Final treats update

"It is ordinary among some Plebians in the South of Scotland, to go about from door to door upon New Year`s Eve, crying Hagmane." Scotch Presbyterian Eloquence, 1693

In five days we begin the Time of Privation. It used to be that in Europe Lent was a time of sacrifice, a time of eating little and of penance, a time of forswearing treats and indulgence, and repenting the indulging of the recent past. Well, we're rationalist people these days and while some of us still have Lent give-ups (I usually do), we don't do the full on (reverb on) Time of Privation -tion - tion (reverb off).

Nope, 'cause we have January for that now. We have the "Yes, I can step on the scale, but I'm not woman enough to look down and see the number." We have New Year's Resolutions to lose weight and save money. (Ha and - again - ha.) We have the horrible knowledge that although it is cold and dark now, spring will come again, followed inevitably by summer. Yep. Sumer is icumen in. So on the day after my birthday, we have no more treats! None! Drink champagne, eat canapes, flirt like crazy, count backwards, and get it out of your system because as soon as you wake up and swallow a couple of aspirin, the diet begins. Sigh.

But until that happens, we've got 120 hours of treat-eatin' goodness to explore. On our last work day of 2004 (December 23), we had the last of the fudge Jill made, a box of Poppycock, yummy peanuts, and more cookies. (Poppycock is like Crackerjacks with a different name.)

And today David and I were at my Dad's. Audrey made Yorkshire pudding and mincemeat pie. Normally, I can take or leave mincemeat, but she picked this up in (the mincemeat, not the whole pie) Pennsylvania and it was very, very good. And I love Yorkshire pudding, which isn't pudding in the sense we Americans usually use. Yorkshire pudding is (more or less), popover batter cooked in a hot oven with roast drippings. Make the popover batter and before you put it into the muffin tins (or square brownie pan), spoon in a bit of the hot grease. The batter poofs way up and the result is a slightly greasy, but truly marvelous, light, airy bread. Both Audrey and Mom make it, although not very often, and I love it.

I probably won't post again until the Time of Privation, so Happy New Year to one and all. I hope the holiday treats you right. Åssume that if I were to see you at midnight, I'd give you a kiss for the New Year - and I'll see you on the other side.


PS - Happy Hogmanay to Derrick and Paul, strange and dark-haired men......