Lupercalia: Strangers in Bloody Goatskins

Today I’ve spent doing the Witch Trail around Covent Garden. In addition to Neal’s Yard for herbs, Mysteries for magic rocks and Treadwell’s for esoteric literary treasures, I’ve visited the unmatchable Bou Tea. This is where I refresh on pots of Assam and slices of ginger cake for warmth inside and out. The Boy Next Door prefers the Bran Cake, but it’s our differences as much as our similarities that make us interesting, I suppose.

I’ve just bought Herbcraft: A Guide to the Shamanistic and Ritual Use of Herbs from the pagan beauties at Treadwell’s, and I’ve been reading it while sipping my golden tea. Bou Tea is not only run by lovely girls who refill your cup for free, but it’s simple and quiet, with fantastic crockery and they play Sufjan Stevens over the stereo (the pretty tunes from Illinois have me lulled into a beautifully melancholy mood as I write this). In this atmosphere, it’s been easy to doze off into the waking dream of reading a new book.

[Here is a sample of Bou Tea's fantastic crockery. Note the prowling tiger, whose feline energy the superstitious may assign to the carnelian bracelet I’ve been wearing around my wrist since the beginning of the Chinese New Year of the Tiger. More on carnelian later].

But today is the day of the Wolf, not the Tiger. February 15, is the anniversary of the ancient Roman festival of Lupercalia. Devoted to Lupercus, a god of shepherds who is often interchangeable with Faunus (the Latin equivalent of the horn-headed Greek god Pan) it’s the “Festival of the Wolf” - a whoo-yeah-winter’s-ending-let’s-get-busy kind of celebration associated with fertility.

In days of yore, two male goats and a dog used to be sacrificed in a cave in the Palatine hills where Romulus and Remus (founders of Rome) were originally suckled by the she-wolf, Lupa. On Lupercalia, priests would wear goatskins for the sacrifice, there was a bit of blood-smearing and everyone would have a good laugh before the sacrificial feast, which involved burning salt-cakes made by those party perennials, Vestal virgins.

It was actually after the feast that Lupercalia got really interesting: The officiating priests cut the skins from the sacrificed goats to dress themselves like Lupercus. Then they ran around the walls of the city, whipping people with thongs also made from the skins.

Then, Wikipedia tells me (and we all know Wikipedia never lies):

Girls and young women would line up on their route to receive lashes from these whips. This was supposed to ensure fertility, prevent sterility in women and ease the pains of childbirth.

Well, um, okay. I’m certainly up for a celebration of fertility - having had many friends who’ve put themselves through the ordeal of IVF I can certainly understand that getting whipped by the organs of sacrificed animals by strangers in bloody goatskin would come off favourably in comparison. This is my year of seasonal living, so if Lupercalia is on, Lupercalia I’m doing. Of course, I headed down to Sainsbury’s to find a strikingly negative quantity of goat, so I’ve been forced to improvise.

Dear Lupercus,
Happy Lupercalia! The Boy Next Door and I just wanted to check in to let you know we are honouring your coming-of-spring godliness with our own post-industrial take on the sacrificial feast. We couldn’t get goat, so we’ve baked a lamb roast. It’s full of rosemary and garlic and good cheer, and we’re serving it with red kidney beans, which we know are potent symbols of fertility and plenty in your culture. As the roast is just about to come out of the oven, we’ll raise a cup of red grape juice to you and wish you all the best.
Until next year!
Van Badham and the Boy Next Door.

Earthly Paradise in Covent Garden

Good morning, London! And aren't you absolutely freezing today? Now I remember why every British person I meet stares at me blankly whenever I mention I'm just back from Australia. But why? they ask. "Oh, you know," says Van "Boy Next Door, girls of the Chelsea Triad, Tate Modern, Royal Court, West End, Waterstone's, Eurostar..." And they look, and they tighten their scarves around their necks, and they shiver.
It's good to be home, but it needs to be said that I'm sitting at the computer wearing 6 layers of clothing, a dressing-gown and a blanket. Gladly, I am on such good terms with Fortune now that I have devoted myself to seasonal life that I am stocked up with enough tea to last until the end of the year.
And, did you know, that ginger tea actually warms you up from the inside?
My interest in all things herbal is now bordering on the obsessional. Since my last blog, I've consumed at least 8 more litres of mint tea, made my own hair conditioner, summoned a plum cordial, flavoured my moisturiser, bottled some massage oil and added a herbal stock to wild rice so delicious that I'm craving it as I write.
What has made this explosion of activity possible? Why, I made a little visit (in the chilling cold) to Neal's Yard in Covent Garden.
I mean, not only is there a vegetarian restaurant that does a take-away pizza-of-yum for £3.50... but there's a full-on, hands-down apothecary fantastique which sells, like, everything I could ever want, ever. Here is a picture of Neal's Yard.

So I ordered my pizza and wandered across the court into the apothecary and politely inquired if they had any orris root, so I could exploit a recipe in Titania's Love Potions for a bottle of hair-awesome.
My charming retail assistant, Julie - as fresh-faced and redhaired as only girls who work in apothecaries can be - looked at me with a polite smile. Of course they sell orris root.
"And... erm..." I thought hard for something I knew was difficult to get "... damiana?"
Another polite smile, plus a nod. "We're Neal's Yard," Julie said, "how much would you like?"
Orris root, herb fans, is the ground root of the iris flower. It smells like heaven and is used as a base note in lots of perfumes. You can eat it and it's often an ingredient in gin. Blended with various other goodies, it makes a fabulous body powder, and in folklore it's a common ingredient of love potions and spell-breaking powders. Damiana is a naughtier treat - it's a Mexican herb that's renowned for its, ahem, stimulation of the reproductive system as well as having a reputation for encouraging lucid dreaming if you make it as a tea. It is perfectly legal, of course - and often used as a flavouring in South American liqueurs and in triple sec. Of course, given its folkloric association with the male libido, it is another popular ingredient in passion elixirs (our Titania is most fond). Some people smoke it - but, of course, some people will smoke anything.
I walked out of Neal's Yard not only with packets of orris root and damiana (I couldn't help myself), but lavender buds, and cumin seeds, dried rosebuds and lemon verbena leaves. I also picked up a swag of essential oils: orange, cinnamon and geranium (for massage oil), peppermint and mandarin (for moisturiser). Turning the corner to Pages in Shaftesbury Avenue to buy all the jars and funnels I could ever need, I've since been mixing and blending up a storm.
And do these things work? Certainly, I met the Chelsea Triad last night for our regular girl-gang tea-party and was emphatically told that my hair - newly sprayed with awesome - looked shiny and pretty. The Boy Next Door has developed a real liking for plum-and-damiana cordial - oh, my!
To stir you in to soft dreams, you may wish to try the following: Ras el hanout is the name for any mixture of Arabic spices thought by the seller to be "the best in the shop"... and some of the mixtures are deliciously romantic.

• Ras el hanout Romance Juice (with thanks to Titania for guidance): Pour 500mls of red grape juice into a saucepan and heat gently. While the grape juice heats, get a dry frypan. In it, mix some saffron threads, 1/2 tsp of cumin seeds, a couple of pinches of ground ginger and 2 tbs of dried rosebuds. Heat this mixture on the hob, but only for a few seconds (it can burn very quickly, be vigilant). Turn off all the hobs, drop the herb mixture into the red grape juice and stir until the juice is at a pleasant temperature. Strain into a jug, drink from red wine glasses. Garnish with rosepetals, if some are available.

Sweet dreams...