Chatham Artillery Punch
The Chatham Artillery is the oldest military organization in Georgia. Regimental functions were always a hit when this rather stout punch was served.
2 cups sweet red wine
2 cups strong tea
2/3 cup rum
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup rye whiskey
1/2 cup orange juice
1/3 cup gin
1/3 cup brandy
1/3 cup lemon juice
1 bottle dry champagne
Mix all ingredients except champagne. Cover and Refrigerate for several days. Stir in champagne just before serving. Makes 20 servings.
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.
