oranges and lemons say the bells of saint clement’s

Here is a nice Christmas punch to keep you toasty on a cold evening. I call it the St. Clement’s because its ingredients include lemons and Curaçao Triple Sec, orange liqueur, and this recipe yields enough for four cups:

• 250 ml (1 cup) orange juice 250 ml (1 cup) of Triple Sec 250 ml (1 cup) of dry white, wine—if available in your area, another thing to try would be Thüringer Holunder Punsch, a fortified holiday beverage, a white wassail seasoned already with some of the other spices 
• The juice of one lemon (Zitrone)
• One stick of cinnamon (Zimt), whole cloves (Nelken), and some ground cinnamon and whipped crème for garnish

Place all the liquid ingredients into a sauce pan to warm on low heat. Add the cinnamon stick and six cloves and cover. Monitor to make sure the mixture doesn’t scald or boil, and after about fifteen minutes, when the cinnamon stick starts to break up and the mixture takes on a buttery complexion, it should be ready. Pour through a strainer to avoid getting pieces of cinnamon and cloves in your glass. Top with whipped crème and ground cinnamon and enjoy with gingerbread (Lebkuchen).

good saint nick

There are quite a few superstar saints but I think it is a challenge to find one with a more universal following and elaborate traditions than Saint Nicholas. Santa Claus or Father Christmas is a distinct and perhaps a bit of a derivative character, and while not just some corporate stooge, brainchild of Charles Dickens and Coca-Cola, nor ambassador of globalism as he’s sometimes unfairly made out to be, should not be confused or unused interchangeably with the original. The rituals that commemorate his approaching feast day (6. December) have intricate and escapingly elaborate basis in episodes of the saint’s life and enduring influence, and though abstractions and in some cases misunderstandings, I think that this level of detail and heritage keep the holiday and what goes with it inviolate and not usurped by commercial interests or whittled away. The weirdness and confusion of the holidays keep them intact and alive. Nicholas, whose name means “victory of the people,” was a bishop in Myra, Lycia (now Derme, Turkey) and was known for his great charity and playing secret-Santa for the needy, especially for finding creative ways to help those too proud to take hand-outs.

One story tells of a poor peasant who could not afford the dowry to marry off his three daughters, so decided to sell them into prostitution. Nicholas tried to get the father to reconsider but the man saw no other future for them if they went unwed, but reused the church’s overtures for assistance. Instead, under the cover of darkness, Nichols smuggled three purses of gold, one for each of the daughters—according to some sources, by dropping the coins one by one down the chimney and into their stockings drying over the embers in the fireplace. The iconography that generally accompanies portrayals of the saint is an allegory meant to recall these events, and over the centuries, the purses of money or coins came to be represented as three golden balls. People in the Netherlands seeing this depiction thought they were exotic oranges, which explains why one often gets these fruit for stocking-stuffers, and assumed Nicholas was from Spain, which also accounts for the indeterminate number of Moorish helpers who accompany him on his visits, although some say that they are not dark-skinned but rather sooty, owing to the whole connection with chimneys, that are there to judge the naughty and the nice and steal bad children away. The Bavarian counterpart, the anti-Saint Nick, is a monster called Krampus who is likewise along to expose awful kids. In France, the bad cop to the good cop following Nicholas on his rounds, is a reformed by formerly cannibalistic, mad butcher called Père Fouettard, referencing another wonder attributed to the saint: during a famine, a butcher lured three young boys (or in some versions, students) into his home, promising shelter but he slaughtered them and put their dismembered bodies in a barrel to cure and to later sell as hams. Nicholas joined the search party for these lost youths and confronted the butcher and saw through his deception, probably on account of the unexplained hams. And like Circe in reverse, Nicholas restored the youths. The butcher repented and followed Nicholas since. Patron of many occupations besides, from sailors, traders (hence the Dutch knowing about Spanish oranges) and thieves to students, pawnbrokers and children and for many places from Liverpool to Palestine and from Aberdeen to Malta, Nicholas does more than give good gifts.

paper chase or then ‘tis like the breath of an unfee’d lawyer

In Shakespeare’s Henry VI Part II, one of the henchmen of the pretender to the throne and usurper, Dick the Butcher, famously proposes, “The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.”
While maybe this seems in a modern context like an avenue to restore balance in an overly litigious society, it was meant rather as the most expedient route to counter counter-insurrectionists: regarded as the possibly the last and best defense against disorder and oppression, lawyers were regarded as unbiased keepers of justice and independent thought and a nuisance to revolutionaries.

Dick the Butcher, however, never met the courtly ranks of a secretive group of lobbying legal professionals called arbitrators. European Corporate Observatory presents an interesting and revealing treatment on the law firms and their retainers who pose exclusively to profit from injustice and pilot public policy in favour of private interests and enterprises. Though not precisely a new or isolated phenomena, the concerted efforts of these new ambulance-chasers are behind all the big headlines and points of contention, from energy companies’ prosecution of Germany for abandoning nuclear energy, the push for allowing G-M crops in Europe, aggravating independent research on the topic and science in general (at least in matters that might confound profits), labour equity and pensions—and all at the tax-payers’ expense since the unobliging defendant is the government. It seems that the interpretation of the butcher’s plan has become a backward-construction.  Be sure to check out more revealing stories at this watch-dog’s website.

deadline or santa’s little helpers

Every gift is a carefully crafted choice but it is especially so when presents require the consideration and advanced-planning and hidden logistical of the postal imperium required to shuttle them along with the spirit of the season around the world. Advent (meaning coming or anticipation) is beginning just now and is reduplicated with ceremony over a thousand different venues and with ritual calendars everywhere, and it makes me wonder about sending cheer away and the atmosphere that can’t quite be distilled and dispatched.

Sending a gift is something that is instantly given form and one can and does imagine its safe passage, arrival, which is hopefully in enough time to relax under the tree and inspire some curiosity, and ultimate reception, even if one cannot be there to see all these stages in person. The packing and preparation ahead of time, depending on the length of the journey, does not take the wind out of the season’s sails, so to speak, but the earliness does abstract a bit the whole rite and intent to some degree, wrapping then swaddling a gift before setting it off on some grand and far-reaching conveyor-belt.

It would be a much better alternative to the posting presents, I think,  if one could be like Santa Claus or gently float an entire palette of Christmas high enough into the stratosphere that the earth would rotate below it and the drop-point would come into range at a day’s pace, which sounds indutibably faster than guaranteed next-day-delivery under any circumstances. Still, the means readily available are a pretty good way to extend one’s presence and have good representation.