The Supper of the Lamb: A Culinary Reflection

Take one author, combine a priestly vocation with a culinary avocation, simmer for a couple of decades, and you’ll end up with The Supper of the Lamb. This book is a deeply theological reflection on food, its preparation, and fellowship around the table. The title, borrowed from Revelation 19, hints at the eschatological momentum of the text, as the loving preparation of each meal leads us ever closer to the ultimate feast – the heavenly marriage supper of the Lamb.

And there are recipes.

I picked up this book ignorantly expecting a theological discussion of the Eucharist, only to find I'll never look at an onion the same way, and I'm re-inspired to try my hand again at baking croissants. Capon writes in a slow, meandering, whimsical style; perhaps reminiscent of Chesterton, and certainly lending itself to savouring.

"Cookbook" is too mean a classification; although I'll refer to it time and again for the recipes, I realized this book is more a celebration of simple, material things, giving hope and anticipation for the great feast that awaits us in the life to come. In mindfulness of the goodness of even the smallest and most insignificant of God's gifts (mushrooms!), we become aware of C. S. Lewis's 'sehnsucht' - that show more 'inconsolable longing' of being made in God's image yet waiting to be finally realized into the fullness of what he's created us to be. show less

I’m not a cook, and I don’t enjoy it when I have to do it. I’m more willing to go without a meal than spend time on cooking one. So I have no business reading a book about cooking. But since this book is about more than that, I figure I haven’t broken any laws by reading it.
Since I’m usually such a stickler for reading every word (or it doesn’t count), I must admit I did not read the 70 or so pages of recipes at the end of the book. If I were a cook, I would buy it for the recipes, because this guy sure knows what he’s doing.
This collection of essays that all tie into a recipe called Lamb for Eight Persons Four Times was written by an Episcopalian priest in the late sixties. So besides getting his thoughts on food and show more the way we approach cooking, eating, and life in general, I felt like I got a peek into a different culture from a different time.
His essays were thoughtful, well-written, and often quite funny. There were two parts that made me laugh the most: when he cursed margarine to outer darkness in one chapter, and in the last chapter “The Heart that Burns,” where he sang the praises of baking soda as a heartburn remedy to the extent that he presented an imaginary reward to it.
This is one I wish I’d been reading on my kindle so I could highlight all the goodness.
Highly recommended, whether or not you love cooking. show less

This is a book that I needed to read this season. It teaches sacred and full attention to the facts of creation.

"Man's real work is to look at the things of the world and to love them for what they are. That is, after all, what God does, and man was not made in God's image for nothing."

It is almost certain that this is the only book of theology that has an entire chapter on bread which does not mention the Eucharist. The chapter is about the radical simplicity, complexity, and universality of bread, especially in combination with two other beauties of creation, butter and cheese. It is about humans (you) getting your hands covered in God's creation while you knead it into an unexpected delight, bread.

Father Capon probably uses "you" on show more every page. I'm a lector in our church, and when I read Paul, I always find where he says "you", because he really means you, personally. Not some generic "you", but you yourself, now. Who might benefit from kneading some bread. show less

What a delightful read, mingling cooking and theology in a most satisfying way! A quote from chapter 4 to whet your appetite: “Man invented cooking before he thought of nutrition. To be sure, food keeps us alive, but that is only its smallest and most temporary work. Its eternal purpose is to furnish our sensibilities against the day when we shall sit down at the heavenly banquet and see how gracious the Lord is. Nourishment is necessary only for a while; what we shall need forever is taste.”

I like this guy. My problem is that I think this is the sort of cookery book I'd write. He's a windbag, like me. He's always aware of just how clever he is, like me. He reminds me in his writing of all the things I dislike about my writing. Having said that, he's a pretty good writer in spite of my qualms.

"To anyone who presumes to lecture you on housewifery as an abject capitulation to the feminine mystique. Simply let him see you presiding over your kitchen with steel in one hand and butcher knife in the other. Execute six well-drawn strokes, and his words will turn to ashes in his mouth." — Capon

Some of the recipes hold up, notwithstanding a certain theological casuistry which dissolves the lamb (shank) into a parade of symbols justifying its own consumption (this is the other kind of Tin Violin-ing). The Compleat Angler remains the novel model for "the [gentleman] who considers everything more important than [eating] and yet has discovered very few better things to do." (Frye)

Though it is remarkable how the misogyny of the show more contemporary american neonazi is not incomparable to that of the mid-century deipnosophist writing for a general audience. (This is due to a characteristic lack of imagination.) show less