Tag Archives: Poets

Counting Down to Our Burns Night Supper, Part Two: The Toast

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A great advantage of throwing an annual themed party is that you have the opportunity to tweak some of the components, adjusting for both so-so elements and after-the-fact brilliant ideas. Knowing that you have a do-over approximately 365 days in the future eliminates any post-party regret. Probably the biggest addition to our 2013 Burns Night Supper is the Toasting Contest. The Chef came up with the idea; he’s a smarty, that one.

All toasts must be original compositions. A bottle of Scotch goes to the winner. Am I puckish in hoping for a bunch of tipsy, off-the-cuff entries? Alcohol often breeds strange, unexpected eloquence in tongue-tied speakers, so it is a possibility. That’s entertainment, folks! Does it sound like I plan on plying my guests with drinks in order to promote a more interesting Toasting Contest? That is not my intention. No, not at all. Nothing to see here.

The Chef has prepared a back-up toast, in case no one else enters the contest. That would be awful, and would mortally wound our sensitive feelings. At least we’ll have a bottle of Scotch in which to drown our sorrows. We hope that this newest delight pleases our guests. If not, there’s always next year.

The Chef's Toast-in-Progress

The Chef’s Toast-in-Progress. Instagram.

 

Counting Down to Our Burns Night Supper, Part One: The Poetry

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A poetry-filled party might not sound like a lot of fun to some people, but it is the heart of any good Burns Night Supper. Without love for the famous Scottish poet, there would be no laughter and whisky-fueled merriment. It would be just another run-of-the-mill party with bland finger food and men in pants. Who wants that, when this lovely alternative is at hand? Any takers? Nah. That’s exactly what I thought. The Chef, in addition to being highly skilled at his craft, is a charming, idiosyncratic speaker. He can rock the shit out of any poet’s words, from Emily Dickinson to Allen Ginsberg. (Don’t even get me started on his ability to declaim Shakespearean monologues from memory.) In other words, even though I am a stage trained thespian and real-life professional writer, I leave the Burns Night performance-poetry up to him. If you’re wondering at this point exactly what my contribution to the evening is, other than being stunning eye candy, I won’t blame you. The Chef, he cooks. He recites poetry. What, then, does Maedez do? For starters, I help select the Robbie Burns passages that will be incorporated into the festivities. If you’re keeping score, that’s one check on my side of the ledger. Continue reading →

Pleasures Are Like Poppies Spread*: Counting Down to Our Burns Night Supper

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This year, Burns Day/Night falls on a Friday. Every 25th January, The Chef and I host a big, crazy, slightly debauched, energetic, delicious Burns Supper. We live to entertain but are often impeded by our schedules, so when we throw down we do it in a big way. This event is the star of our calendar, and friends old and new come from near and far to enjoy the night with us. Who doesn’t enjoy a literary-themed shindig, one bursting with amazing food, Scotch, poetry, a toasting contest, music, laughter, conversation, spiffy ladies, and gents in kilts?

Since this party is book-related, I thought I would share with you some of the preparations that go into celebrating one of my favourite nights of the year, as well as the result. Does that sound like fun, or a great bore? I’m doing it either way, so I hope you will take a chance and join me on this raucous ride!

* “But pleasures are like poppies spread,/You seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed;/Or like the snow falls in the river,/A moment white-then melts forever;”-Robert Burns, Tam o’ Shanter

The man who inspires one helluva celebration.

The man who inspires one helluva celebration.

The Dead Writers Round-Up: 26th-30th December

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  • Henry Miller was born on 12/26/1891. “Back of every creation, supporting it like an arch, is faith. Enthusiasm is nothing: it comes and goes. But if one believes, then miracles occur.” (Tropic of Cancer; Black Spring; Tropic of Capricorn)
  • Charles Lamb died on 12/27/1834. “Anything awful makes me laugh. I misbehaved once at a funeral.” (Tales from Shakespeare; Essays of Elia)
  • Theodore Dreiser died on 12/28/1945. “In order to have wisdom we must have ignorance.” (Sister Carrie; An American Tragedy)
  • Christina Rossetti died on 12/29/1894. “Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth.” (Goblin Market; In the Bleak Midwinter) Continue reading →