Chatham Artillery Punch Redux

Colonial Ball Dance

While researching the history of Chatham Artillery Punch, I came across this hilarious blog post by someone named Velociman. I hope you enjoy his description of the awesome power of the Punch as much as I did!

Chatham Artillery Punch

How was my brother’s wedding? Stupor duper. The reception was well-lubricated by an ample supply of Chatham Artillery Punch. So much so that I booty-danced with Puddyhead whilst we both wore bird masquerade masks. More on that another day.

Yes, my brother was wise enough to whip up a couple of gallons of my mother’s signature Artillery Punch recipe. This stuff tastes like Kool-Ade, and humbles mere moonshine in neuron destruction.

The history: in colonial days the Chatham Artillery would have balls, as people with fancy uniforms are wont to do. The women would serve up punch, and the men would surreptitiously tipple their flasks into the punchbowl; hence the variegated nature of the Punch. Six liquors, wine, fruit, especial ingredients. Steeped for six weeks minimum, and served with champagne, freshly added.

My mother had an old recipe which she had tweaked a bit. Being a quite modest drinker, she had no reason to question the potency of the concoction. So every year at her Christmas party she would serve up the Punch. Her social circle basically consisted of Episcopalian movers and shakers, and it was always a pleasure to watch the old hens and jurists attempt to maneuver their stoles and suitcoats and land yachts as they struggled to figure out what mule had kicked them in the head.

From a tort point of view it was dangerous stuff, but we certainly enjoyed it. I personally nearly broke my neck performing an unintended almost one and a half gainer off my mother’s deck after 3 cups of the poison. I have seen single women kiss my priest in front of his wife, old men stick their tongues down The Bride’s throat, insane grab-ass on an unparallelled scale (often by me) at my mother’s parties after this Punch was deployed. All with great Anglican harumphing. My poor mother knew not what she wrought.

And so I was pleased, and infused with great nostalgia, when my brother went out of his way to produce the prime brew for his own wedding. From the original recipe. What a bro. He pleases me. My younger brother was pleased as well. He loves to watch me drink this stuff. Lookee: I ended up in an all-black daquiri bar at 1:30am with my niece and nephew after the reception, trying to purchase a Denny’s Slam. Grist for the mill.

And so: I will mix the greatest batch of Chatham Artillery Punch ever for the Spring Blogfest. Let us compare the effect to good old corn liquor. I am a prescient person. I predict a bit of mayhem. And I’ll be the guy dressed as an Anglican priest.

8 thoughts on “Chatham Artillery Punch Redux

  1. flyfishbrat says:

    I couldn’t stop laughing while trying to share this with Mark. I enjoyed it thoroughly. Love the post.

  2. putneyfarm says:

    I love the “harumph”. But we do make this punch…and the stories are eerily familiar. Yet everyone asks us to make it again, every year…somehow cathartic…go figure…;-)

  3. Reblogged this on Romancing the Bee and commented:

    This is one of my favorite posts! It never fails to make me cry with laughter!!

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