I probably won’t make them today, owing to some leftover dreaded lurgy from a bout of something approaching pneumonia, but they, and a number of other family Easter traditions are in my thoughts. From Ricochet, four Good Fridays’ ago now:
Hot Cross Buns!
A Good Friday tradition I don’t always adhere to but which, for many reasons, this year I thought I should. Blessings and a joyous Easter season to all Christians, a Happy Passover holiday to all of the Jewish faith [2024 note: Passover this year occurs a few weeks after Easter], and best wishes for the happiness, safety, and health of absolutely everyone.
Legend has it that the first hot cross buns were baked in England by a monk of the 12th (or perhaps the 14th–you pick it) century and that he distributed them to the poor on Good Friday. There are other traditions associated with them: Hanging one in the kitchen is supposed to repel evil spirits, and the bun is supposed to stay fresh for an entire year (unlike the Burger King Whopper in that weird and rather revolting ad). As the years passed, hot cross buns became a popular staple of English bakeries, until Queen Elizabeth I decreed that they were sacred, and could be sold only on Good Friday and at Christmas. Unsurprisingly, this led to the baking of hot cross buns in the family kitchen, and another tradition was born.
No one really knows how old the nursery rhyme is, but it’s a variant of the street-seller’s cry:
Hot cross buns!
Hot cross buns!
One a penny, two a penny,
Hot cross buns!If you have no daughters,
give them to your sons.
One a penny, two a penny,
Hot cross buns!
Wikipedia reports that it is mentioned in Poor Robin’s Almanac from 1733, as follows:
Good Friday comes this month, the old woman runs,
With one or two a penny hot cross buns.
But the earliest recognizable version comes from the London Chronicle in 1767:
One a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns;
If you’ve no daughters, give them to your sons;
And if you’ve no kind of pretty little elves,
Why then good faith, e’en eat them all yourselves.
As far as I know, no-one has tackled the thorny question of why girls were, apparently, given first dibs on the lovely things. But I can testify to the truth of the last sentence in the Wikipedia article, which mentions the fact that the tune of “Hot Cross Buns” was often one of the first exercises taught to young children in the UK learning an instrument. I learned it, along with “Three Blind Mice,” from my grandpa, an accomplished pianist, when I was about three.
I tried a different recipe this year: You can find it here. The buns are more heavily spiced (cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice), and more fruity (cranberries and currants) than my usual effort, but they are delicious. The hint of orange in the icing is nice too, although I should have made it a bit thicker, as some of the crosses are quite messy. Doesn’t affect the taste though.
Happy eating, all. If you’d like to share a recipe or photo of your special feast here over the next few days, please do.
I have my own little Easter show going on in the house for 2024. Please meet Boo. The smaller of a pair of twins. His bigger brother didn’t make it, and his mother wanted nothing to do with him:
Here he is with a couple of his friends who are so pleased to have a Spring project:
Reminds me of a favorite childhood poem. Not strictly a Good Friday poem. But thematically similar enough that I’ll include it here:
Little Lamb who made thee
Dost thou know who made thee
Gave thee life & bid thee feed.
By the stream & o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing wooly bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice!
Little Lamb who made thee
Dost thou know who made theeLittle Lamb I’ll tell thee,
Little Lamb I’ll tell thee!
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb:
He is meek & he is mild,
He became a little child:
I a child & thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.
Little Lamb God bless thee
Little Lamb God bless thee–William Blake
God bless the innocents, two and four-legged, everywhere. If we can’t, or don’t, take care of them, wherever and whenever they present themselves, then what exactly is the point of our human privilege?
