From Bisschopswijn to Christmas Eve pink Champagne, Stuart Walton imbibes the history of celebratory Advent drinks.
Although the season of Advent, which extends over three-quarters of December, was traditionally a time of penitence for the adept in Christian history, it was not entirely bereft of moments to celebrate. The feast day of St-Nicholas falls in the first week and, in the northern European countries, has always been observed with merry abandon. Nothing succeeds in sweeping the spirits into a ferment at a moment of festivity then preparing for it the night before. Sinterklaas gets going in earnest on the night of the 5th, when presents are exchanged, children are pelted with sweets at the street parades, and hot wine is taken.
Bisschopswijn is the Dutch version of German glühwein, a red wine punch flavoured with orange and lemon slices, sweetened with sugar and/or honey, and aromatized with the standby winter spices of cinnamon and cloves, perhaps star-anise. It passed into English usage as Bishop (the bowl of Smoking Bishop that the reformed Mr Scrooge promises Bob Cratchit on Christmas morning), although English tradition was already well-equipped with recipes for such warming festive potions. Their spice range was often more extensive—encompassing nutmeg, mace, allspice and ginger as well – and the red wine was boosted with port. We have had occasion to deplore mulled wine in this space before, so we may be forgiven for passing swiftly on.
Advent on the house
Arriving one December 5 in Brussels with my sweetheart, we found ourselves invited to take an underground train from the airport for free, a militant tactic of striking transport workers. At a restaurant that evening, we were given mugs of Belgian Leffe on the house, after which a young man in Sinterklaas getup burst in and strewed the tables with chocolates. It looked set fair to be a visit in which we would not be troubled to pay for anything.
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The festival of Santa Lucia, celebrated on December 13, commemorates St Lucy of Syracuse, a Christian maiden martyred under Emperor Diocletian in AD 304. Her offence was bringing food and water to Christians hiding in the catacombs of Rome, and she was traditionally depicted as wearing her candlelight torch on her head because her arms were full of provisions. In the Nordic countries, her festival is observed by young girls in crowns of light going from house to house bringing little gifts for the kids. For this, they are rewarded with sustaining snacks and hot drinks, sometimes coffee, sometimes a nip of hot spiced glögg.
If glögg seems a little reckless to administer to small girls doing house calls, no Santa Lucia bash is complete without it. The wine in it is turbo-charged with rum and whisky, and there are raisins and almonds in it, true winter provender, as well as a host of Eastern spices, including star-anise and cardamom.
Further south, in the Italian regions, Santa Lucia traveled in a donkey-drawn cart, or on the animal’s back, with a coachman called Castaldo. If she called at your house, the correct protocol was to offer her coffee, feed the donkey with a carrot, and serve a glass of (gloriously unmulled) wine to Castaldo. It is important that the children not look at the saint, in recognition of the story that the Romans threatened to put her eyes out if she continued to defy anti-Christian ordinance. They are, on the other hand, at liberty to write her letters outlining what they would like for Christmas.
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It was St-Nicholas of Myra, a white-bearded old cleric in a red robe, who would eventually provide the model for the figure of Santa Claus, despite the contemporary myth that he was an invention of the marketing department at the Coca-Cola corporation. There are obvious continuities among the traditions of Sinterklaas, Santa Lucia, and Christmas Eve, down to the offer of a warming glass of wine—doctored with additives or not—to whoever is bestowing the presents.
In the England of my boyhood, it was the done thing to leave a glass of Sherry out on Christmas Eve, the last day in Advent, as a gratuity for Father Christmas on his one busy night in the year. Wine is the proper reward for those who generously bring happiness to others. The tendrils of warmth that it spreads through the body are the physical manifestation of joy at being alive, being together, having carried each other through another year, fortifying the senses at the turning world’s darkest hour. And there is nothing to stop the ancient traditions being supplemented with newly invented ones. On Christmas Eve now, we welcome the season in by drinking rose-tinted Champagne. With nothing in it.
