doomsday_disco

A frost-edged nave of stone, where stained glass glimmers with the light from prayer-lofted votives. Spirals of incense drift through the chill winter air, mingling with the solemn drip of beeswax from altar candles. Cedar pews gleam under centuries of prayer, and the air hums with hushed devotion.

48, Rue de Courcelles.
Eighteenth January 1847

My Dear Mrs. F.

I send you, on the other side, the tremendous document which will make you for ninety years (I hope) a beautiful Punchmaker in more senses as one. 

I shall be delighted to dine with you on Thursday. Mr Foster says amen. Commend me to your Lord, and believe me (with respectful compliments to Lord Chesterfield) always Mrs. F.                                            

Faithfully yours, Charles Dickens.

To make three pints of Punch

Peel into a very strong common basin (which may be broken, in case of accident, without damage to the owner’s peace or pocket) the rinds of three lemons, cut very thin, and with as little as possible of the white coating between the peel and the fruit, attached. Add a double-handfull of lump sugar (good measure), a pint of good old rum, and a large wine-glass full of brandy – if it not be a large claret glass, say two. Set this on fire, by filling a warm silver spoon with the spirit, lighting the contents at a wax taper, and pouring them gently in. Let it burn three or four minutes at least, stirring it from time to time. Then extinguish it by covering the flame. Then squeeze in the juice of the three lemons, and add a quart of boiling water. Stir the whole well, cover it up for five minutes, and stir again. 

At this crisis (having skimmed off the lemon pips with a spoon) you may taste. If not sweet enough, add sugar to your liking, but observe that it will be a little sweeter presently. Pour the whole into a jug, tie a leather or coarse cloth over the top, so as to exclude the air completely, and stand it in a hot oven ten minutes, or on a hot stove one quarter of an hour. Keep it until it comes to table in a warm place near the fire, but not too hot. If it be intended to stand three or four hours, take half the lemon-peel out, or it will acquire a bitter taste. 

The same punch allowed to cool by degrees, and then iced, is delicious. It requires less sugar when made for this purpose. If you wish to produce it bright, strain it into bottles through silk. 

These proportions and directions will, of course, apply to any quantity.

An ode to persistent typos and overconfident, profoundly incorrect autocorrect. Dedicated to Ali in gratitude for years upon years of undangling my participles.

Proceeds from the sale of this scent benefit Philadelphia’s Childrens Literacy Initiative who helps provide Black and Latino children with high-quality and culturally sustaining literary education.

7-year aged patchouli, candied dates, and dried red currant.

A molten heart of slow-cooked milk caramel swirled with vanilla bean and a faint whisper of toasted coconut.

Salty and smushed.

Take three pintes of Beere, put fiue yolkes of Egges to it, straine them together, and set it in a pewter pot to the fyre, and put to it halfe a pound of Sugar, one penniworth of Nutmegs beaten, one penniworth of Cloues beaten, and a halfepenniworth of Ginger beaten, and when it is all in, take another pewter pot and brewe them together, and set it to the fire againe, and when it is readie to boyle, take it from the fire, and put a dish of sweet butter into it, and brewe them together out of one pot into an other.
– The Good Huswifes Handmaide for the Kitchin, 1594

Rum-soaked butter cookies, crusted with sugar, soaked in almond and garnished with orange rind.

Tangy cream cheese folded through warm bakery dough, still puffed from the fryer, and thick, dark wild blackberry jam.

Caramel-soaked banana slices sizzling in butter and brown sugar, flamed with dark rum, and poured over warm vanilla ice cream.

The worst crime against man’s life was committed by the person who first put gold on his fingers, though it is not recorded who did this, for I deem the whole story of Prometheus mythical, although antiquity assigned to him also an iron ring, and intended this to be understood as a fetter, not an ornament. 

– Pliny the Elder

Molten amber, gilded tobacco flower, and Mysore sandalwood.

This one’s a holiday scent for all the Archive of Our Own regulars, proud teratophiliacs, and slashfic aficionados: those brave, unblushing souls who know exactly what tags they’re filtering for and aren’t afraid of a little (or a lot of) morally-ambiguous monster romance. A filthy-sweet gourmand gone feral: scorched caramel and dark cocoa nibs tangled with warm, skin-slick musk, a crack of black leather, a swirl of brandy, and the faint metallic scrape of chains dragged across a bedroom floor.

Snake Oil and Candied Pomegranate.

Red Amber and Pomegranate.

A snowy, chilled pomegranate slurry.

Pomegranate Popcorn.

Pomegranate Molasses.

Pomegranate Loukoumi and Champagne.

Pomegranate Candy Canes.

Pomegranate and Smoked Cacao.

Pomegranate and Scarlet Chypre.

Pomegranate and Red Rose.

And a drop of wildflower honey.

Pomegranate and Pistachio Cream.

Pomegranate and Cathedral Incense.

Pomegranate and Burning Leaves.