He knew how to keep Christmas well…

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn’t believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn’t ate it all at last! Yet everyone had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits, in particular, were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows!
– Charles Dickens: A Christmas Carol

Three months ago, I wrote about my inchoate struggle with food allergies. And then went perfunctorily wheesht… – especially concerning the related battles I ended up fighting as my former fine fettle fell away….

Merry Sproutmas…!

For Alex and Mike…

This year, for the first time in living memory, the Winter Solstice coincides exactly (in fact, to the minute) with the (as yet) little-known celebration of Sproutmas: where we commemorate the budding of the Monster Sprout; and remind ourselves of our gemmiferous saviour’s miraculous creation story.

Today’s lesson is therefore taken from the first chapter of The Book According to Cranberry (an arguable source, admittedly) –

1. In the recipe was the Sprout, and the Sprout was with Chestnut, and the Sprout was Chestnut.
2. The same was in the ingredients with Chestnut.
3. All things were cooked by her; and without her was not any thing cooked that was cooked.
4. In her was taste; and the taste was the feast of diners.
5. And the feast smelleth in the kitchen; and the cooker-hood extracted it not.
6. There was a chef sent from Chestnut, whose name was Floyd.
7. The same came for a toasting, to raise toasting of the Feast, that all diners through him might be satisfied.
8. He was not that Feast, but was sent to raise toasting of that Feast.
9. That was the true Feast, which feasteth every diner that cometh into the restaurant.
10. He was in the restaurant, and the restaurant was made by him, and the restaurant knew him not.
11. He drank unto his socks, and his socks carried him not.
12. But as many as carried him, to them gave he menus to become the fans of Chestnut, even to them that believe on her name:
13. Which were cooked, not with sauce, nor of the turkey of the flesh, nor of the bill of diners, but of Chestnut.
14. And the Sprout was made festive, and eaten among us (and we beheld her greenness, the greenness as of the only pistachio of the Nut), full of relish and flavour.

Thanks be to Chestnut. Worship the Sprout.