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If you’ve ever been on holiday at the British seaside or spent time in London’s Covent Garden, you may have noticed sings advertising a little puppet show called "Punch and Judy". Performances take place on a tiny stage replete with garish primary colors and lo fi technology (i.e., hands up inside of puppets). You may have walked right past and written it off as quaint children’s entertainment that harkens back to a bygone era before Fortnite and World of Warcraft sucked up all of your children’s time. If so, you sadly missed learning about Mr. Punch, a truly unique character in the Western canon. Just about the size of a small cat, Mr. Punch’s madcap, violent spirit makes him a veritable giant, especially if he perceives you to be an enemy. If you annoy him or try to restrict his freedom, even a wee bit, he’s gonna getcha, even if you are the Devil himself.  The garish Mr. Punch. We learned about the true nature of Punch from an unlikey source, a narrative nonfiction book authored by a rock star by the name of Mark Manning (aka Zodiac Mindwarp of Zodiac Mindwarp and the Love Reaction). As Mr. Mindwarp suggested in his book The Wild Highway, Punch may be unique for not only beating the Devil but, in some interpretations, beating him to death with a stick. This is a feat of pure chaotic audacity not found in any Western literature we are aware of. Before getting into this further, though, let’s get into a bit of the Punch and Judy history. Punch and Judy shows are rooted in 16th-century Italian commedia dell’arte. Mr. Punch emerged from a character called Pulcinella, who was a hook-nosed and irreverent trickster. At the time, he was an Italian marionette, but left the land of opera and pasta to become transmogrified into an English glove-puppet antihero by the 18th century. He even got a signature sound through use of a “swazzle”, which is a small, reed-like device that fits inside the puppeteer’s mouth and gives Mr. Punch a high-pitched, nasally voice totally different from all the other characters. The performers of Punch and Judy shows, called Professors, zealously guard the secrets of their homemade swazzles. One of us had to chutzpah to ask two separate Professors, “Hey, can I see your swazzle?” (which admittedly sounds like a pickup line), but was rebuffed both times.  "Punch, Judy and their Child", illustration from Punch and Judy, from 1828. The first printed Punch and Judy script was published in 1828 and was written by the forger John Payne Collier and illustrated by British caricaturist George Cruikshank. (This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published (or registered with the U.S. Copyright Office) before January 1, 1930. Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Punch_and_Judy_-_Punch,_Judy,_and_their_Child.png) So, what actually happens during a P&J show? We’re legitimately torn, here, as we don’t want to rob first-time viewers of the shocking elements of the plot, so skip the next paragraph if you want to have a true unexpected Punch and Judy experience. It’s not quite The Brothers Karamazov in terms of narrative complexity, though. The plot begins with Punch chatting and arguing with his wife Judy. She then leaves him alone with the baby. When the baby starts crying, he tosses the baby over the side of the stage, eliciting gasps of horror and shock from the child audience. Clearly, Mr. Punch is not being a very nice person. A Policeman then enters to arrest Punch for his antics, only to be outwitted and battered, reinforcing Punch’s defiance of authority figures. After dispatching the cop, he utters his famous catchphrase “That’s the way to do it!”. Oh, but it doesn’t stop there. Other strange characters, like a Crocodile or Joey the Clown, appear for very strange (psychotic?) reasons and also engage with Mr. Punch, escalating the mayhem, with Punch dispatching them each in turn all in his manic, violent fashion. Interestingly, the formerly shocked cadre of children are now totally engaged, often shouting “that’s the way to do it!” as the mania intensifies. The show then reaches its turbulent climax. No less a figure than the Devil appears to Mr. Punch. Think about it… is there a more difficult adversary? What is Mr. Punch to do? Well, after the Devil challenges him, Mr. Punch does what has always worked in the past and comically beats him with his slapstick. He then triumphantly crows over his diabolical victory, uttering his famous, swazzle-tinged line once again. But, as you all know, times change. The characters have changed over time, with the Alligator being a relatively recent addition. The show’s level of violence has shifted as well. Early performances, aimed at adults, featured Punch’s frenetic beatings with a slapstick, possibly reflecting societal frustrations at authority figures and oppressive mores. Or maybe people just like violent entertainment… Victorian versions became more cartoonish, appealing to families and still maintaining its “hard edge”. Contemporary shows are pretty varied, but usually far more “politically correct”, with much less violence, a more assertive Judy, and Punch’s beatings sometimes replaced with clever verbal sparring (yawn). However, if you search hard enough, you can still find more traditional professors who would be loathe to soften Punch’s hard edge, in effect arguing that this is part of Punch’s mischievous, dangerous, trixter spirit. Mr. Punch hasn’t been fully cancelled yet.  Some Punch and Judy bookends.
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 Our favorite Absintherie in Prague, Czechia. Not only do they have a huge selection of absinthes (Swiss, French, and Czech), but also serve absinthe ice cream in the summer. Growing up in rural America in the 90s, it wasn’t terribly easy to be punk or industrial, at least in terms of fashion. Sure, you could probably find a Hot Topic if you needed a new pair of shiny black vinyl pants, but this might require a long drive to a mall in whatever was the nearest bastion of shopping civilization. Even worse, you would probably have to interact with whatever angsty and ironically elitist goth girls were running the register. Yes, we know you’re amazingly deep and dark, and above all the other rabble, and we certainly didn’t notice the Aunty Anne’s Pretzel store right outside. No one would ever laugh at you behind your back as you haughtily walked by with the cloying scent of butter and cinnamon clinging to every single bit of your black lacey clothes. Not that we’re bitter… Then there was the question of booze. In 1997, when Nine Inch Nails’ video The Perfect Drug came out, everyone I knew wanted to drink absinthe like that cool Trent Reznor. It almost seemed like a sexy sacrament, with a need for ritual, special gear (those fun slotted spoons), and patience. If you followed the boozy rites, you were rewarded with a bit of magic as that clear green liquid transformed into cloudy off-white. There was only one problem… absinthe was illegal. What was a poor degenerate to do? Sadly, it would continue to be illegal for many years. in the US, poor goths and poets would have to wait until 2007. But how did it become banned, you wonder? Well, it’s quite a strange tale of murder, mayhem, and sneaky wine sellers.  A quaint little side street in Commugny. This sordid tale begins in Commugny, Switzerland way back in 1905, and a stone’s throw from the birthplace of absinthe. Now, Absinthe isn’t just any other drink – it’s also known as "the Green Fairy", a glowing, anise-flavored spirit distilled with wormwood, packing a punch at 60-70% alcohol and rumored to make you see visions or lose your mind. The Swiss and French were currently chugging it like Perrier, with distilleries like Pernod Fils pumping out 36 million liters a year at peak production. It was the drink of poets, painters, and degenerates alike, with bohemians like Van Gogh and Toulouse-Lautrec swearing by its mind-bending side effects. But not everyone was showing love to the Fairy. The temperance movement - yes, those joy-killing puritans - had been claiming that absinthe caused “absinthism,” a syndrome of addiction, hallucinations, and violent lunacy. Dr. Valentin Magnan, a well-known French physician, even said it could have hereditary side effects, leading your children to become alcoholics if you drank too much absinthe. The air was thick with flammable, anise-scented vapors, and Jean Lanfray, a French laborer, was about to light a match.  Some of our absinthes. The one on the left is a black Polish absinthe. The middle two are Czech-style absinthes, one with and without anise. The last is a Swiss absinthe. and probably close in style Lanfray was drinking. August 28, 1905, started like any other day for Jean Lanfray, a 32-year-old French peasant living with his pregnant wife, two daughters (Rose, 4, and Blanche, 2), and parents in a rickety old farmhouse. He was no stranger to drinking, and would often down more than six bottles of wine a day. However, on this particular Monday, he took things a bit further than usual. Here’s what the court records say that he downed. It’s a quantity of alcohol that would give Hunter S. Thompson a headache: - Seven glasses of wine to start off the day - Six glasses of cognac - One coffee laced with brandy - Two crème de menthes - Two glasses of absinthe - Another coffee with brandy - A liter of wine when he got home.  Our favorite absinthe bar of all time in Antibes France. There's a museum of absinthe there, too. Our best guess is that this was the equivalent of 24 shots of tequila, a staggering, brain-seizing amount of booze. Needless to say, Lanfray was a walking distillery by late afternoon, stumbling back to the farmhouse. He then got into a screaming match with his wife over her not polishing his shoes. Though his drinking habits would seem to imply that he wasn't the most responsible man, he seems to have found tidiness important, at least at this moment. Unfortunately for all parties involved, things escalated quickly. In a rage, Lanfray grabbed his Vetterli rifle, shot his wife point-blank in the head. He then turned on his daughters. Four-year-old Rose ran in, he shot her, and she died on the floor. Two-year-old Blanche was next and soon perished as well. Then, Lanfray shot himself in the jaw, somehow survived, and dragged Blanche’s body to the garden before collapsing. Needless to say, the village of Commugny was in shock, and the headlines screamed “The Absinthe Murders” before the bodies were even cold. Lanfray’s defense team didn’t waste time pointing fingers at the Green Fairy instead of the homicidal drunk. They argued those two ounces of absinthe turned him into a raving psycho, absolving him of responsibility. Dr. Albert Mahaim, a Swiss shrink and prof at the University of Geneva, lent his expertise to the case, testifying that Lanfray’s rampage was a textbook case of the Green Fairy’s evil spell. The press uncritically ate this sordid take up, painting absinthe as a liquid demon that could make any saintly man slaughter his own kin. But prosecutor Alfred Obrist didn’t buy it. He wisely pointed out that Lanfray had downed enough booze to kill a horse, with absinthe being but a small portion. He saw Lanfray as a ticking time bomb, whether or not he smelled of anise. As you might imagine, the subsequent trial was a circus. Politics, strong feelings, and sensational testimony were all found in the courtroom. However, Lanfray was found guilty and sentenced to 30 years in prison. He hanged himself in his cell three days later. Thus ended the tale of the Absinthe Murders of Commugny. Absinthe's ordeal, though, was just beginning. The Swiss banned it by 1910. The US (1912) and France (1915) soon followed suit. A bit of conspiracy was involved too, with the wine trade lobbying and presenting anti-absinthe propaganda to help get rid of its green (and cheaper to produce) competition. We can't help but wonder if the wine illuminati were involved...  A lovely vineyard in Commungny.  Quick break from absinthe murder at the cave de la charrue. Today, Commugny ramains a quaint little town about 270 kilometers from Zurich’s main airport. In it you’ll find tasteful houses, vineyards, and some nice views. We visited on a weekend and the streets were fairly empty and quiet. Despite our best research efforts, we were unable to locate the scene of the crime. Believe us, we tried, but records back then were not the best. We couldn’t even find sketches of Lanfray or his family, let alone photos. Most local shops were closed that day, but we were able to taste some excellent local wines at Le Cave de la Charrue (The Cellar of the Plow). The host was very knowledgeable and kind, and even gave us a free glass of Gamay as we all chatted with an expat American grandmother and her granddaughter. Shortly thereafter, we left to go to our next destination, only a tiny bit disappointed by one strange fact. Maybe it was because we visited on a weekend, or maybe it was a thoughtful decision by the current townsfolk, but we couldn’t find a drop of absinthe anywhere. Commugny:https://www.lacote-tourisme.ch/en/P6137/cave-de-la-charrue-commugny  Artemisia absinthium (common wormwood), the plant that gives absinthe its special properties and pleasant bitterness.  End of the season sweet woodruff. The Plant That’s Been Charming Drunks and Undertakers Since Medieval times... There’s a fun woodland weed that you might want to know about. It's an unassuming little plant, with dainty white flowers and whorled leaves. However, it has been sneaking its way into drinks, pagan rituals, and your strange aunt’s potpourri for centuries, maybe even thousands of years. So, let’s unpack some of the sweet and sinister history of sweet woodruff (galium odoratum). A History Drenched in Death and Decay? Remember the good old Middle Ages? Life in Europe was an unpleasant parade of plagues, wars executions, rampant werewolfery (see a previous blog on a more recent case of wolfy mayhem) and no indoor plumbing. Growing all over the shadowy forests of Europe, this herb was the medieval undertaker’s best friend. It's interesting, vanilla hay-like scent—think ice cream that had been kissed by a recently fed guinea pig—made it perfect for stuffing into coffins or strewing over plague-ridden floors to mask the putrid stench of our ultimate mortality. It’s possible that it may have even been used to ward off those pesky evil spirits that seemed to be everywhere at the time, or at least help make them smell a bit less grave-y.  Berlinner Weisse beer with (very artificially green) woodruff syrup in Berlin. By the Renaissance, woodruff was common in apothecary shops and brewed into teas to cure insomnia and melancholia or to more generally, “rebalance the humours”. Before you run outside and eat a bushel to help get over whatever disorder you’ve decided that you now suffer from because of tiktok videos, though, keep in mind that large quantities of coumarin (i.e., the most interesting and tasty part of the plant) could really mess with your liver. Moderation is the name of the game with this wee plant beastie. Fast forward to the 19th century, and this herb was slinking into aristocratic punch bowls, it’s probably most famous in May wine (Maibowle in German), Germany’s famous springtime punch consists of steeping sweet woodruff in white wine with strawberries. Woodruff’s strange, but pleasant flavor is the epitome of the transition from Spring to Summer.  A commercially-produced woodruff liqueur. Sweet woodruff (aka waldmeister) is prized in German beer as well. It’s very popular to add waldmeister syrup (see recipe below) to Berliner Weisse beer. The latter is a low-horsepower wheat beer primarily associated with Berlin, known for its crisp, effervescence and pleasant sourness. Waldmeister syrup, with its soft flavor, perfectly balances out its tartness. However, be warned that artificial green colors are often added for dramatic effect. Craft distillers, those alcohol alchemists who pepper the countryside of every civilized locale these days, sneak woodruff into schnapps or liqueurs to elevate the exotic flair. Want to play hipster bartender yourself? Simple infuse woodruff into vodka with some (natural) red grenadine or black walnut bitters for a cocktail ingredient that screams gothic pretension. Just filter out the leaves unless you want your glass looking like a witch’s compost pile.  Beautiful Berlin. How to Summon the Woodruff Fairies: Woodruff is not easy. Its flavor isn’t ready made; it takes some coaxing to emerge. It’s best to harvest this herb on a misty morning in early June (like today, June 3, 2025), when it’s blooming. Snip stems with scissors so you don’t damage the plant too much and dry them for a day or so to allow the coumarin’s flavor to emerge and intensify. Please don’t skip this step unless you want a bland flavor and only the ghost of a vanilla aroma. Now, get rid of those stems, keeping only the slightly shriveled leaves. Boil up some simple syrup. When it’s made, take it off the heat, throw in some lemon slices for flavor (and to cool down the syrup a bit), and then add the woodruff. Once it cools to room temperature, cover and refrigerate for 1-2 days, strain, bottle, and store. You now have the makings of a great flavoring for beer, cakes, or craft cocktails. Sweet Woodruff Simple Syrup Recipe Ingredients: - 1 cup water - 1 cup granulated sugar - 2/3 cup fresh sweet woodruff leaves (washed and dried for 1-2 days) 1. Combine Ingredients: In a small saucepan, combine water and sugar. Stir over medium heat until the sugar dissolves completely. 2. Remove from the saucepan. Add the lemon slices 3. Add the dried sweet woodruff leaves to the saucepan. 4. Let the syrup cool to room temperature. Now, cover and refrigerate for 1-2 days. 5. Last, but not least, strain through a fine mesh sieve or cheesecloth to remove the leaves. Pour the syrup into a clean, airtight bottle or jar. Store in the refrigerator. Tips: - This syrup is great in cocktails, mocktails, lemonades, or even drizzled over desserts. - Ensure sweet woodruff is sourced safely, as it should be used in moderation due to its coumarin content.  The finished product, sweet woodruff syrup (sans artificial colors). When you next visit (or first visit) Spain, might we make a humble suggestion? As you’re ordering your fancy paella or ham (i.e., jamon iberico) – worrying about whether or not the waiter will understand your mangling of the Spanish language – make sure you don’t get too anxious and forget to order a glass of vermut. This is not a misspelling, but the way those clever Spaniards spell the more well-known ‘vermouth’ of French and Italian fame. “But isn’t that more of a mixer for a Manhattan or a martini?” you might ask. In the case of French or Italian vermouth, you would be correct, but not so for vermut.  Two fancy glasses of the good stuff. We discovered this purely by chance. We had planned to try some of the more unusual drinks that the East Coast of Spain had to offer. Our list included Mistella (i.e., a sweet muscat wine where the inclusion of alcohol is used to stop fermentation and keep the natural sugars available) and Frigola de Tomillo (i.e., a liqueur with dominant flavors of thyme, of all things). We found neither of these tipples in the first bar we went into, but lots of signs for vermut. When in doubt, follow the locals, and our conception of vermouth was forever changed. How is Spanish vermut different from French and Italian vermouths? We enjoy regular vermouth, and always keep at least two bottles in the fridge. However, we primarily use it in cocktails. Vermut, on the other hand, is rarely mixed, and is much easier to drink. We’ve heard that the Spanish have a philosophy of “a little bit, a lot of time”. This goes not only for tapas, but for vermut as well. It’s not uncommon to slowly drink a glass here, a glass there, as you meander your way through several local tapas bars. This would probably be more difficult with French or Italian vermouth.  A sampling of orange, red, and white vermut at Castle Denia (Alicante region of Spain) The Spanish stuff is much more drinkable, but it’s hard to pick out the reasons why. Both red vermouth and the many shades of Spanish vermut are sweet and have some nice herbal complexity, but there’s something about vermut that makes you want to imbibe more and more. Maybe it’s the freshness of the herbs or the fact that some manufacturers only use grape sugar for sweetness, but this is a special drink we could (and did) drink all day - very slowly, of course. The Composition of Vermouth As with most boozes, there are some rules you have to follow to warrant a name. Vermouths and vermuts must:
Other than these rules, the sky’s the limit. The Spanish varieties are uniformly sweet (i.e., semi- sweet to dessert-y sweet). They are also very herbal-y. The white ones, being more delicate, are flavored with flowers, herbs, and anise whereas reds give up bolder flavors of roots and seeds. One varietal we had mixed gentian root to augment the wormwood bitterness. Vermut also comes in three broad colors: white, orange, and red. While hiking around a castle one day, we found little café that served all three (!!!). Our server looked at us very strangely when we ordered the full menu, but we did get to do an impromptu tasting while looking at the historical scenery. How to enjoy
Note: In part II of this series, we will describe a tour to one of the most famous producers of Spanish vermut.  Nearly empty glass of the house red vermut with a side of manchego cheese. |
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