Mince pies and Christmas puddings are not complete without a hefty dollop of nostalgic brandy butter.
Durban — Nostalgia is in these days, it seems.
According to reports in the Independent on Saturday and the Sunday Tribune last week, “Santa” is looking at Christmases past to place joy and comfort under trees this weekend.
He’s not playing Scrooge; the economic strain and future uncertainty Saffers feel are constraining wallets and keeping the trimmings lean and less shiny.
According to the couch psychology council, of which Off The Couch is chief consultant, this is a clear indication that grown-ups are retreating from bleak houses to happier times back when they were kids. When the going gets tough, the tough get playing.
The poorhouse featured strongly in the world of Charles Dickens, and the reality of a modern-day version is something millions of Saffers face today. Except there is no house, just a CBD doorway or a pavement.
But for those fortunate enough to give or receive gifts, it seems old-style is back on wish lists. The marketing geniuses who piggyback on films like Barbie sway the contents of letters to Father Christmas, but parents – the “kidults” – are enjoying the revival and even admit buying gifts they can play with too, “with the family”. Anyone remember the old model train table? The one dad or grandad lovingly designed and painstakingly constructed “for the kids”? Except the kids weren’t allowed to touch it unless dad or grandad were supervising.
Think too of Lego: the excitement of being presented with a pile of bricks, a “foundation” block and endless possibilities. Those colours, so bright and cheerful. Until you wobble your way through the dark and stand on a piece left on the floor by an errant child or “kidult”. Man, that language and shaft of pain and fury are not meant for this period of peace and goodwill. You’ll be on Santa’s naughty list until next Yuletide.
The idea of kids and kidults playing together is heart-warming and something the world needs more of. The promise of forming your own precious traditions to be carried on long after you’re gone. The gift of immortality.
I reached for the brandy this week in the name of tradition. We had trifled with starting our own by exchanging the brandy butter Christmas pudding for the more summer-friendly colourful and sherry-soaked special treat. And, if done incorrectly, as in our house, the end product of tin, packet, carton and ready-made trifle sponge worked just fine for a few years.
However, the trend of retreating to old comfort has invaded the couch precinct.
In honour of granny and mom, we are having their favourite this year. Brandy, IMO, is awful and made palatable with lots of icing sugar, butter and a touch of vanilla essence. Gran and mom, however, had a shimply shuper time making theirs.
The kids did most of the elbow work (literally) of the mixing. It’s bloody hard work with a wooden spoon, as I was reminded with an early test batch this week. Mom and gran were the tasters. Mostly to see how much more they should add and ensure the stuff in the bottle hadn’t “turned”. It always ended up with a mega bowl of brandy butter and peals of grape-induced laughter.
It was so funny, even the stirring kids shared in the mirth, though they had no clue what was so funny. Laughter – it’s catchier than a yawn and way more fun.
For those who celebrate, enjoy, don’t drink and drive, and Merry Christmas. And consider helping those in need in any small way you can.
Independent on Saturday
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