Time:
“Fairytale of New York” by The Pogues featuring Kirsty MacColl
This song came into being after Elvis Costello bet The Pogues’ lead singer Shane MacGowan that he couldn’t write a decent Christmas duet. The outcome: a call-and-response between a bickering couple that’s just as sweet as it is salty.
My family doesn’t have a lot of traditions that have carried on, although we do still do our big family get-together at our house on Christmas Eve, so I guess that counts. Here’s James Lileks‘ take on the tradition question at this festive time of the year:
Christmas gifts under the tree.
Photo by Kelvin Kay via Wikimedia Commons.
There are two views of Christmas traditions.
1. They are the jewels of the past, polished by time, handed down from loving ancestors whose memory we e’er keep warm and and alive when we do as they did, eat as they ate, and raise our new wine in the glasses of yore. Thus do civilizations maintain, and remember.
2. Traditions are the cold hands of the dead past punching through the coffin-lid of yesteryear and bursting up through the loam to reach out and smother the newborn ideas of today, because that’s not how Grandma did it.
I’m very much in the first camp, stamping around like Tevye in the opening number of Fiddler on the Roof. But I share his perplexity some times. Why do we do this? I don’t know. I don’t know why we always had Swedish Meatballs on Christmas Eve. Perhaps that was Grandpa’s favorite, and my Mom made it after he passed to remind herself of him. If so, cool; my daughter, who never met the old man, experiences a little of the remarkable old farmer – especially since I insist that she wash it down with a warmish Grain Belt and smoke an Old Gold afterwards.
“But I don’t want to! They smell and they make me cough!”
“It’s tradition. Your grandfather would be delighted to know you enjoy the rich, apple-fresh flavor of an Old Gold.”
Ahhhh, kids, it’s hard to get them interested in history. Even harder to get them to knock the ash in the coffee-cup saucer. My point is that we are not having Swedish Meatballs this year, because Daughter wants to make some German dish. It’s a roll of pounded meat layered with mustard and pickles. (Not to be confused with the German meal of mustard and pickles wrapped up in hammered meat; that one has more syllables.) I have never been impressed with German food, but this dish has the promise to provide a piquancy missing in Swedish meatballs, which seem like something that answers the question “what if the telephone dial tone was a flavor?”
The Critical Drinker
Published 17 Dec 2020Join me as I review what may be the ultimate Christmas movie — the 1946 classic starring James Stewart and Donna Reed … It’s a Wonderful Life.
Tasting History with Max Miller
Published 14 Dec 2021Mincemeat pies from back when there was still meat in the filling
City/Region: England
Time Period: 1845CORRECTION: I said/wrote “1 heaping cup of sugar” but it should be a heaping 1/2 cup. Though more sugar won’t be a bad thing.
Medieval mincemeat pies were about 90% meat and only about 10% fruit. These original mincemeat pies were a way to preserve meat for the winter, but as time went on, the amount of meat went down and the amount of fruit went up until we get a full-fledged dessert with no meat like you usually find today.
This Victorian recipe strikes a nice balance by having some meat, but certainly not the 90% of ye olden days. These pies are so much better than the ones you get at the store. The spices are warm and remind me of Christmas and the lemon brightens it up. Everything is soft, but the pieces stay individual, not all one gloopy mass. At the very end, you get a bit of meatiness, but it’s still sweet and very much a dessert.
Mincemeat
(Author’s Receipt)
To one pound of an unsalted ox-tongue, or inside of roasted sirloin, … add two pounds of fine stoned raisins, two of beef kidney-suet, two pounds and a half of currants, … two of good apples, two and a half of fine Lisbon sugar, from half to a whole pound of candied peel, … the grated rinds of two large lemons, and two more boiled quite tender, and chopped up entirely, with the exception of the pips, two small nutmegs, half an ounce of salt, a large teaspoonful of pounded mace, rather more of ginger in powder, half a pint of brandy, and as much good sherry or Madeira. Mince these ingredients separately, and mix the others all well before the brandy and the wine are added …— Modern Cookery for Private Families by Eliza Acton, 1845
@BillyJingo
I get the feeling you’re the kind of guy who secretly rooted for Mr Potter.@Iowahawkblog
George Bailey: whines for a public bailout of his grossly mismanaged financial institutionMr Potter: reinvigorates boring small town by developing exciting nightlife district
David Burge (@Iowahawkblog), Twitter, 2022-11-16.
English Heritage
Published 23 Nov 2018
Order your copy of Mrs Crocombe’s cookery book here: http://bit.ly/2RPyrvQ
Join Mrs Crocombe as she makes a traditional plum pudding at Audley End House. This recipe comes from Modern Cookery by Eliza Acton, who is understood to have been the first person to call it “Christmas Pudding”.
Plan a visit to Mrs Crocombe’s kitchen: http://bit.ly/2BtBzoO
Discover the history of Christmas pudding: http://bit.ly/2Bu2WyS
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We’ve been fans of the movie A Christmas Story for many years, but I hadn’t heard this particular detail from winery owner Martin Malivoire’s end-of-year newsletter:
The Legacy of the Lamp!
As you may already know, in the years before I put my name on a winery, my profession was related to the motion picture industry.
In a pursuit spanning forty years, I collaborated with many great people. Few were as rewarding to work with as the late Bob Clark.
He was a seasoned and visionary film director, and it was at Bob’s suggestion that I undertook an unlikely project, one whose memory became the most enduring of my pre-winery career: the leg lamp made famous by the holiday film, A Christmas Story.
Why do I say “unlikely”? My expertise was in Special Effects, which I designed and executed for motion pictures, television and stage. Frequently these were loud and dramatic; I engineered fires, explosions, crashes and the like. Prop-making was a little outside my usual practice, but I happily agreed to build this one for my friend.
With a jolly demeanor and a sly smile, Bob handed me a napkin, bearing a sketch of a flamboyant light fixture. The rest is history.
A suitably proportioned young woman was hastily recruited to model for a leg mold, which was no small task, as it required immersing her entire leg, from big toe to navel, in quick-setting plaster.
From the mold, we cast a series of translucent plastic lamps. Each had to be individually crafted to the specific requirements of a scene and uniquely, meticulously illuminated by our Director of Photography. Accordingly, not one of the fixtures was a complete, C.S.A. anointed, “plug-in, switch-on”, and as Ralphie reminisces, “bask in the soft glow of electric sex” lamp.
Nonetheless, the illusion was a success. The presence of the lamp brought elements of levity, the ridiculous, fantasy and nostalgia to the film, magnified by the Director himself. Bob, as narrator, gave his own warm voice to Ralphie’s childhood memories, and made them ours.
When production wrapped, the lamps had nowhere to go. I stored them in Toronto, and for years they adorned the windows of my studio. However, the film company still owned them and when I was told to dispose of these props, I complied, leaving nothing behind.
As movies go, A Christmas Story was what we call “a sleeper”. It drew modestly on release, but grew in popularity year after year, to join the ranks of modern Christmas Classics.
We did not foresee this, nor did we foresee that of all the images generated by this now-iconic movie, the leg lamp would become its most-remembered, most-cherished, and most-copied Christmas symbol, launching a huge industry of luminous celebrations and decorative reproductions.
If we had known … well, I’m certain I’m not the only one who would have rushed back to rescue those fishnet stocking-clad plastic leg lamps from a Cherry Street dumpster.
No, I do not receive any royalties, but it gives me pleasure to see how many folks today own a modern copy of our original creation.
If you’re among them, may it light this Christmas and many more to come … and if you don’t have a leg lamp of your own, I hope that by sharing this story I’ve left you with a smile.
Food Wishes
Published 15 Dec 2017Learn how to make Chocolate Bark! This easy recipe is perfect for enjoying yourself, or to use as an edible holiday gift. Visit https://foodwishes.blogspot.com/2017/… for the ingredients, more information, and many, many more video recipes. I hope you enjoy this Chocolate Bark recipe!
In addition to sharing an easy, and beautiful edible holiday gift idea, I wanted to make this chocolate bark so I could test a simplified technique for tempering chocolate without a thermometer. It sounded too good to be true, but worked fairly well, which is the problem. Is fairly good, okay?
Properly tempered chocolate will snap when broken, and retain that gorgeous glossy sheen. Poorly tempered chocolate is sort of dull grey, and the texture is soft, and waxy. This was somewhere in the middle.
Using this method, you will get close to properly tempered chocolate, and you might get lucky, and actually end up with perfectly tempered chocolate, but in hindsight, since using a thermometer isn’t really hard, and the extra steps required not that strenuous, I’ll probably just do it the right way next time.
Food Network
Published 1 Dec 2014Alton’s making eggnog, the drink that thinks it’s a custard pie.
Get the recipe: http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/al…
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Adrian Goldsworthy. Historian and Novelist
Published 18 Dec 2024It’s December, with Christmas fast approaching, and I suspect that a fair few people who never think much about the Romans will hear mention of Caesar Augustus because of this verse from Luke’s Gospel. I have an appendix about this in my biography of Augustus, so thought that I would talk about how the New Testament dates the Christmas story and how well this fits with our other sources for the Ancient World.
What made it worse was that I was about 14; I’d almost managed to get through childhood without experiencing this strange British tradition and then, just at the age when you’re most vulnerable to cringe, I got dragged in. Anyway, I think I’m over it now.
Pantomime is one of those very British things that makes me feel a strange sense of alienation from my countrymen, like celebrating the NHS or twee. I’m glad that other people enjoy it, and that it brings a lot of work to actors and to theatres during the Christmas period. I just personally don’t get it.
For those who don’t know about the ins and outs of our island culture, panto is a sort of farcical theatre featuring lots of sexual innuendo and contemporary pop culture references; I think when I watched it there must have been one or two ex-Neighbours stars because they all finished by singing the theme tune.
A key part of this British institution is drag, with men playing the roles of Widow Twankey and the Ugly Sisters. Drag is quite an established tradition in England, such a part of popular entertainment that there is even a photograph of British soldiers in dresses fighting in the Second World War.
Pantomime is thought to have evolved from the medieval Feast of Fools, a day of the year (around the Christmas/New Year period) when social norms would be inverted; laymen would be elected bishops, lords would serve their retainers drinks, and men and women would even swap roles. Social norms could be temporarily broken, which continues today in the often risqué humour incongruously aimed at family audiences (hilariously portrayed in the Les Dennis episode of Extras.)
This kind of drag is obviously humourous, the aim being for the men to look as ridiculous as possible; think of the ungainly Bernard Bresslaw in Carry on Doctor. It is very different to the later pop culture gender fluidity pioneered by David Bowie in which males might be presented as beautifully feminine, even alluring; that was aimed at challenging and disturbing the audience, while panto is aimed at amusing and reassuring. Indeed, the whole point of spending a day inverting social norms is that, by doing so, you are implicitly accepting and defending those social norms.
This form of drag is obviously quite different to the more modern drag queen, a form of entertainment that can be far more explicit and which has in the 21st century become yet another one-of-those-talking-points, chiefly because people seem so keen on letting children watch it.
Ed West, “The last conservative moral panic”, Wrong Side of History, 2023-02-08.
Amanda (@Pandamoanimum), Twitter, 2021-12-29.
Music was a language that united the English and the Germans. The key figure was, of course, Handel — the first and pre-eminent but by no means the last Anglo-German composer. Born in Halle, Georg Friedrich Händel had briefly been George I’s Kapellmeister in Hanover yet had already established himself in England before the Prince Elector of Hanover inherited the British throne in 1714.
In London — then in the process of overtaking Paris and Amsterdam to become the commercial capital of Europe — he discovered hitherto undreamt-of possibilities. There he founded three opera companies, for which he supplied more than 40 operas, and adapted a baroque Italian art form, the oratorio, to suit English Protestant tastes.
His coronation music, such as the anthem, “Zadok the Priest”, imbued the Hanoverian dynasty with a new and splendid kind of sacral majesty. But he also added to its lustre by providing the musical accompaniment for new kinds of public entertainment, such as his Music for the Royal Fireworks: 12,000 people came to the first performance.
Along with music, the Germans brought a focus on military life. Whereas for the British Isles, the Civil War and the subsequent conflicts in Scotland and Ireland had been something of an aberration, war was second nature to German princes. Among them, George II was not unusual in leading his men into battle, although he was the last British monarch to do so.
Still, the legacy of such Teutonic martial prowess was visible in the late Queen’s obsequies: uniforms and decorations, pomp and circumstance, accompanied by funeral marches composed by a German, Ludwig van Beethoven. Ironically, the German state now avoids any public spectacle that could be construed as militaristic, yet most Germans harbour boundless admiration for the way that the British monarchy enlists the ceremonial genius of the armed services.
Even more important was the German contribution to the uniquely British creation of constitutional monarchy.
Each successive dynasty has left its mark on the monarchy’s evolution: from the Anglo-Saxons and Normans (the common law) to the Plantagenets (Magna Carta and Parliament) and Tudors (the Reformation). Only the Stuarts failed this test, at least until 1688. Even after the Glorious Revolution, the Bill of Rights and other laws that conferred statutory control over the royal prerogative, the constitutional settlement still hung in the balance when Queen Anne, the last Stuart ruler, died in 1714.
Coming from a region dominated by the theory and practice of absolute monarchy, the Hanoverians had no choice but to adapt immediately and seamlessly to the realities of politics in Britain, where their role was strictly limited. Robert Walpole and the long Whig ascendancy, during which the doctrine of parliamentary sovereignty embedded itself irrevocably, could not have taken place without the acquiescence and active support of the new dynasty.
George III has been accused of attempting to reverse this process. The charge is unjust. Rather, as Andrew Roberts demonstrates in his new biography, he was “a monarch who understood his extensive rights and duties under the constitution”. He still had the right to refuse royal assent to parliamentary bills, but in half a century he never once exercised his veto (the last monarch to do so was the Stuart, Queen Anne in 1708).
At a time when enlightened despotism was de rigueur on the Continent, the Hanoverians were content to participate in an unprecedented constitutional experiment in their newly acquired United Kingdom. It was neither the first Brexit, nor the last, but it happened courtesy of a Royal Family that was still very German.
Daniel Johnson, “Why Germany mourned our Queen”, The Critic, 2022-10-30.
Bruce Bawer, “The Best Christmas Movies Ever”, New English Review, 2022-12-20.
So good to be eating healthily again. I feel fitter and better in myself alreadyDay 2 of healthy eating
I miss cheese so much I want to cry. I’ve forgotten the taste of chocolate. Vegetables taste of sadness and resentment. I’ve never known such miseryAmanda (Pandamoanimum), Twitter, 2022-01-04.
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