Last Sunday, I had four women from my walking group round for a 'Christmas tea'. I fancied having a few faces in my flat and laying a nice table, using a pretty tea-set and doing some baking. In the end, I made a 'bara brith' (a Welsh tea loaf whose name literally means 'speckled bread'), some Vanillekipferl (a traditional German Christmas biscuit - made with real vanilla pods) and some mince pies (THE traditional sweet Christmas delicacy in the UK). I also bought some little Stollenkonfekt (bite-sized pieces of Stollen, Germany's Christmas cake) and some Lebkuchenherzen.
Now, in the UK, Christmas is a time of excess, a time of gluttony, a time of letting your diets go and of really stuffing your face. Not so in Germany, it seems. People here do not do excess. I once made Christmas lunch for three German friends. The quantity I had prepared was mild compared to the usual amount of food one would be offered in the UK and, again, they were all modest and didn't manage the dessert.
Oh, for heaven's sake!!! It's Christmas. A time of feasting and not fasting. It's not a time for holding back and nibbling on a carrot.
Let's face it. This is a cold, miserable and gloomy time of the year when everything is dark, days are short and you just don't want to poke your nose outdoors. Even back in Roman days, people livened things up in winter by going just a little bit crazy. The conquering Romans had Saturnalia - days of feasting and revelry between 17 and 23 December. Slaves were given the freedom to say what they liked and sometimes played the master for a day; moral restrictions were relaxed; a fake king was elected and generally a carnival atmosphere prevailed in the streets.
The Brits enjoy the traditional Christmas theatre experience of pantomimes. And, no, they have nothing to do with mime artist Marcel Marceau. They are plays which are based on some traditional fairy tale, such as Cinderella (Aschenputtel) or Puss in Boots (der gestiefelte Kater) in which the world is topsy-turvy. The dashing young hero or prince is played by a young woman. The matriarchal role, e.g. Cinderella's mother, is played by an older man - as are Cinderella's two ugly sisters. And it's all very anarchic.
But in Germany, the key word at Christmas time seems to be 'besinnlich' - going by how many times that came up in the Christmas card texts I had to translate in years past. Whereas the Germans include a long and rambling text wishing their customers and clients a 'besinnliche Weihnachtszeit im Schoß Ihrer Familie" (a contemplative or reflective Christmas time in the bosom (literally 'lap') of your family), a text that could go on for three full paragraphs, the Brits can get away with just writing "Season's Greetings" and not risk getting cramp from all the writing.
Mind you, that's another difference between the Brits and the Krauts at Christmas time: Christmas cards. The Germans might send out one or two - to relatives far away. The Brits send out stacks of cards. This year, I decided not to send so many and I still wrote 35. And I think I need to send a few more. The Brits send so many as it's a nice way to say 'I'm still thinking of you and you are worth the price of a card and a stamp and the time it takes for me to address the envelope and write a few words inside". Germans, on the other hand, prefer to ring up. (They do the same on your birthday, too.)
There you are, just settled on the sofa with a nice cup of something hot and a good book or something interesting to watch, and the phone rings. It's aunty so-and-so wanting to wish you a Happy Christmas or Happy Birthday. And they bend your ear for half an hour and by the time you get back to the sofa, your drink is cold and the TV (or the explanation of the crime) is over. (Or in my case, two weeks after my birthday when someone rang me up to wish me a very belated happy birthday, the pan has boiled dry and your small saucepan, the really expensive one you treated yourself to, looks just as bad as the cheap one you ruined the week before.)
But back to my Christmas tea. Honestly, folks, you would think I was trying to poison my guests. "What's in the mince pie?" they asked. In the end, I went to the kitchen, brought the empty and cleaned-out jar of mincemeat and translated the list of ingredients to them. "Oh, well, in that case, I'll try one." And it was the same with the bara brith. "What's in that?" Again, I got the recipe and translated it for them. "I'll take a slice." Oh, for heaven's sake. It's a CAKE! You don't approach cake with trepidation and fear of being attacked by it. You plunge right in and stuff your face with it. It's free CAKE! Someone is offering you CAKE! and you look at it as though it might bite you instead of the other way round? Good grief.
And one guest even tried to scrape of the light dusting of icing sugar on the Vanillekipferl because they seemed to be scared of a bit of sugar.
At the end, I made up some bags with what was left over and presented them to them on the way out. One guest almost squealed and said, "No, I don't want to eat so much sugar." And I told them that a) they needn't eat everything all in one go and that b) they could give it to their neighbour if they wanted to.
Honestly, it was as though I was trying to poison them. The Brits would have greedily accepted the gift of more free cake because, hey, it's Christmas and what else are you going to do at this time of the year apart from 'eat, drink and be merry'?
Apropos, eating, drinking and being merry... I always thought that that phrase came from Shakespeare, but a more religious colleague of mine pointed out that it came from the Bible.
Here is the full text from Ecclesiastes, Chapter 8, Verse 15, taken from the King James version of the Bible:
Then I commended mirth, because a man hath no better thing under the sun, than to eat, and to drink, and to be merry: for that shall abide with him of his labour the days of his life, which God giveth him under the sun.
So, folks, if God is telling you to have fun, fun, fun and stuff your face, do it. At least at Christmas time. Don't hold back on the mince pies and Stollen. It's only once a year.
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