Mr Headstone’s friends and acquaintances are in agreement
that of all the pedagogue’s manifold talents, it is in the concoction of
alcoholic beverages that his true genius lies; and when it comes to the mixing
of punch he is the Nonpareil. Hence, it is his custom at this season to prepare
a large bowl of Smoking Bishop for the delight and degustation of the guests of
the Fezziwigs, whose annual Christmas ball is as essential a part of the
celebration of the holiday as roast goose and mistletoe.
Accordingly, Mr Headstone has laid out before him all the
necessary ingredients, viz: a dozen
bitter oranges, half a pound of loaf-sugar, three bottles of claret, and a
handful of cloves. He places the oranges upon the hearth to roast before the
fire, and as he waits for them to brown, he uncorks a bottle of claret and takes
a sip, on the principle that all good cooks should taste their wares before
serving them to the public. His palate satisfied, he pours out another measure
and holds the glass to the light, a method by which vintners are known to judge
the qualities of colour and body. The firelight illuminates the deep rich
purple hues to Mr Headstone’s satisfaction even as he tilts back the glass and
puts it to his lips. With cautious fingers he turns the oranges upon the hearth
and when they are burnished to a pale gold, he lays them in a tureen, pricks
them with cloves as though they were pin cushions, pours in a bottle of claret
and sprinkles the whole with loaf-sugar. He places a cover on the tureen, stands
it close to the dying embers of the fire, and retires to bed.
On the morrow when he removes the cover, a rich aroma
springs out from the bowl like a genie from its lamp. Mr Headstone busies
himself with pressing the juice from the fruit with a spoon, which he accomplishes
with no small degree of difficulty and at no small risk of ocular injury to
himself. Armed with several culinary implements – to wit, a sieve, a saucepan and
a trivet – the pedagogue completes the operation with no greater mishaps than a
burnt thumb and a slight scalding of his left foot. At last the work is done
and Mr Headstone ladles a generous portion of the steaming punch into a cup,
and drinks to his own continued health.
