January 19: Hungry, Hunger, The Hungry

Anybody for sucking pig?

It was his own room.  There was no doubt about that.  But it had undergone a surprising transformation.  The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked a perfect grove, from every part of which, bright gleaming berries glistened.  The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, as that dull petrification of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's time, or Marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone.  Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam.  In easy state upon this couch, there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see; who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light on Scrooge, as he came peeping round the door.

This passage is one of my favorite in A Christmas Carol.  Of course, it describes the initial appearance of the Ghost of Christmas Present.  The catalogue of food and drink in this paragraph never fails to make me hungry, and I don't even like the taste of goose or minced meat pie.  It's just a gorgeous evocation of Victorian England's dinner table.  Of course, it also evokes a kind of plenty that simply did not exist for many people at the time (or any time, for that matter).  It's no coincidence that this scene in the book is quickly followed by the meager Christmas celebration at Bob Cratchit's home.  I think it was Dickens' not-so-subtle way to point out the disparity that existed (and still exists) between the social classes.

The reason I chose this passage is simple.  I'm hungry.  It's that time of year in the Upper Peninsula where I feel the need to add insulation to my body in order to combat the winter cold.  Translation:  I eat a lot of comfort/junk food and gain weight.  Even the most disgusting foods described by Dickens in this paragraph (joints of meat?  wreaths of sausage?  sucking pigs?) sound appetizing to me at the moment.  If I had been Scrooge in this scene, the Ghost would not have been the focus of my attention.  I would have been like Augustus Gloop in Wonka's chocolate room, lapping up the seething bowls of punch like a golden Labrador.

There is a certain amount of guilt at work here, as well.  One of Dickens' motivations for writing A Christmas Carol, aside from trying to make a good deal of money, was to shed some light on the plight of the poor and hungry.  In the face of all the bounty described in that paragraph comes the desperation of the Cratchit family dinner, where a tiny goose is a feast for an entire family.  Dickens knew what he was doing.

I know I'm really lucky.  I never go hungry.  I currently have Swiss Rolls to eat for a snack at night.  If I'm really ambitious, I could scramble up some eggs and cheese.  My family is lucky, as well.  We have a refrigerator that is generally well-stocked.  Comparatively speaking, I'm as rich as Scrooge compared to the Cratchits of the world.  And Bob Cratchit is probably better off than entire countries of other people.

I'm going to have an omelet for breakfast today.  I have white chocolate squirreled away at work, just in case I get a craving for something sweet.  I don't know what I'm going to do for lunch, but I know I will have a lunch.  Charles Dickens' little Christmas ghost story makes me realize even more that I really have nothing to complain about.

Now if Saint Marty could just lay his hands on some of that plum pudding, preferably with a chaser of seething punch.