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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Friends of the decanter will know that Ol’ Robbo had been looking forward eagerly to grilling out this evening thanks to the extra hour of sunlight brought by DST. This anticipation was dampened somewhat earlier today when our Padre reminded us that a real traditionalist Lent involved abstaining from meat the entire forty days, not excluding Sundays and Solemnities. He suggested we keep this in mind and maybe even adopt it.

I had my steak for dins anyway. And frankly? It was delicious.

I’m sorry. It might be different if, say, one were on a retreat of some sort and surrounded by constant encouragement, but on his own Ol’ Robbo just doesn’t have the willpower to pull off such a level of continual denial: The matter would only fester in my mind, distracting me from everything else, until I couldn’t stand it anymore. The inevitable fall would be all the worse for the shame and guilt.

As Ol’ Robbo goes meatless on Fridays all year round anyway, my practice is to slap an extra day on throughout Lent and then to try and go cold turkey for Holy Week. That’s about as much as I can manage for the foreseeable future. (The other day Mrs. R said, “So, Wednesdays are going to be pasta night even after Easter?” I said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s not leap to conclusions here!”)

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