altar that Anglican churches were subject to the savage spirit of the 1960s too.

After an hour or so poking about in the church we walked on to Gomshall to have tea in a new tea room which used to be my favourite Fish Restaurant, but isn't any more. I've still not quite got over the loss and it closed at least ten years ago. I always ordered the same thing, Lemon (or if I'd been very good, Dover) Sole which was tossed in flour and lightly pan-fried and served with mushy peas and chips, followed by Spotted Dick and runny custard.

After tea we caught the train to Chilworth and visited the Benedictines there for Vespers. In Latin, as they should be. Following a convenient chat with Dom Basil there about a book project we were collected by my father and taken back Chez Mattos for dinner (which was mostly gin).

It was a most successful day and through it I thought often of those pilgrims of days gone by trudging their way to Canterbury... how treacherous it must have been. For me this was not really a pilgrimage in the proper sense - as I hope to do a proper pilgrimage to Canterbury one day. Nor was it really a celebration of the Ascension. But it was, in a way, both of those things indirectly... and consequently it is what I offer as my blog-post for this great feast.

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.

Maundy Thursday and Good Friday - Fish Pie, Lentil Soup, and Dill and Cheddar Scones

 

Yesterday was Maundy Thursday. I had a lovely day, which began with Tenebrae. Fr Bede and I then collected flowers for the altar of repose – daffodils. This was a surprisingly beautiful experience, because St Louis has been covered with a foot of snow. It had all melted and the daffodils were flat against the ground. There was something deeply evocative of the themes of Holy Week in these bright flowers flattened against the ground, being raised up to the Altar of Repose. All desperately corny really, but it gave me pause for thought whilst we were picking the flowers.

On Spy Wednesday Fr Bede and I had set up the Altar of Repose. This was a wonderful moment for me. In a way it reminded me of my childhood, in my old parish church. My mother and I would usually spend the morning of Maundy Thursday helping to prepare the church for the Mass of the Lord’s Supper. I would be sorting things out in the servers’ sacristy, polishing the thurible, faffing with candles. My mother would be helping the sacristan with linens (which my mother washed and ironed for many years). I particularly remember the hanging of the curtain to go behind the Altar of Repose, and Olga (a lady of parish) coming in with hyacinths from her garden to go on it. The smell of the hyacinths mingled with incense is the scent of the Mount of Olives for me.

So helping Fr Bede to hang the curtain behind the altar of repose and to clear the tables from the hall was a trip down memory lane that I greatly valued. Fr Bede’s parish is wonderful. It is a thriving community with many young families, and great devotion. In fact I've never encountered a parish with this youthful demographic before. In some ways it reminds me very much of the parish of my youth, even though Fr Bede’s parish offers Traditional Latin Mass and sacraments and mine did not. I think part of this is the mingling of the ‘make-shift’ and the ‘sincere’. My old parish church was a sort of hall, with a sanctuary that could be screened off at one end. It had to be a multi-purpose space in order to finance itself. But the sanctuary was very sensibly ordered, and it was a deeply prayerful space, with the tabernacle at the centre. Sadly the church was closed down, and has since been bulldozed to make way for houses. There are some pictures of it here on a very interesting website that looks at derelict buildings. Fr Bede’s parish has a similarly humble setting, but it is very prayerful, and sincere. Like my old church, it just works.

The church I now go to when I’m at home in Guildford just isn’t a prayerful space for me. I find there to be no sense of silence, or of the sacred. Architecturally it is a meeting space, not a place of sacrifice. I find it very difficult to pray there, and find that the design of the space can often exacerbate the tendency for the modern liturgy to become incorrectly focused upon ‘communal meal’ and ‘community event’. I don’t want sound mean, because I know that many people like this building, and have meaningful experiences within it. I am also acutely aware that it’s the only option many people have as a place in which to attend Mass (and indeed it’s my only option when I’m at home). But I simply don’t think it functions well as a Catholic liturgical space.

But I digress. Yesterday was a day of preparation, in which I took great comfort. And the sense of preparation was experienced in many aspects of the day. Between Holy Mass and some time at the Altar of Repose I helped Br Dunstan make fish pie. This is the same fish pie that appeared on this blog last Good Friday ... the Jennifer Paterson Two Fat Ladies recipe. But I thought some photographs of it in progress this year would not go amiss. We will eat it this evening after the Good Friday liturgy.

[Lots of mashed potato]

['Prawns for treats' as Jennifer said - I realise this looks fairly uninspiring, but we haven't baked the pie yet so I can't show you it finished]

Br Dunstan also made a delicious lentil soup for lunch today.

Indeed, I thought it was slightly too delicious for Good Friday - but perhaps that's a worrying Puritan streak coming out in me that I should stamp on ASAP. He some dill and cheddar scones from the Barefoot Contessa to go with it. Now they really were DELICIOUS and I urge you to make them. The recipe for the scones can be found here.

Shrove Tuesday Pancakes, Faworki, and Joe Pesci for Pope?

 

First, an apology, I have not written for a very long time. It has been a very busy start to the year, and I've not been well. But I'm writing now, and I'm prompted by two things. The first, is that Fr Bede has done the work for me, and has sent me photographs of his pancakes for Shrove Tuesday. The second, is that the Pope has resigned, and I feel the need to comment on it.

Let's deal with the business of the food first.

It's a very old tradition to have pancakes on Shrove Tuesday. The 'Shrove' in ST is not food related, it's from 'shrive' which means to be absolved from one's sins. This is a perfect thing at the start of Lent, as we prepare for a penitential season, and ultimately for Easter. With this season traditionally comes fasting, following Our Lord's example at the start of his own ministry. Indeed, since pre-Christian times remoteness, and fasting, have been signs of a turn towards a higher power. The culinary traditions of ST are all about this. They are about getting rid of rich foods before a fast. They are about a physical, and elemental connection, that draws us to the spiritual. They're also jolly nice.

In England we have pancakes, and ST used to be a great holiday, with football games and races. However, we do not have a monopoly on greasy, fatty, foods for the last days before Lent. In Poland they have Faworki, which are basically deep-fried strips of pastry, dipped in sugar. Vodka features in the pastry dough. My colleague, Anna, made some of these delicious things and brought them into work this year for the Polish traditional 'Tłusty Czwartek' last week ---- 'Fat Thursday'.  This of course is very similar to 'Mardi Gras' ---- 'Fat Tuesday'. The Germans have little yeast doughnuts called 'kreppel', which another (former) colleague, Thomas, once brought in for us.

Here are some Faworki:

[I stole this picture from a Polish blog to give you an idea: sorry to that Polish person]

Of course, lovely as these foreign things are, pancakes are best. I didn't have any this year, because I was at the symphony, and they wouldn't like my take my primus stove and frying pan into the auditorium. However, Fr Bede did make them for the brethren at St Louis Abbey, following the recipe of our lovely cook at St Benet's Hall of several years ago (Mrs Halstead). Pancakes are easy to make, and I can't be bothered to find a batter recipe for you. Google will provide.

Here are the brethren enjoying their pancakes:

And now onto the Pope. I am quite honestly dumb-founded. I have lost sleep over it, and last night I had a horrific dream that the Cardinals elected Joe Pesci to the role of Supreme Pontiff. 

Here is Joe Pesci in 'Home Alone', with the fire of the spirit upon him:

[I stole this picture too] 

But despite being dumb-founded, I have to admit that I find the Pope's act admirable. At its most facile level it shows the world that he is not (and never has been) the closed-minided conservative that the flailing left demand him to be. He has been a free-thinking and quietly dynamic Pope. He has done much to restore the liturgy, to teach us about the centrality of the liturgy for our faith, and about the great harms to the life of the Church that have been brought about by a destruction of the sacred in our religious lives.

He has also, through his encylicals and his actions, told us much about what it means to be human, and about what it means to love. This final act as Pope is one of humility and love for the Church. It shows us that we too must humbly accept our weaknesses, and our humanity.

So thank-you Papa Benedetto. We are praying for you, and know that you pray always for us. Please also pray that we don't get a happy-clappy next.

Now please stand, and join me in a chorus of 'Full in the Panting Heart of Rome'.

  

 P.S. In retrospect, I suppose it's obvious that BXVI leaving his Pallium on the tomb of Celestine V was a bit of hint.

A Feast of Friendship – Torta della Nonna for Nanny, and St Aelred of Riveaulx

Among the many blessings for which I am thankful, the highest on the list is my friends. For the past few months it has been wonderful that one of my of my furthest-flung friends has been in the UK. This friend is Fr Aelred Niespolo. Fr Aelred lives in California and very rarely gets to visit. I had seen Aelred a few times in Chelmsford – where he has been staying with the Praemonstratensians. However, last week he made it to London to look after the nuns at Tyburn for a week. This provided the perfect opportunity for a dinner party in his honour.

Aelred was a student at St Benet’s Hall with me, indeed we matriculated together, and one of our great shared loves is food. He also – and I cannot remember the origins of this – is affectionately known to most of us as Nanny. Aelred is of Italian origin, although he is a born and bred New Yorker. I cannot eat spaghetti alla vongole without thinking of Aelred. The same is true of mozzarella in carozza.

With all the above in mind I decided on an Italian feast for Nanny. I took advice from my Italian menu consultant William.

We began with a simple bowl of trofie with fresh pesto. My friend Benj came round the night before to help as sous-chef, he did much of the pesto-making. It’s important to dress informally for pesto-making, as we see here:

Now the trofie itself is relatively easy – just salt the water well and don’t overcook it. Then serve with the pesto, the ingredients for which are basil, good olive oil, hard cheese (I like to use grana padano and parmesan as the GP is nice and creamy), garlic, pine nuts. Make it to your own taste. (NB in liguria they like to serve trofie with some added potatoes and green beans as well as pesto – but this is only for the very hungry).

After the trofie we had Osso Bucco, which is also easy. I was a bit controversial and did a Tuscan inspired one with added tomatoes… When making the Osso Bucco the two most important things are --- cook it flat in the pot and be careful turning (otherwise you might lose the marrow in the middle of the bone)  and buy your veal somewhere good, with good welfare standards. I went to Allens of Mayfair, who source from the only fully welfare inspected source of Dutch Veal.

After the OB came a torta della Nonna, which is the recipe of the day. Torta della Nonna is basically a light pastry cake, filled with Crema Pasticcera (or cream cheese in some recipes). Naturally every Nonna has her own recipe, and everyone’s Nonna’s Nonna is the best. Here is the recipe I used… it’s an amalgam of about seven different ones:

For the pastry:
300g flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

110g sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla sugar

2 egg yolks

1 egg

110g butter

Make the pastry by combining everything together until a stiff-ish dough forms. Wrap in cling-film and chill for half an hour. Meanwhile make the Crema P. I use an egg-yolk heavy Crema:

1 egg

5 egg yolks

1 pt milk

Vanilla sugar

150 gr sugar

6 tablespoons flour

A little cornflour

To make the CP, whisk the egg yolks and egg together with the sugar until it ribbons, now whisk in the flour and cornflour and a splash of milk. Now heat the rest of the milk until it’s almost boiling, remove from the heat and stir into the egg, sugar and flour mixture – stir constantly.  Return the mixture to the pan, and back to the heat. Put over a gentle flame, whisking unceasingly, until you have a rich and glorious custard. Allow to chill.

Roll out the pastry, and line a well greased tin with enough to come up the sides a bit. Roll out a top. Now pour the CP into the middle, place the pastry lid on, folding over the excess from the bottom. Bake for 30-45 minutes at 180C until nice and golden. Allow to chill. Decorate with a layer of toasted almonds and pine nuts. Dredge with icing sugar. Serve, perhaps with a spiced pear (as I did).

Nanny with his Nonna:

 

Of course the torta did not finish the meal, we also had some lovely Sardinian Pecorino with dates, and some lovely mozzarella with pomegranate (I had wanted burrata, but I couldn’t lay my paws on any). The pomegranates were particularly fine specimens, and naturally made me think of Catherine of Aragon (her heraldic symbol was a pomegranate).

After all this Fernet Branca and coffee were both highly necessary.

It was a wonderful evening, and wonderful to see Nanny, and to come together as friends. It made me feel very lucky indeed, for as St Aelred himself said:

‘Those who have no friends are to be compared to beasts for they have no one with whom to rejoice, no one to whom they can unburden their hearts, or with whom to share their inspirations and illuminations.’

An Apple in a Priest Hole for All Souls: 2nd November

Sometimes I feel as if this blog exists simply in order for me to take pot-shots at Protestants. Well it doesn't... but sometimes I am just led naturally in that direction. Take, for example, my pilgrimage to Harvington Hall this year for the feast of All Souls.

My friend Fr Bede and I have been talking about going to Harvington Hall for a long time. It is based near Kidderminster, and it is an Elizabethan building which has 7 very well preserved priest hides in it. These hides were used during the Reformation, when Catholics were being persecuted, some are very cleverly constructed... and one of the hides at Harvington was so cleverly done that it was only rediscovered in the mid 1800s.

With Fr Bede's visit to the UK we decided to get in touch with the Hall and ask to make a pilgrimage. Archbishop Longley kindly helpled us to get in touch with Canon Moran at Harvington, who persuaded the house manager to let us in on All Souls --- even though the house had technically closed at the end of October.

We had a lovely private tour, led by the magnificent June. We went into the most cleverly designed priest hole: 

The priest holes at Harvington are almost certainly the work of St Nicholas Owen, who was a Jesuit lay-brother and servant to Fr Henry Garnett. Owen was martyred after being caught leaving one of his own hides at Hindlip Hall. He and his companion Ralph Ahsley had taken only one apple in with them as sustenance, and thinking the search had ended (on day four) they left the hide in search of food. Owen was tortured and never gave up any of his secrets, although he alone probably knew more that could damage the recusant cause than any other living soul. Fr John Gerrard, whose amazing 'autobiography' presented in English by Philip Caraman gives an account of what it was like to be a priest in England at the time, said of Owen 'I verily think no man can be said to have done more good of all those who laboured in the English vineyard. He was the immediate occasion of saving the lives of many hundreds of persons, both ecclesiastical and secular'.

After our tour Fr Bede offered a votive mass for the English Martyrs in the Extraordinary Form in the recusant chapel at the top of the house. The sun was low in the sky and came through the tiny windows above the altar, and hit the host at the elevation. From the chapel windows you could see for miles around. As we prayed in the tiny chapel on the solemnity of All Souls we remembered the martyrs who had once inhabited the very space we were in. We prayed with them, and for them, and prayed for the holy souls. At the eve of the Reformation the very things under threat were the Sacrifice of the Mass and the notion that the dead can be prayed for and can pray for us, and so I cannot think of a better way to have spent All Souls.

St Nicholas Owen and the other 39 Martyrs of England and Wales, ora pro nobis.

 

Progressively less Saxon Beef Stew with Dried Cherries for Edward the Confessor: 13th October

Edward the Confessor was the last Saxon King of England. He was a good man by all accounts and whilst opinions differ on the success of his reign, a cult around him grew up quickly, and solidly.  He rebuilt Westminster Abbey and in the process was instrumental in founding the great church that exists today.

I have a great love of Westminster Abbey, it being the home of the pre-reformation Benedictine community which now resides at Ampleforth. It is thus also in a sense the root of the Benedictine community in St Louis, which is a daughter-house of Ampleforth.

Sadly, the Protestants stole it from us. However, it being a royal church, and the shrine of Edward
being the burial place of a King, it largely escaped the worst desecrations of the reformation. The shrine of Edward the Confessor behind the High Altar at Westminster Abbey gives us a beautifully preserved medieval shrine. It was originally rather bigger - three levels - but it's still pretty good. I had a memorable visit to the abbey a few years ago when my friend Fr Bede parlayed free entrance for us by (as an EBC Monk) point-blank refusing to pay. We also had a beautiful quiet moment at the shrine, which is quite difficult to visit privately (but they weren't going to argue with Fr Bede). The camera flashes lauding the secular saints in poet's corner were only barely audible in the background.

St Edward is also the patron of a beautiful little church close to my home in Guildford, in the grounds of what was the estate of a recusant family, so they've had continuous offerings of Mass there since before the reformation - v. rare in the south. One of their relics is the ruff St Thomas More wore to his execution.

It was pretty difficult to find something to cook for St Edward.  I eventually decided to do something Saxon... because he was the last saxon king of England. This led me to a variety of recipes - mostly on the, at times frightening, websites of battle re-enaction folks. I read with interest that the rich often favoured stews with spices and fruit. After all trade routes were long-established (just think of the definitely historical-because-I-want-it-to-have-been visit our Lord made to Glastonbury with Joseph of Arimathea). There was a recipe for pan-roasted venison with dried cherries and line at the bottom declaring autheniticty, a link to a British Library historical cookbook, and a bold statement that both Saxons and Vikings liked fruity meat. It was good enough for me. I couldn't get any venison, because time limited me to shopping at a supermarket. So I got some stewing steak and made a hearty stew.  It wasn't in the least bit difficult. But I did cook it for a very long time, and it was delicious.

3 lbs stewing steak in chunks

Flour seasoned with pepper and cinnamon (Phoenicians must have brought this, Romans, French?)

An onion - diced

About half a pint of red wine

A pint of beef stock

Two tablespoons of wine vinegar

Two teaspoons of flour

Dried parsely, thyme and marjoram

6 oz dried cherries

Fry the onion in a large Le Creuset casserole or similar, and then flour the beef (use a large polythene bag, pop the flour and the beef in and shake. Hope that the bag doesn't have a whole in it, like mine did). In a frying pan fry off the beef in batches, fry until it just browns... and add to the casserole. When all the beef is in de-glaze the frying pan with the wine. Add to the casserole together with all the other ingredients except the cherries. Bring to a light bubble and pop it in the oven on 160C for three hours, checking each hour. Stir minimally. Add extra water as needed. After three hours add the cherries, and turn the oven off, but leave the stew in the oven (for another hour). The cherries will puff up beautifully. When you are ready to eat turn the oven back on at 200C, take the lid off and cook the stew for another half hour until the sauce has reduced. Obviously, if you are a committed Saxon, you do this whole process over a fire and not in an oven - because you don't have one.

Serve with mashed potatoes, which also do not exist if you're a Saxon. The cherries really do go wonderfully with the slowly cooked beef. My only thought was that a slug of double cream at the end would have made the whole thing better. But I tend to think that about most things, and it probably wouldn't have been an appropriate addition for St E.

P.S. it (the stew, not the shrine) really did look and taste much nicer than the slightly dodgy iphone photo above suggests. Honest.