One Fat Man

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.

A Syrian Pudding on the Feast of the English Martyrs: 4th May

 

 

Saturday was the feast of the English Martyrs. This is a feast that was approved really quite recently for 4th May. Only a couple of years ago, I think.

Usually I use anything to do with the English Martyrs as an excuse to indulge in a little bit of Protestant Bashing. Today I'm not going to do that. This is because today I'm going to focus on the what the English Martyrs mean to me. The English Martyrs, to me, mean people who died for what they believed in and held to be true, people who died rather than acknowledge beliefs they considered to be wrong and people who died in what was largely a spirit of peace. They died for a faith that I am lucky enough to hold, and for a Mass which I love very greatly. [This is one of the reasons why I think that people should stop being idiots about the Traditional Latin Mass and embrace its beauty and prayerfulness at least once a year].

But on Saturday as I meditated upon the English Martyrs I was struck by the fact that there are still people in the world dying for their faith. One of the places where the Church is in greatest need is Syria. For the Christian communities in Syria - communities founded by St Paul himself - life has become so impossible that hundreds of thousands have fled their homes. Of course it is not just Christians suffering, but the Christian community is very much a minority ins Syria and they are suffering terribly. This situation can only get worse. Just last week two archbishops were kidnapped, and their taxi driver killed. Many Christians have historically been pro-Assad because they have been protected under him, and because they fear the rise of a fundamentalist Islamic state... for obvious reasons. However, Assad's regime has committed, and continues to commit great wrongs. Somewhere amongst it all are Syrian people who simply want democracy and peace. It is a dreadful situation for the members of these earliest Christian communities, and a dreadful situation for the people of Syria as a whole, as of course is clear to people without reading my silly little food blog. It should be a source of great anguish and despair to us all.

With this in mind I shelved anti-protestant polemic on Saturday, and focused instead on the joint prayer of the Archbishops of Canterbury and Westminster for the people of Syria. And for my part I ask for the intercession of the English Martyrs in this this horrible conflict. I also urge Catholics reading this blog to donate to the Syria appeal run by Aid to the Church in Need.

I am sure that the English Martyrs won't have minded that on Saturday, instead of thinking up yet another variation on some sort of medieval stew or potage, I offered up a traditional Syrian pudding eaten with a sense of humility, and prayer for the people of a troubled and far away land.

Syrian Muhallibieh (it's basically blancmange): 

2 cups full fat milk

1/2 cup of icing sugar

3 tablespoons cornflour, mixed into a little water

1 tablespoon rose water

1 teaspoon cinnamon

Nuts and runny honey

 

Bring the milk to the boil in a pan, together with the cinnamon and sugar. Stir in the cornflour mix, and continue to heat on a lower gas until the mixture thickens well (3-5 minutes). Stir constantly. Now turn the heat right down and stir in the rose water. Pour the mixture into serving pots. I used little apple tea glasses. Chill for several hours in the fridge. Drizzle honey on the top, and sprinkle with chopped nuts.

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.

Easter Lamb... what else?

My friend Rose and I are known amongst our mutual friends for our deep and profound love of ham. This manifests itself most strongly in our Christmas discourse, when for a period of roughly three weeks our communications are either solely ham-related, or at least 50% of each communication is about ham. At its most extreme, and most moving, this can involve one word text messages - 'HAM' in capital letters. A one word missive that communicates so very much.

Last week, I asked Rose what our unified response to the notion of an Easter Ham is. She informed me, quite rightly, that; 'at Easter ham must stand aside for "LAMB"'. We did, however, agree that ham is permissable on Easter Monday, and that ham is permissable on Easter Day provided that Lamb is also present as the focal point. It was good to have clarification on this important issue.

With this in mind, I give you my recipe for Easter Lamb (and indeed Lamb at any other time). Of course there is much symbolism surrounding lamb at Easter. We naturally think of Christ the Paschal lamb, of the lambs of the Jewish Passover feast, and also more generally of dainty little creatures gamboling through spring pastures. But I've been far too reflective of late, so let's just get on with the food.

You will need:

4 - 4 and a half lb leg of good lamb

A big bunch of fresh rosemary

Six or seven fat garlic cloves

8 oz pancetta

1 and a half pts wine

An onion - roughly sliced

Wash the rosemary, and peel the garlic. Reserve around 20 rosemary 'tops'. Chop the remaining rosemary and garlic together until both are finely chopped. Chop the pancetta too. It gets quite sticky. You could use a food processor for this, but you do want the pancetta to be recognisable in pieces and not a paste. Mix the pancetta with the garlic. It should be in part a sticky paste, but also with lots of decently sized lumps of meat. I'm making this sound lovely, aren't I?

Then get your lamb. Pierce the flesh every 2 inches or so with the point of a small, sharp, paring knife. Now put the rosemary tops into the holes and rub the pancetta/garlic/rosemary paste all over the lamb. Place the lamb in a large roasting tin on top of the sliced onions and pour over a good amount of olive oil, and about half a pint of wine (either red or white, it doesn't matter - I actually like white as it makes it a bit lighter). Cover and leave over night somewhere cool. Ideally not in the fridge, unless it's really too warm everywhere else.

The next day, preheat the over to 220C for about 20 minutes. Then put the lamb into roast for twenty minutes. After this pour over the rest of the wine and reduce the temperature to 200C. Roast for a further forty minutes. Once this time is up baste, and check to see how the lamb is doing. It should be getting there and the crust should have formed nicely. Give it an extra ten minutes after basting. Now take the lamb out of the oven, take the crust off and put it in a serving dish. Then baste, and return the lamb to the oven for half an hour longer.

Remove the lamb from the oven, cover with foil, and allow to rest for half an hour whilst you finish potatoes and vegetables etc, and make a nice gravy with the pan juices and onions. This will give you a nice pink leg of lamb. If you want it rarer or more well done then it's pretty obvious what you need to do.

These photos are from last year's Easter lamb. This year I know that lamb is on the menu in the Abbey too... which, of course, is right and proper. However, I was beyond delighted to find out that in addition to lamb, Br Dunstan also intends to do a HAM!

 

 

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.

Zuccotto for the Feast of the Chair of St Peter, 22nd February.

Yesterday was the Feast of the Chair of St Peter, a feast which tells us much about the authority of the bishop, and particularly of the Pope.

There is an actual chair involved, it’s the one in the big chair-shaped reliquary by Bernini at the back of St Peter’s Basilica in Rome. The chair was thought to have been the chair of St Peter, and the seat of his authority… in the way that across the world bishops have ‘chairs’,‘Kathedra’ (Greek), ‘Cathedra’ (Latin). This is of course where we get the world ‘Cathedral’ as the seat, quite literally, of a bishop. It also gives us the term ‘ex cathedra’ where the Pope speaks ‘from the chair’ in terms of making official pronouncements on doctrinal issues &c.

So the feast the of the Chair of St Peter gives us an opportunity to give thanks in a particular way for the role of the Pope, and the work of the Pope. In the old calendar the feast is a ‘Double’, there is the feast of the chair of St Peter at Rome (Jan 18^th) and the feast of the chair of St Peter at Antioch (22^nd Feb), but in the new calendar is demoted to single feast… which I think is a bit of shame. 

This feast falling at such an interesting time for the Papacy, and at a time when we are wishing to give thanks for the Papacy of Pope Benedict XVI and to pray for his successor, means that it is the perfect time to keep and honour this feast… and I kept it joyfully, and enthusiastically, even though it was a Friday in Lent. Indeed, I decided that the Pope’s resignation effectively dispensed the world and raised this feast, for one year at least, back to its former great status.

For the feast I made a zuccotto. This is a traditional Italian pudding from the traditional school of Italian puddings: cake + cream = pudding.  The word zuccotto means ‘little pumpkin’ and people think the name of the pudding arose for one (or both) of the following reasons; either it looks like the dome of the cathedral in Florence, or it looks like the Pope’s skullcap, ‘zuchetto’ (same pumpkin route). I largely followed Gennaro Contaldo’s recipe, but using triple sec instead of vin santo, and adding marscapone and a few other bits and bobs, and some white chocolate chips and rather more nuts and fruit. You can make it up as you go along really. For an average sized pudding basin you need half the amount of ricotta mentioned in the recipe. 

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.

Dutch St. Nicholas Cake - for St. Nick, 6th December

Today is the feast of St Nicholas, from whom we ultimately get Santa Claus. Beloved across Europe it consistently surprises me that jolly old St Nick was actually Turkish.

He was born in Myra in what is now modern day Turkey. He was a bishop, and a worker of many miracles. He was also know for his stealthy giving of gifts... or more accurately, alms.

Nicholas was buried at Myra, and there has been a church there since the 6th century, which I had the pleasure to visit some years ago. It is very impressive despite the fact that it needs restoration work. Sadly I don't think the relics of St N are in Myra , I have a vague recollection of reading that they were ... wait for it... nicked!

Nevertheless, Myra remains a site of great devotion (and tourism). We have a rather jolly gourd from Myra painted to look like a Christmassy St Nick. We also have a Christmas Kilim rug with him on it which I imagine some enterprising teenaged carpet shop owner fleeced my father for.


I remember reading in the official Myra bumpf about St Nicholas dropping purses of money secretively into the house of three daughters whose father had died - thus giving them dowries and enabling them to marry. N's quiet giving wonderfully embodies our Lord's instructions about almsgiving in Matthew 6... although somehow we do all know about it, so it can't have been THAT secret.

It is from these early traditions that come the tradition of St Nicholas filling the shoes of children with sweets on his feast, and of Santa filling our stockings at Christmas.

The shoe-filling brigade are mostly European, and so today's recipe comes from Holland. It came as a surprise (a surprise gift if you will) as my mother made it and surprised me with some photographs of it. She got the recipe from a lady in our home parish. She's had the recipe for some time, but hadn't made it because it turned out to be rather difficult to get ground cardamon here. Luckily my father was able to charm one of his lorry drivers into bringing some over. Always good to have a spice mule.

So here, thanks to parents, parish and lorry driver is a cake for St Nicholas:

Spices:

2 1/2 tspns ground cinnamon

1/2 tspn cloves

Good pinch nutmeg

Good pinch ground anniseed

Pinch of pepper

Pinch of ground cardamon

 

Pastry:

6 oz soft light brown sugar

6 oz butter

1 egg yolk

10 oz SR Flour

The spices - above

10 oz ready-made marzipan

 

Preheat the oven to 170C. Cream the butter and sugar together, add the egg yolk, and sift in the spices and flour. Form together into a stiff dough. Cut the pastry in half and roll two thickish squares, to fit a 7 or 8 inch cake tin. Grease the tin, and line it with greaseproof paper. Put the first half in the tin, and then roll the marzipan into a square to fit on top, add it on top of the first layer of pastry, and then put the second layer on top of it. Press it down a little. Brush with egg white or milk, and decorate with almonds if desired. Bake for 45 minutes. It will sink a bit when it comes out of the oven. Apparently this is normal.