Complex Numbers

In the Original Klingon

The other day, I promised to create Klingon Bloodwine based on me and my friend's formulation. (Mostly hers.) A bit of background first.

Obviously we didn't invent the concept of Klingon Bloodwine, all glory to the screenwriters of Star Trek.

If you look online, you'll find other recipes. We didn't look for them first, wanting to create something from scratch.

The thought process was a little like this: It should be based on actual wine, specifically red wine. But being Klingon, there needs to be an element of suffering involved, so you have to use hot peppers, the hottest you can stand. More on this later. It also needs to be stronger than Terran wine, something that a Klingon could chug and a human could choke down while pretending to be Klingon. Hence, fortification with a distilled spirit. At the same time, it can't taste entirely like ass, because that would defeat the purpose; if it tastes like a Denebian mudworm's droppings, you're not going to want to drink it again.

Also, we're going by a line from Worf in a later episode of DS9: "I like my bloodwine young and sweet." Double entendres aside, that's the basis for the sweet aspect of this recipe.

Because it's a mixed drink, do not use fancy wine, but do use a standard red, like a merlot or a cab sauv. Maybe even a shiraz. Some sort of rich but dry red. For this, I bought a box of Merlot cardbordeaux, the only time I have ever purchased one for use. Um, yeah, cardbordeaux is my word for boxed wine. I'm not saying it's terrible; I'm saying it's cheap and it's not exactly Château Picard. If you use terrible wine, again, you won't want to drink more.

So. On to the ingredients.

3 slices serrano pepper*
8-10 blueberries (yes, blueberries; trust us on this one)
1 1/2 oz vodka
3/4 oz simple syrup
3/4 oz lemon juice
4 oz red wine

Muddle pepper slices with blueberries. Add vodka, syrup, and lemon juice. Top with wine. Shake with ice and strain into a rocks glass. Qa'pla!

*tastes vary when it comes to hot pepper, obviously. If you don't have much tolerance for it, use less, or use jalapenos. If you love hot peppers, try it with habaneros. If you have Klingon blood, use ghost pepper. It might take some experimentation (even Klingons have scientists) to get the right balance; the idea is to give it a kick but not to cause a warp plasma leak in your mouth.

Modification: I still have lemon simple syrup; I just used a shot of that instead of the syrup/lemon mixture.

I think I'll have another one after I post this.

Appropriately for a Klingon-themed drink, today's semirandom article is about curses.

Protect Your Library the Medieval Way, With Horrifying Book Curses  
Medieval scribes protected their work by threatening death, or worse.

Given the extreme effort that went into creating books, scribes and book owners had a real incentive to protect their work. They used the only power they had: words.

And words are powerful indeed. Almost as powerful as Klingon bloodwine.

At the beginning or the end of books, scribes and book owners would write dramatic curses threatening thieves with pain and suffering if they were to steal or damage these treasures.

Now I wish there were similar curses for bicycle thieves. Scum.

They did not hesitate to use the worst punishments they knew—excommunication from the church and horrible, painful death.

I mean, I know that was kind of a big deal in Europe at the time, but it would be hard to excommunicate me from atheism. Still, while I've accepted the concept of death, I'd rather not have it be horrible and/or painful.

“These curses were the only things that protected the books,” says Marc Drogin, author of Anathema! Medieval Scribes and the History of Book Curses. “Luckily, it was in a time where people believed in them. If you ripped out a page, you were going to die in agony. You didn’t want to take the chance.”

One of the movie/TV tropes that used to annoy the fuck out of me was when a character needed a phone number, so they'd go to a place called a "phone booth" and look in a thing called a "phone book." Once they found the number, did they write it on their hand or something? No, they ripped out the entire damn page, thus rendering the phone book less useful if someone needed one of the other hundred or so numbers on that page.

Obviously, that's not a thing anymore, but it bugged me almost as much as when someone would hang up the phone and you heard a dial tone. That never happened in my experience; you just get silence.

But still, phone books were printed and easily replaceable. Not so with medieval manuscripts.

Anyway, the article goes on to describe examples of such curses, and while they're not quite as creative as modern ones like "May the fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits," they were obviously devastating at the time.

Curses, of course, are only curiosities unless you believe in them in the first place. But the interesting thing is that they existed for this particular purpose, and lots of people back then did believe in them.

Of course, lots of people couldn't read back then, so it was probably lost on a good portion of the population. Why steal a book if you can't read? Well, because you can then turn around and sell it, of course. Hope it's worth burning in brimstone.