The divine Miss S. and the Eggnog Recipe

It was a long time ago now that I first went to work on the 6th floor (as it then was) of a New York City psychiatric hospital. As one of the most junior nurses working there, I saw many unusual things over a couple of years, most of which the seal of practitioner-client confidentiality prevents me from discussing. But come holiday time, there ensued a recurring event which I now feel it safe to reveal.

It was Miss S.’s eggnog.

Miss S. was, frankly, a goddess. She was Jamaican. (And still is, as far as I know: the past tense here should be understood to imply my past and not her passing.) She was about six foot two. She wore her hair quite, quite short, which helped her look even more like a superbly carved statue of some dignified passing deity. And Miss S. had presence. There was no room she merely entered; she was her own procession.

Miss S. was also a truly excellent psychiatric nurse. She had a liking for evening and night shifts, which is probably why I saw so much of her (being then the most junior member of staff and therefore routinely stuck on nights during much of the early part of my practice there). Working with her was always a treat. Under that gorgeous slow-spoken smooth-as-treacle Jamaican accent lurked the intention and skill of a wily and thoroughgoing professional, a woman who could get anyone—mostly meaning our clients—to talk to her about anything (mostly meaning whatever was bothering them). She was formidable, indeed nearly fearless. I once saw her take a fire axe off a seriously out-of-control patient with no weapons but that voice (in basso-growl mode) and a scowl. Nobody messed with Miss S.

And as if all this wasn’t enough, at this time of year she made—and would dispense to the fortunate—the most outrageous eggnog.

Here’s her recipe.

You take a dozen eggs. You separate the yolks from the whites. You freeze the whites and do something else with them. (Probably meringue.)

You beat the egg yolks together extremely well with a pound of confectioners’ sugar / icing sugar. (UK icing sugar is actually superior for this, as unlike US confectioners’ sugar, it contains no cornstarch.) You then pour in half a bottle of Myers’ Planter’s Punch Rum. Other dark rums can be substituted, but Myers’ is best.

You mix all of this very well and stick it in the fridge, tightly covered, to get friendly with itself overnight.

The next day you combine this mixture with about half a gallon of whole milk and at least a quart of cream—more, if you like—and the rest of the bottle of Myers’ rum. Into this whole business you then grate fresh nutmeg (not more than a quarter teaspoon, as nutmeg is toxic in excess) and some cinnamon and allspice to taste. Check the flavor, and then add more milk/cream if you feel the eggnog’s too strong.

Refrigerate for a while more: then serve it forth.

Miss S. also told me about a stronger version of this—apparently called the “Pan Am Pilots’ Eggnog”—which involves the further addition of a dozen whipped egg whites and a bottle of apricot brandy. This is doubtless why Pan Am went under.

…I’ve been making this eggnog on and off since the mid-1970s. When Peter and I settled in on the west side of Ireland’s County Wicklow, bringing a couple of jugs of it down to our local pub on New Year’s Eve became traditional—our thank-you to our neighbors for putting up with our constant search for Total Galactic Domination.

Try it and see what it does for you. If you try it and like it, raise a glass to the divine Miss S.

And enjoy your holidays!