Our Lady of Victory

 

This is a naval blog and today's the great Feast of Our Lady of Victory, now known as Our Lady of the Rosary, which celebrates the utter defeat of Turkish Sea Jihad at the battle of Lepanto in 1571.

The Ottomans, some two decades fresh from conquering Constantinople, launched across the Mediterranean with the grand aim of conquering Rome itself, the Big Apple. They were smashed by a Christian fleet led by Don John of Austria, the first decisive victory of arms against the Jihad in hundreds of years.

Don John's fleet sailed under the protection of the Virgin Mother of God and miraculously routed the Moslem aggressor. You can read about the action here and as you do, don't forget GKC's Lepanto. Death light of Africa? Love light of Spain.

Poetry in mind, here at the Compound we're about to grill Turkish style kebabs on short swords in homage to the victory. For breakfast? Croissants.

Deus Vult,

LSP

War Dog

 

Via Vincent Kennedy. Note Battle Dog. Here:

Good dog!

LSP

DEPLOY SMOKE

 

Everything was going well. Chicken? Marinading in the fridge. Weber? All fired up, deploying smoke and ready to go. Then, just as we were about to launch over the start line LL called from the mountain fastness of the Wolf's Lair in Arizona's infamous highlands.

"Hey LSP, thanks a lot for inviting me. I like kebabs too."

"Look, you know it's an open invite."

"Do you have swords?"

"Of course."

"I thought you would."

"And don't get me wrong, I scorn the Sultan. That's why I made Tzatziki. You know, Greek. We need the Bosphorus back, and Hagia Sophia with it."

"Yeah, I know. And you need to expand from Fleet Padre to that guy who gives the thumbs up or down in the arena."

"Hippodrome?"

"Exactly."

 

 

Remove Kebab aside, we waxed large on Mozambique's pirate problem and the upcoming buccaneer LCS fleet. OK, the ships are pathetically underarmored and undergunned, only having one lightweight canon ("pop gun" - LL). We'll have to sort that out, perhaps with batteries of surplus Bofors. Nice touch, and they can go on the landing deck. Bad luck, Jihad. 

But what had happened to the deliciously grilling chunks of chicken in the meanwhile? Well, they were doing their thing but the fire had burned down low, throwing off timing. The Compound's version of naan got in the way too, roll out that dough, LSP. Bread's a production.

All this and more stood in the way of what was supposed to be a Cooking With LSP super kebab post. The chicken was OK but not the kind of perfection we expect. Naan? Alright, but not awesome. And you say Naan, but it was more like a regular flatbread than anything else. No rule? On the contrary, it should be fluffy, delicious and melt in your mouth. Tzatziki was right on the money though. Nice.

So stay tuned for a kebab special, in which we grill the Turk, free Levantine Christendom and take back Justinian's remarkable cathedral. And end up with good scoff to boot. As it is, the leftover chicken's simmering in a pot and curry beckons.

Your Culinary friend,

LSP

DFTR

Have you been scared of the virus and had to stay at home, cowering like a frightened little girl in your basement or whatever safe space came to hand? Such an awful affliction.

Here at the Compound we feel your onesie latte pain and want to help. Yes, with Blue Oyster Cult's notoriously awesome Don't Fear The Reaper.

DFTR,

LSP

Donald Trump And The Liberal Tears Factory

Via markmaycott. In other exciting news, I'm fixing to grill up some chicken kebabs later on, Turkish style, not that the Compound's in any way, shape or form in favor of Sultan Erdogan. In fact, we want to see the Bosphorus, Constantinople and Hagia Sophia back where it belongs.

Cheers,

LSP

A Sunday Reflection - The Wicked Tenants

Do you remember the parable of the wicked tenants, the murderous usurpers who attempt to steal a husbandman's vineyard for themselves only to come to a miserable end? (Matt. 34-44)

It's a terrifying warning. What will happen to the tenants who beat, stone and kill the owner's servants and murder his son, asks Jesus of the priests and elders. They reply, unwittingly condemning themselves, "He will miserably destroy those wicked men, and will let out his vineyard unto other husbandmen, which shall render him the fruits in their seasons." (Matt. 21:41) 

So it came to pass, and I usually take the opportunity to wax large on the siege of Jerusalem and beat on the iniquitous, apostate heretics infesting the Western Church. Watch out, you brood of vipers or the vineyard will be taken from you.

All well and good, and doubtless an appropriate sermon at, say, the Church of England's York Synod or the Episcopal Church's General Convention. But pause for a moment and consider the features of the vineyard.

It stands for Israel of course, planted by God, with a hedge, the Law, a winepress, the Altar, and a watchtower, the Temple. All of this is present in the new Israel of the Church, which is called to "render him the fruits in their seasons." What is this fruit and where is it offered?

On the wine press which sits between hedge and tower, Law and Temple, as does the Cross between the Incarnation and the Resurrection. And what is the Cross but Christ's sacrificial altar, on which the perfect fruit of the vineyard, righteousness, the Word made flesh, is offered to the Father.

The fruit then, ultimately, is Christ himself, righteousness incarnate, sacrificed on Calvary, and we enter into union with this offering and "yield it up" sacramentally at the altars of of our churches. There, we abide in Christ and he in us. "Abide in me, and I in you," says Jesus,  "As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me." (Jn. 15:4)

This, surely, is the endeavor of the Christian life; as faithful tenants of the vineyard to live ever more closely in Christ, offering up the fruit which is pleasing to the Father, Jesus himself. And as we do, by the grace of God and the working of the Spirit, become channels of his righteousness in the world. 

Unless you're a wicked heretic of course, in which case the concluding words of our Lord ring true with awful effect, "And whosoever shall fall on this stone shall be broken: but on whomsoever it shall fall, it will grind him to powder." (Matt. 21:44) 

And so we come full circle. Take note, Justsin Welby and, for that matter, everyone else.

God bless,

LSP

Out of Control Swine

According to Zerohedge the US feral swine population is exploding, with an estimated 1.5 wild hogs in Texas alone.

The pigs weigh between 75 and 250 pounds on average and can run up to 30 miles an hour. They're fast. Of course some pigs are larger, like this 300 pounder shot by a churchman's nephew a couple of nights ago.

But out of control swine aren't limited to Texas. They're advancing across the country at a rate of around 35,000 square miles a year. My old pal GWB shot this one in Georgia the other evening.

The ferocious tuskers cause more than $2 billion worth of damage every year. And no wonder, have you seen a field that's been attacked by pigs? Looks like an exploded minefield.

America's out of control swine are hybrids, a cross between the European wild boar and domestic pigs, creating a new breed of super-pig, with all the genetic advantages of the Euro Boar and its domestic US cousin.

Here at the Compound we remind all readers that there's no bag limit on these savage, diseased predators. Remember, too, to pray for POTUS' speedy recovery.

The number of feral swine living within DC's infamous Beltway is currently unknown.

Root and Branch,

LSP

Cooking With LSP - Fish on Friday

Cooking with LSP? That's a great idea. Look, enough of your sarcasm, here's how it's done. Get on a boat and catch some Striper, then watch in awe as your Guide fillets the fish in a fraction of the time it'd take you. Guide magic, but hey, it's his job. Next step?

Take the fillets back home and put 'em in the fridge, only to be taken out later in the day. Behold their piscine glory and as you do, pour an inch or two of oil into some heavy metal (dutch oven), put this on medium/high heat along with a candy thermometer. As the oil does its thing, wash the fish, salt and pepper it, and leave it on a cutting board while you prepare the batter. This is easy.

Put 1 cup of flour into  a mixing bowl, glass or plastic, your call. I use glass, not being Eastern European. Then add 1 teaspoon of baking powder, a pinch of salt, some cracked pepper and whisk it about. 

Job well done, pour in a bottle of beer or soda water and stir it up. The mixture should end up like thinnish pancake batter. But that's not all, put half a cup of flour in a bowl next to the batter, you'll use this to dredge the fish.

Done? Salute your endeavor with a glass of wine or something else, your call, no rule, but don't take too long, there's oil to be watched. So glance over at your heavy metal and check the oil's temperature. It should be between 365-70 degrees.

This is important. If the oil's too hot it'll ignite and destroy your kitchen like some kind of air bomb, you don't want that. If it's not, whatever's being fried will sit in the unpleasant oil and become a greasy mess. So, make sure it's hot, I recommend 370*, this will fry your fish without it becoming a grease nightmare.

This achieved, take a piece of fish,  dredge it in flour, coat it in batter and place it in the heavy metal. Watch it boil and fry as you add more fillets to the cauldron. You'll know when they're done, crispy, golden brown awesomeness. 

And just for kicks you can do the same thing for a side, I went down the onion ring route, you may choose differently, your choice.

Then fall upon your scoff, like a warrior,

LSP

Listen Up

Imagine you were a church or denomination which says it believed in the divinely ordered givenness of human sexuality, male and female he created them.

Likewise, you hold marriage as something which takes place between a man and woman. More than this, you think babies shouldn't be killed in the womb, not least at the point of birth, and that Jesus is God, the Christ, and his commandments, his Word should be obeyed.

I know, it may be hard, but try to imagine it. Then picture a group of people violently, enthusiastically in favor of abortion. People who believe gender's a construct, gay marriage a right and Christ, at best, one guru amongst many. And in his Western expression, a racist oppressor.

That in mind, you'd expect the churches concerned to stand together and denounce a movement which is antithetical to their belief, Christianity, and to do so clearly, unanimously and loudly. But no.

The Roman Catholic church? Silent or busy making deals with Communist China. The Anglican Church in North America? All about investigating "systemic racism." The venerable Church of England? Very upset about racism and statues. Baptists? Crickets.

Granted, there's notable exceptions, like Cardinal Vigano and priests like Fr. Altman and Fr. Goring in Canada. But this is rare and in ACNA, the Anglican Church in North America, the silence is deafening or even complicit.

Churches, listen up. Cowardice in the face of the enemy won't win you any favors. Stand and be counted while you still have that option in the public square. 

The fight is on, and don't kid yourselves that people who hate, scorn and despise you aren't coming to shut you down.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

PS. Whether the Jesuits should be suppressed, again, is an entirely valid question.

Joe Biden Urfa Man

 

Did you watch last night's presidential debate? If so, you may have noticed the Grim Creeper's uncanny resemblance to Urfa Man. It was the eyes, staring out at you like dark, soulless obsidian. 

Never mind the insults, interruptions and outright deceit, look at the eyes set in a face of skin-stretched plastic surgery. The face is fake, the message is fake, a collection of media endorsed talking points, but the eyes are real, a window into the soul.

And what do they reveal? A void. A hollow candidate with nothing to say beyond worn out agitprop, Racist! Virus! Nazi! And all from what was once a man who used to boost segregationalist klansmen Senators. Back to Urfa Man. Trump's not fake, he is who is, good or ill.

Biden's something else again, unreal and inhuman, a career politician who's made millions from inside-the-beltway graft. Seriously, like a wicked game show host he's grown rich off the fat of the land. 

And as with the obsidian-eyed statue, he has no soul, he's hollow, his essence has been sold to the highest bidder, and what looks out at you is an ersatz facsimile of what used to be human.

To put it another way, he's a demonstrably corrupt, lying, phony, evil career politician, who's made millions of dollars through plying his faked-up trade. He's at it still, in his wired 78 year old dotage.

I ask you, what shall it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his soul?

Good question, eh?

LSP

FISH

 

Yes, the Rising Sun didn't look too bright but that's because it was rising over the waters of the lake as we went in search of Stripers.

Yes, a BOAT

Stripers are predatory, voracious beasts and they love live shad. And that's what we were armed with as we headed into the waters of the dammed Brazos, Lake Whitney.

Fish

OK, that's all very poetic in a very minor key kind of way, (really? Ed.) but how do you catch the fierce Stripers, what's the method? First off, have a Guide who knows what he's doing.

Looks boring, isn't

We chose Pat because he's good at every level. Friendly and helpful as opposed to sneering because you're not a Guide and, most importantly, gets you on the fish.

Good Guide

Which is what happened, we got on the fish and then some, limiting out in about 45 minutes. Big Striper action, rod goes double once, twice, hookset! Then reel that monster in. Big fun.

Look at that Leviathan on the left!

That done, we headed back to the ramp, mission accomplished. And now there's fish in the freezer for the next few weeks or so.  But seriously, if you want a good Striper Guide on Lake Whitney, go for Pat. He'll get you on the fish.

Fish on,

LSP

C'mon Man! Yet More Elder Abuse And Thuggery

 

C'mon, Man, have you no pity? Good question but we have to ask why the Democrats aren't even pretending to campaign, much less running the most useless, pathetic, hollow, fake of a candidate in living memory.

Surely they don't know they'll lose and aren't hedging their bets on voter fraud or some kind of coup. Heaven forbid, and this raises a serious point.

Jacob Blake Dindu Nuthin

The Left hypocritically refused to accept the result of the last election and, on form, tell us they'll refuse to accept the result of this one if it goes against them. Don't concede under any circumstances, says Hillary to Joe.

Saint Breonna Dindu Nuthin

So much for liberty, representation and our constitutional republic. But they care nothing for that, they want power and want it badly, at any cost. Devil, literally, take the hindmost.

Angels we have heard on high Dindu Nuthin

Be prepared, when 45 becomes 46, for Democrat cities to burn themselves down. Natural selection? Quite. In the meanwhile, a black pimp is running law enforcement on the streets of Seattle.  He's a Street Czar, no kiddin, and they're paying the pimp $150k a year. You couldn't make it up if you tried.

Big Pimpin Dindu Nuthin

In the meanwhile, our Marxist necromancer friends at Black Lives Matter have been paid millions of dollars, conservatively, by guilt ridden opportunists and we have to ask; how much of that not inconsiderable amount of cash has been used to help the life of even a single black person in our country's multiple, Democrat run slums?

Monkey Dindu Somethin

I'm not a betting man, but I'll wager the fighting monkey against six of your priestesses that the sum's not a penny.

Guinea on the monkey, what?

Your Old Friend,

LSP