Showing posts with label vegetarian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vegetarian. Show all posts

Thursday, 1 March 2012

Dewi Sant, legends and "the little things"


"Do good and then do it again"  (Welsh proverb)


St David, patron saint of Wales, is said to have died on 1st March, 589, and the date has traditionally become his feast day. However, it wasn't until the eighteenth century that St David's Day was declared a national day of celebration in Wales. Ostensibly, surprisingly little is known about him, although his birth and existence are historically verified. As a child, I simply associated him with daffodils and my favourite auntie, Barbara, who's birthday was 1st March! Over the years, I often saw St David depicted standing on a hill, holding a dove or a leek: more of which later. In fact, Dewi Sant, as he's known in Wales, was born into an aristocratic family in West Wales. His father was a prince called Sant, son of the King of Cardigan; his mother Non was a chieftain's daughter and possibly a niece of King Arthur. His mother was a devout lady who became St Non; his beloved teacher would also be canonised as St Paulinus.
St David helped to spread Christianity among the pagan Celtic tribes of Western Britain. He originally founded a large monastery in West Wales and eventually rose to be Archbishop for the Welsh nation, but chose to remain with his community at Menevia. This region has been renamed St Davids; his shrine there became a place of great pilgrimage. There is a legend that tells of the saint preaching to huge crowds where many were unable to see him: the ground is said to have risen up until St David was standing on a hillock, for all to see and hear. When you start to scratch around, there are many such legends of St David, even surrounding the circumstances of his birth. St Patrick is said to have been prepared for St David's birth 30 years before, having been visited by an angel who foretold his rise to greatness.
Baby David's baptism water is said to have cured a man's blindness. Sadly, the child wasn't the blessing of a love-filled marriage. He was born after his father had seduced Non, who ran away to give birth alone by the seashore. Legend has it that her labour was so intense that she grasped at the rocks, leaving marks to this day; a lightning bolt then split the rocks apart. Unfortunately, no-one seems quite sure which marks on which rocks bear witness to St David's dramatic but lonely birth. It is known that his mother Non decided to become a nun while her son was still a child.
The young David was schooled at the local monastery, Hen Fynyw, near to present day Aberaeron, and was taught by the blind monk Paulinus. He's said to have cured his teacher of his blindness by making the sign of the cross over his face. Recognising the boy's holiness, Paulinus sent him forth as a missionary across still-pagan Britain.

In the course of his travels, St David founded twelve monasteries. He prescribed a life of austerity for himself and his monks, which made him unpopular at times. Again, legend tells that some of his own monks were so disgruntled that they attempted to poison his bread. However, St Scuthyn travelled from Ireland on the back of a sea-monster (remember this was long, long before P and O ferries) to warn him. St David blessed the poisoned bread, ate it; and was unharmed.
His monks certainly worked hard, rising at dawn and working the land as well as in the monasteries. They ploughed the fields themselves, as he wouldn't allow them to make animals work for them: he believed that each man should be his own ox. As they worked, they continued to pray, but there lives were committed to silence. The monks ate only vegetables and bread, drinking milk and water. St David himself had lived on vegetables and herbs for many years and would do so until he died: hence the depiction of the saint with the leek, national emblem of Wales and also of growth and harvest. His meagre vegetarian diet did little to stunt his growth: legend holds that he was physically tall and strong, living over 100 years. It is generally accepted that he died in 589 in his monastery at St Davids, where he's buried. The Cathedral of St David would later be built there.


However austere his teachings, he was obviously a charismatic man who became known as a prophet and worker of miracles; he shaped the spirituality of his people, time and place. His popular depiction with a dove symbolises the eloquence of the Holy Spirit as he preached Christianity. His much celebrated last words to his monks are beautifully simplistic, also resonating in the modern world: "Be joyful, and keep your faith and your creed. Do the little things that you have seen me do and heard about". Today, "Do the little things" ("Gwnewch y pethau bychain") is a well-known and much used phrase in Welsh, and an inspiration to many.
Dewi Sant was canonised in 1120 by Pope Callactus, when 1st March was included in the Church Calendar. His feast has become a time of celebration and partying in Wales. In St David's Hall, Cardiff, there is an annual concert featuring male voice choirs from across the world. Throughout Wales, parades and often food festivals take place. Despite the fact that the saint himself abstained from drinking and advised others to do the same, a number of Welsh breweries make special St. David’s Day ales. Likewise, a Welsh stew, Cawl, containing both lamb and leeks, is traditionally consumed on St. David’s Day. Ah well. In honour of the great man's vegetarianism, I include a recipe for more celebratory comfort food:

Leek Welsh Rarebit

Ingredients: 
1 Ciabatta loaf
2 Medium leeks, washed and finely shredded
2oz/50g butter
1 oz/25g all purpose/plain flour
1 tsp mustard powder
1¼ pt/150ml milk
4 oz/110g goats’ cheese, preferably Welsh
Sea salt and ground black pepper
(Serves four, or two very hungry vegetarians)
Directions:
Cut Ciabatta into thick slices, and place in hot oven for 5 – 8 minutes to crisp and lightly brown.
Melt the butter in a medium pan and sweat the leeks for 2 -3 minutes to soften, not brown.
Stir in the flour and mustard powder.
Gradually stir in the milk and simmer to make a thick sauce.
Stir in the goats’ cheese until melted. Season well.
Spoon rarebit onto the toasted Ciabatta.
Brown under the grill until bubbling.
Serve immediately, eat and enjoy.

Dduw bendithia!




"Cwm Rhonda (Guide Me O Thou Great Redeemer)"  Cor Rehoboth Choir - Pensylvania 

Tuesday, 21 February 2012

Food to shrive for...



Today is Shrove Tuesday, usually referred to as Pancake Day, of course the day before Ash Wednesday. In the times of truly strictly observed Lenten fasting, Shrove Tuesday was a day of feasting and merriment. Pancake recipes were a good way of using up richer, fatty foods such as eggs, milk, butter and sugar. Liturgical recommendations, by the Catholic church and other Christian denominations, emphasised plain foods and refraining from rich foods for the 40 days of Lent. However, the righteous were also called to church on Shrove Tuesday to confess their sins and be "shriven" before Lent began. The words shrove and subsequently shriven, derive from the Old English word "scrifan": to prescribe. People would be shriven of their sins; the priest would prescribe their penance to enable their absolution before Lent. Folklore has it that the traditional pancake race originated in Olney, Buckinghamshire, as far back as 1440, when a housewife was still making pancakes as the church-bells tolled for the Shriving Service. Rather than be wasteful and leave them, she ran to the church with the batter in her frying pan, turning it as she went. In Olney and elsewhere, pancake races still take place each year: tossing pancakes has become a culinary art.
 
As a vegetarian, I love my cakes, biscuits and chocolate spread. With 40 days of confectionery-free days looming, I'll be off to make my pancakes before this post has settled on the screen. But my Irish side, which tends to come to fore where food is concerned, reminds me that the beginning of February was the feast of St Brigid of Ireland, the Abbess of Kildare and the spiritual patroness of all Irish nuns.. In days gone by, Irish housewives and cooks would honour this feisty and much loved saint as the patroness of the dairy cattle, who loved to cook to feed the poor, with recipes including butter AND buttermilk and also traditionally potatoes. This is my kind of cooking. "Boxty" pancakes - poorhouse bread - was traditional fare on the feast of St Brigid centuries ago, originating in the north west of Ireland. Boxty pancakes are still popular in Northern Ireland today; certainly my Antrim-born mother must have taught my Belgian Dad the recipe. He made them with generously with lashings of butter, throughout the year.
As I've now made myself hungry, here is the recipe for:
Boxty - Irish Potato Pancakes
Ingredients:
2-1/2 cups sifted all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
2-1/2 cups buttermilk
1 cup freshly grated raw potato
2 tablespoons melted butter or margarine
1 teaspoon vanilla
butter
sugar
(Makes 3 dozen 4-inch pancakes)
Way To Go:
Mix and sift flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Beat eggs lightly in a large bowl; stir in the buttermilk. Now stir in the dry ingredients, mixing just until blended (batter will be slightly lumpy). Stir in grated potato, butter or margarine, and vanilla.
Spoon the batter, just a 1/4 cup for each pancake, onto greased heated pan or griddle. Cook for 2 or 3 minutes, until bubbles form on top and the underside is golden. Turn the pancake over to repeat.
Serve at once, with plenty of butter. Sprinkle generously with sugar, the Irish way, and enjoy.
Don't wait until the next Pancake Day.




"Take me to the Mardi Gras"  Paul Simon