Afforce

Afforce (pronounced af-fors)

(1) To strengthen or reinforce by the addition of other or of specially skilled members, deliberative bodies such as juries or tribunals.

(2) To force; compel; violate (obsolete).

(3) Reflexively, to exert one's self; endeavour; attempt (obsolete).

1400s: From the Middle English (in the sense “to force”), from the Old French aforcer, from the Latin exfortiāre, from fortis (strong), from the Proto-Italic forktis, from the primitive Indo-European baergh (to rise, high, hill).  The a- prefix as used here is rare and is in English no longer productive.  It was related to the Latin ad- (to; at) and was used to show or emphasize a state, condition, or manner and was common in Old & Middle English, some of the constructs still used poetically (apace, afire, aboil, a-bling) and some where the specific, technical meaning has endured (asunder, astern).  The Oxford English Dictionary (OED) noted the descent of many of these form to the archaic, suggesting it was part of the organic evolution of the language, these “…prefixes were at length confusedly lumped together in idea, and the resultant a- looked upon as vaguely intensive, rhetorical, euphonic or even archaic and wholly otiose.”  The double-ff is a written tribute to the spoken, afforce formed with an oral prefix; the noun counterpart of this was æf-.  Afforce, afforcing & afforced are verbs, afforcement is a noun; the noun plural is afforcements.

Afforce thus emerged just as a way of emphasizing the notion of force or indicating the act transpiring.  Geoffrey Chaucer (circa 1343-1400) in The Man of Law's Tale (1387), the fifth of the Canterbury Tales uses afforce in that sense:  “Than whan thys wycked Thelous by harde manasses and hys grete strengh the had wyll to afforce her, than she restreynyd hys gret foly by thys reason, ffor cause that her Chylde Moryce the whyche was of the age of.”

That strict arbiter of English use, Sir Ernest Gowers (1880-1966), noted approvingly in his second edition (1965) of Henry Fowler's (1858–1933) Modern English Usage (1926) that the OED as early as 1888 ruled afforce was for all purposes obsolete save "to reinforce or strengthen a deliberative body by the addition of new members, as a jury by skilled assessors or persons acquainted with the facts".  Sir Ernest seemed also pleased the OED had sought to drive a stake through afforce's linguistic heart by not including an entry in the concise (COD) edition of the OED, adding that he regarded any revival as but a flashy "pride of knowledge", a most "un-amiable characteristic", the display of which "sedulously should be avoided".  Sir Ernest had spoken, Henry Fowler would have concurred and in any sense afforce remains vanishingly rare.

Manchester Assize Courts 1934.  Damaged by Luftwaffe raids in 1940-1941, it was demolished in 1957.  Perhaps surprisingly, given some of the ghastly stuff built in post-war years, the replacement Crown Court building has some nice touches and not unpleasing lines.

It was the operation of jury trials in English law which saw the meaning beginning to shift although the legal use did encapsulate both senses.  At common law, the practice to “afforce the assize” was a method for a court to secure a verdict where the jury disagreed.  This was achieved by adding other jurors to the panel until twelve could be found who were unanimous in their opinion, thus the senses (1) afforcement being forcing a jury to verdict and (2) afforcement being the addition of members to the jury.  The word has endured (if rarely used) in this technical sense and not become merely a synonym of augment, somewhat unusual in English where words tend to be co-opted for just about use which seems to fit and it may be that when courts ceased to afforce, juries, the word became stranded in its special, historic sense, a process probably assisted by the practice of adding the a- prefix faded.

Vested with both civil and criminal jurisdiction, the Courts of Assize sat between 1293-1972 in the counties of England and Wales.  The afforcement of the assize was an ancient practice in trials by jury and involved adding other jurors to the panel in cases where the jurors differed among themselves and couldn’t agree in one (sententiam) finding.  In those instances, at the discretion of the judges, either the jury could be afforced or the existing body could be compelled to unanimity by directing the sheriff to lock them up without food or drink until they did agree.  The latter does sound an extreme measure; even when medieval conclaves of cardinals proved unable to organise the numbers to elect a new pope, when their eminences were locked-up, they were at least given bread and water.

However it was done, afforcement or starvation, the objective was to get to the point where there were twelve who could agree on a verdict.  However, as legal theorists at the time observed, this really created a second trial and eventually afforcement was abandoned, both justice and its administration thought better served by an insistence on unanimity (probably an inheritance from canon law and a common thing on the continent where the unanimity of a consultative or deliberative body was deemed indispensable).  Also refined was the practice of confining jurors without meat and drink; now they’re fed and watered and, if after long enough some prove still recalcitrant, the jury is discharged and a new trial may be ordered.  Some jurisdictions have found this too inefficient and have introduced majority verdicts so only ten or eleven of the twelve need to be convinced a defendant is guilty as sin which, as any prosecutor will tell you, they all are. 

Chief Justice Charles Evans Hughes (1862–1948; Chief Justice of the US 1930-1941) taking FDR's oath of office at the start of his second term, 20 January 1937.

There have too been attempts to afforce the bench.  Franklin Delano Roosevelt (1882–1945; US President 1933-1945), not best pleased at repeatedly having parts of his New Deal legislation declared unconstitutional by the US Supreme Court, in 1937 created the Judicial Procedures Reform Bill which sought to add sympathetic judges to the bench, his argument being the constitution not mandating than there must be nine judges on the bench, it was a matter for congress to determine the number.  He was apparently serious but may also have had in mind the threat in 1911 by the UK’s Liberal Party government to appoint to the House of Lords as many peers as would be necessary to ensure the upper house could no longer block their legislation.  That worked, the peers backing down and allowing the government’s reforms to pass into law, the feeling always that they were less appalled by creeping socialism than the thought of the House of Lords being flooded with “jumped-up grocers”.  It may also have worked in the US, the "court-packing plan" ultimately not required.  Some months after FDR’s landslide victory in the 1936 presidential election, Justice Owen Roberts (1875–1955; US Supreme Court judge 1930-1945) switched his vote, creating a pro-New Deal majority, an act remembered in judicial history as the "the switch in time that saved nine".

The US Supreme Court in session, 1932.  The photo is by Erich Salomon (1886-1944) and is one of two known images of the court in session.  Dr Salomon died in Auschwitz.

The idea of “packing the court” has been revived before but in 2021, congressional Democrats introduced a bill for an act which would expand the Supreme Court bench from nine to thirteen, essentially for the same reasons which attracted FDR in 1937.  Unlike then however, the Democrat control of both houses was marginal and there was no chance of success and even had there been an unexpectedly good result in the 2022 mid-term elections, nothing would have overcome the resistance of conservative Democrats in the senate.  With the Republican-appointed judges (reactionary medievalists or black-letter law judges depending on one’s view) likely to be in place for decades, the 2021 bill is more a shot across the judicial bow and the interplay between electoral outcomes and public opinion, of which the judges are well aware, will bubble and perhaps boil in the years ahead.

Lindsay Lohan on the panel of The Masked Singer (2019).

The Masked Singer Australia is a TV singing competition, the local franchise of a format which began in South Korea as the King of Mask Singer.  The premise is that elaborately costumed masked celebrities sing a song and a panel has to guess their identity.  In 2019, the producers afforced the judging panel with the appointment of Lindsay Lohan and the experiment seems to have been a success despite Ms Lohan having little or no idea who the local celebrities were, masked or otherwise.  That may have been part of the charm of her performance and it seemed to gel with viewers, the second series in 2020, in which Ms Lohan wasn’t able to participate because of COVID-19 quarantine restrictions, seeing a sharp decline in viewer numbers, the opening episode down 37% from 1.2 million to 733k.  Overall, the season average in the five mainland capital cities dropped to 816k from 928k, a year-on-year drop of 12%.  In October 2021, Warner Brothers TV announced a third series had been commissioned for broadcast in 2022 but Lindsay Lohan didn't again afforce the panel, depriving audiences of the chance to watch her try to guess the names of people she's never heard of.  #BringBackLindsay is expected to trend.

Peradventure

Peradventure (pronounced pur-uhd-ven-cher (U) or per-add-ven-chur (non-U)

(1) Chance, doubt or uncertainty (rare & archaic).

(2) Surmise (obsolete).

(3) It may be; perchance or maybe; possibly; perhaps (a definitely obsolete adverb).

1250–1300: From the Middle English peraventure, & per aventure, from Old French par aventure, the spelling in English modified in the seventeenth century to emulate Latin, providing a gloss of classical respectability.  The earliest form (circa 1300) was per aventure, paradventure adopted in the fourteenth and peradventure (sometimes in the old form as peraduenture) the final change.  Adventure evolved from the Middle English aventure, aunter & anter, from the Old French aventure, from the Late Latin adventurus, from the Latin advenire & adventum (to arrive), which in the Romance languages took the sense of "to happen, befall".  Aventure was from the Vulgar Latin adventura, from the Late Latin adventurus, from the Classical Latin adventus, the construct being adveniō (arrive) +‎ -tus (the action noun–forming suffix).  Peraventure is a noun & adverb, the noun plural is peradventures.

Peradventure in the sense of “chance, doubt or uncertainty” is both rare and archaic, a combination characterizing those words Henry Fowler (1858–1933) in his A Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1926) listed as archaisms, words he suggested were “…dangerous except in the hands of an experienced writer who can trust his sense of congruity”, adding that the use of archaisms was “…more likely to irritate the reader than to please…” and the word does seem to appear when people seek either (1) variety, (2) a flourish or (3) a display of their “pride of knowledge”, one of the many linguistic habits of Henry Fowler damned.  Peradventure means “chance, doubt or uncertainty” (the other meanings wholly obsolete) and is used in the forms “beyond peradventure” & “beyond a peradventure”, the more usual ways of expressing the sentiment including “beyond question” & “without doubt”. 

The reason it should be avoided in normal discourse is that unlike some deliberate archaisms, (such as “afforce” which is sufficiently close in construction and meaning to “reinforce”), there is nothing in the word which would allow a interlocutor to pick up the meaning.  That’s because the element “adventure” id derived from a linguistic fork which evolved into extinction, the aventure in the Old French per aventure coming from the adventura, a future form of the verb advenire (to happen (ie something which may occur).  However by the time it entered the Old French, variously it could mean destiny or fate, a chance event, an accident, fortune or luck and it was the sense of “a chance or uncertain event” that attached to the word when it was adopted in the Middle English.  That eventually produced peradventure but “adventure” also came to be used in English as an event with some risk of danger or loss, that sense persisting in law (In admiralty law, marine insurers use adventure in the technical sense of ”the period during which insured goods are at risk” and there’s the technical term “medical misadventure”, used when doctors murder their patients).  The sense thus shifted from “a chance event” to “a hazardous undertaking or audacious exploit to the modern form” (which still exists in law) before assuming the modern meaning: “a novel or exciting experience”.  Thus, it’s unlikely to occur to most that “peradventure” means what it does.

It can of course be used among word nerds and others where a pride of knowledge is something admired.  John Parker (1885–1958), the US alternate judge sitting on the International Military Tribunal trying the Nazi leadership (the first Nuremberg Trial (1945-1946)), used the phrase “…conspiracy has been proved beyond peradventure” when resisting the objection from the French judges that the charge of “criminal conspiracy” (Count One: Conspiracy to Wage Aggressive War) was not sustainable because it was unknown in international or continental law, too vague and a conspiracy is anyway absorbed by the crime one committed.  It was an interesting discussion which didn’t convince the French although, in the circumstances, they were inclined to compromise… a little.  The primary US judge, Francis Biddle (1886–1968), noted on hearing “peradventure” that Judge Parker “liked such old-fashioned phrases, which, when he used them, sounded like the crack of a long whip, tearing other arguments to shreds”.  He might have added Parker came from the North Carolina bar, where old-fashioned phrases are perhaps more often heard.

It does also enjoy that ultimate imprimatur of authenticity, as an adverb appearing seventeen times in the plays of William Shakespeare (1564–1616), two examples being:

Henry V, Act IV, Scene I.

Some, peradventure, have on them the guilt of peradventure premeditated and contriued Murther; some, of beguiling Virgins with the broken Seales of Periurie; some, making the Warres their Bulwarke, that haue before gored the gentle Bosome of Peace with Pillage and Robberie.

Coriolanus Act II, Scene I.

…peraduenture some of the best of 'em were hereditarie hangmen.  Godden to your Worships, more of your conuersation would infect my Braine, being the Heardsmen of the Beastly Plebeans.  I will be bold to take my leaue of you.

Trend of use of peradventure, tracked by the Collins English Dictionary.

The trend however, the odd eighteenth century spike notwithstanding, is down, one of the few supporting gestures in recent years (2015) by UK Labor MP Harriet Harman (b 1950) and such was the reaction from friend and foe that, beyond peradventure, she’s unlikely to use it again.

Quango

Quango (pronounced kwang-go)

A semi-public advisory and administrative body supported by the government and having most of its members appointed by the government.

1967, an acronym, cited usually as as...

Qu(asi)-a(utonomous)-n(on-)g(overnmental)-o(rganization)

...and in the occasional historic reference...

Qu(asi)-a(utonomous)-n(ational-)g(overnmental)-o(rganization)

Whether the correct form is QUANGO or Quango hands on which spelling one prefers.  It's certainly an acronym but sometimes such constructs become words such as radar (RA(dio)-D(etection)-A(nd)-R(anging).  As early as World War II (1939-1945), "radar" was in use as a common noun (thus losing all capitalization) at that at a time when many details of the technology remained state secrets although, because big masts and antennae dotted along the coast were impossible to conceal, the existence of the system was well-known.  Pleasingly, quango spawned some non-standard derivatives such as quangocracy and quangocrat.

The concept of the quango is most often used in the UK but exists also in most developed economies such as Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the US and other English-speaking countries. Many countries with other language traditions have Quangos but tend not to use the term although in the English-speaking world, foreign Quangos may be referred to thus.  A quango is a hybrid form of organization, with elements of both non-government organizations (NGOs) and public sector bodies and typically an organization to which a government has devolved power, but which is still partly controlled and in most cases at least substantially financed by some organ of the state.  Despite the public positions of some, quangos are popular with politicians (of the left & right) because, properly structured, they can be used to execute a political agenda while permitting politicians to attempt to absolve themselves of responsibility for anything unpopular.

The term qango was created in 1967 by Alan Pifer (1921-2005) of the (nominally not politically aligned) Carnegie Foundation, in an essay on the independence and accountability of public-funded bodies incorporated in the private sector.  It describes an ostensibly non-governmental organization performing governmental functions, often in receipt of funding or other state support.  The growth in the number of Quangos over recent decades has been well documented but rarely exactly quantified; in many states where research has been undertaken, a not uncommon finding was that when attempting to define a definitive list, it was difficult to be certain just how many were functionally extant.  The core of the problem appeared to be that some quangos technically still exist in that while they have never formerly been dis-established, it may have been years since they were active.  In 2005, Dan Lewis, author of The Essential Guide to Quangos, claimed that the UK had 529 quangos, many of which were useless and duplicated the work of others.  A Cabinet Office report in 2009 found 766 although that may have represented a decline given there many have been 790 in 2008 although that was a decline from the 827 counted in 2007 but unfortunately, the notion there was ever a Bread Board or Cheese Board seems apocryphal.  Periodically, governments do cull or merge quangos but its inherently a Sisyphean task because (1) the well-documented phenomenon of bureaucratic inertia means organizations tend to remain or expand even if they've outlived their usefulness, (2) politicians are tempted often to add to the numbers because of the need to maintain lucrative dumping grounds for colleagues who are proving tiresome but can't otherwise be disposed of or (3) if a problem can be solved only by electorally unpopular measures, it's a good trick to create or afforce a quango onto which things can be dumped.  

Camembert & Brie

Camembert (pronounced kam-uhm-bair or ka-mahn-ber (French))

(1) A village in the Normandy region of France.

(2) A mellow, soft cheese, the centre of which is creamy and of a golden cream color, made from cow's milk.

1867 (the cheese): The cheese is named after Camembert, the village near Argentan, Normandy where it originated.  The village name was from the Medieval Latin Maimberti (field of Maimbert), a West Germanic personal name derived from the Proto-Germanic maginą (strength, power, might) and the Proto-Germanic berhtaz (bright).  A rich, sweet, yellowish cream-cheese with the name Camembert was first sold in 1867, but the familiar, modern form of the cheese dates from 1791.  Camembert is a masculine form; there is no plural.

Camembert labels from the Serge Schéhadé collection.

A tyrosemiophile is one for whom collecting the colorful (usually round) labels affixed to wooden boxes of Camembert cheese wheels is (depending on where they sit on the spectrum) variously a hobby, calling or obsession.  The practice is called tyrosemiophilia (the construct being the Ancient Greek tyro (cheese) + semio (sign; label) + philos (love) and while there appears to be no documented use of tyrosemiophobia (morbid dread or aversion to Camembert cheese labels), there’s no reason why someone who suffered some disturbing experience with a wheel of Camembert wouldn’t become a tyrosemiophobe.  Collecting objects with a high degree of structural similarity (Camembert cheese labels, beer bottle tops etc) has much appeal for some and in cultural studies is classed as “connoisseurial collecting”, described as a collecting focused on variations within a narrow type (which can be structural, thematic chronologic etc but tends to exclude much within the field collected by those casting a wider net).  The hobby (or whatever) falls under the rubric of “typological accumulation” in which objects are exemplars of a “type” and while each is to some degree different, their attraction lies in the similarity, something like Karl Marx’s (1818-1883) exasperated description of peasants as “…like a sack of potatoes, all the same, yet all different”.

Camembert labels from the Serge Schéhadé collection.

Whether such things especially draw “obsessional collectors” doesn’t seem to have been studied but the characteristics of the stuff (Camembert cheese labels a classic example): (1) structurally similar objects, (2) tiny differences (colors, typography etc) and (3) adaptability to being stored or displayed in a precise, geometrical form may hint at the personality type attracted.  Cognitive psychology has identified how pleasing some find “variation within sameness” and that seemed in some way linked to PRDW (pattern recognition dopamine reward) in which the brain rewards the subject for creating, modifying or spotting subtle distinctions within a structured set.  Cheese production being an ongoing business, the collecting of Camembert labels is obviously not a closed system but within the whole, it can be possible to achieve “complete sets” (a single producer, region, period etc) and this aspect too is a thing among collectors.

Camembert labels from the Serge Schéhadé collection.

Among producers, there is something of a tradition of making the labels miniature “works of art” with themes including, florals, farm animals, fields of grass, famous (dead) figures from history and, of course, comely milkmaids in period costumes.  There is in France the CTF (Club Tyrosémiophile de France), which has existed since 1960 and still conducts annual conferences (a significant part of which are the “swap-meet” sessions at which members can sell or exchange labels and like any commodity, based on desirability (the prime determinate usually rarity), the value of items varies.  Collectively the club’s inventory now includes several million labels, many of which are on display at the Camembert Museum in Vimoutiers, Normandy and there are plans to digitize the collection and make them publicly accessible.  That millions of different cheese labels exist may not surprise those who recall the (apparently apocryphal) quote attributed to Charles de Gaulle (1890-1970; President of France 1959-1969): “How can one govern a country which has 246 varieties of cheese?” because, even in Le Général’s time, the true count was well into four figures.  In a sign of the times, as the CTF’s membership roll dies off, numbers are shrinking because the young seem not attracted to the cause.  Interestingly, it’s said the artistic labels (called étiquettes in French) date from circa 1910 where they were used as means of attracting children, the idea being the same as the little trinkets distributed in breakfast cereal boxes; the small proto-consumers being trained as “influencers” there to persuade their parents to buy more cheese so they could afforce their label collection.

La persistència de la memòria (1931).

La persistència de la memòria (The Persistence of Memory) is Salvador Dalí’s (1904-1989) most reproduced and best-known painting.   Completed in 1931 and first exhibited in 1932, since 1934 it’s hung in New York’s MoMA (Museum of Modern Art) and in popular culture, the work is often referred to as the more evocative “Melting Clocks”.  Despite the gushing of some critics, surrealism's intellectual undercoating was patchy, some of the latter output being openly imitative but with Dalí, critics seemed often ready to find something.  His "theory of softness and hardness" has been called "central to his artistic thinking" at the time The Persistence of Memory was painted and some suggested the flaccidity of the watches is an allusion to Albert Einstein's (1879-1955) theory of special relativity (1905), a surreal pondering of the implications of relativity on our once-fixed notions of time and space.  Dalí was earthier, claiming the flaccidity of the clocks was inspired not by Einstein but by imagining a wheel of camembert cheese melting in the Catalan sun, although in Conquest of the Irrational (1935) he did write:  Conquest of the Irrational (1935): “The famous soft watches are nothing else than the tender, extravagant, solitary paranoiac-critical camembert of time and space.”  Dali's distortions were of course a deliberate device.  Celebrities who manage inadvertently to produce their own by not quite mastering Photoshop or other image-editing software quickly find the internet an unforgiving critic.  For better or worse, AI (artificial intelligence) has now reached the point where such manipulation is often close to undetectable.

Brie (pronounced bree)

(1) A mainly agricultural region in north-east France, between the Seine and the Marne, noted especially for its cheese.

(2) A salted, creamy, white, soft cheese, ripened with bacterial action, originating in Brie and made from cow's milk.

(3) A female given name (with the spelling variant Bree), from the French geographical region but also as a truncation of Brianna.

1848 (the cheese): The name of the cheese is derived from the name of the district in department Seine-et-Marne, southeast of Paris, the source being the Gaulish briga (hill, height).  The English brier (a type of tobacco pipe introduced circa 1859) is unrelated to the cheese or the region in France which shares the name.  The pipes were made from the root of the Erica arborea shrub from the south of France and Corsica, from the French bruyère (heath plant) from the twelfth century Old French bruiere (heather, briar, heathland, moor), from the Gallo-Roman brucaria, from the Late Latin brucus (heather), from the Gaulish bruko- (thought linked with the Breton brug (heath), the Welsh brwg and the Old Irish froech).  The noun plural is bries.

Lindsay Lohan with cheese board, rendered by Vovsoft as a pen drawing: Clockwise from top left, Camembert, Shropshire, Morbier, Nerina & Appenzeller.

Before the French crown assumed full-control in the thirteenth century, the region of Brie was from the ninth century divided into three sections ruled by different feudal lords, (1) the western Brie française (controlled by the King of France), corresponding approximately to the modern department of Seine-et-Marne in the Île-de-France region, (2) the eastern Brie champenoise (controlled by the Duke of Champagne), forming a portion of the modern department of Marne in the historic region of Champagne (part of modern-day Grand Est) and (3) the northern Brie pouilleuse, forming part of the modern department of Aisne in Picardy.  As well as the cheese, Brie is noted for the culturing of roses, introduced circa 1795 by the French explorer Admiral Louis-Antoine, Comte de Bougainville (1729–1811).  Papua New Guinea’s (PNG) Bougainville Island and the Bougainvillea flower were both named after him.

Whipped Brie dip.

A trick of commercial caterers, wedding planners and others who have to gain the maximum visual value from the food budget is whipped Brie dip.  Often a feature of charcuterie boards or a flourish at wine & cheese events, apart from the taste, the main attraction is that aerating Brie almost doubles its volume, making it a cost-effective component.  Technically, the reason the technique works so well as a base is the aeration increases the surface area of the material which comes into contact with the taste receptors.  There are few rules about what goes into a whipped Brie dip although honey, salty bacon & lemon-infused thyme tend often to be used, some including crushed walnuts.  Timing has to be managed because it’s at its best just after being prepared and served at room temperature; if it’s chilled it sets hard and becomes difficult to spread and will break any cracker being dipped.  So, it can be a last-minute task but preparation time is brief and it’s worth it.

Brie & Camembert

Wheel of Camembert.

Both thought delicious by cheese fiends, Brie & Camembert are often confused because the appearance is so similar, both soft, creamy cheeses with an edible white rind and tending to be sold in wheels (squat little cylinders) though it’s easier to tell the difference with cheeses made in France because there they usually maintain the convention that a Camembert will be smaller (unless it’s a baby Brie or petit Brie which will be indicated on the label).  Because most Brie is matured in larger wheels, it’s often sold in wedges, rare among Camembert because the wheels are so small.  However, in the barbaric English-speaking world where anything goes, Brie is sometimes sold in smaller sizes.  Traditionally, like most, they were farmhouse cheeses, but have long been produced mostly in larger artisanal cheeseries or on an industrial scale.

Wheel of Brie.

Both originally created using unpasteurized cow's milk, thanks to the dictatorial ways of humorless EU eurocrats and their vendetta against raw milk, they’re now almost always made with pasteurized milk although there remain two AOP (Appellation d'origine protégée (Protected designation of origin)) unpasteurised Bries, Brie de Meaux & Brie de Melun and one AOP Camembert, Camembert de Normandie, said best to be enjoyed with French cider.  As a cheese, Brie is characterized as being refined, polite and smooth whereas a Camembert is more rustic, the taste and texture earthier (food critics like to say it has more of a “mushroomy taste”), cream being added to the curd of Brie which lends it a milder, more buttery finish and double and triple Brie are even more so.  To ensure the integrity of the brand, French agricultural law demands that a double-cream cheese must contain 60-70% butterfat (which results a fat content around 30%+ in the finished product.  Although variations exist, according to calorieking.com.au, Brie contains 30.5g fat and 18.5g protein per 100g and the same amount of Camembert, 25g fat and 19.5g protein.

Visually, if left for a while at room temperature, it’s easier to tell the difference because a Camembert will melt whereas Brie will retain its structure.  Because of the marked propensity to melt into something truly gooey, Camembert is often used in cooking, sometimes baked and paired with cranberry sauce or walnuts but. Like Brie, is also a staple of cheese plates, served with things like grapes or figs and eaten with crackers, crusty bread and just about any variety of wine.  One local tradition in the Brie region was the Brie Noir (a type of longer-ripened Brie) which villagers dipped into their café au lait over breakfast.

Turkey, Camembert and cranberry pizza (serves 4)

Ingredients

4 medium pita breads
Olive oil spray
120ml cranberry sauce
1 small garlic clove, minced
80g Camembert, sliced and torn
200g lean shaved turkey breast
8 table spoons parmesan cheese
1 cup rocket leaves

Instructions

(1) Heat oven to 390°F (200°C) conventional or 360°F (180°C) fan-forced and line 2 oven trays with baking paper.

(2) Place pita bread on trays and spray lightly with olive oil.

(3) Mix cranberry sauce with garlic and smear onto the pita bread.

(4) Top with Camembert, shaved turkey and finish with a sprinkling of parmesan.

(5) Bake in the oven for 10-15 minutes until golden and the cheese has melted.

(6) Remove from the oven, sprinkle over rocket leaves and serve.

Phyllo-Wrapped Brie With Hot Honey and Anchovies (serves 10-12)

Ingredients

¼ cup chopped roasted red bell pepper (pre-packaged is fine as well as fresh)
3 oil-packed anchovy fillets, minced
1 garlic clove, finely grated or minced
¾ teaspoon finely grated lemon zest
1 pound phyllo (or filo) dough (must be thawed if bought frozen)
10 tablespoons (1¼ sticks) unsalted butter, melted
1 large (about 26 ounces (750 grams)) wheel of Brie
Hot honey (or regular honey (see below)) for serving
Crackers and/or sliced bread, for serving

Instructions

(1) Heat the oven to 425°F (220°F). In a small bowl, stir together the roasted bell pepper, anchovies, garlic, and lemon zest. Set aside.

(2) On a clean work surface, lay out the phyllo dough and cover it with a barely damp kitchen towel to keep it from drying out. Take 2 phyllo sheets and lay them in an 11 × 17-inch rimmed baking sheet. Brush the top sheet generously with melted butter, then lay another 2 phyllo sheets on top the opposite way, so they cross in the centre and are perpendicular to the first two (like making a plus sign). Brush the top sheet with butter. Repeat the layers, reserving 4 sheets of phyllo.

(3) Using a long sharp kitchen knife, halve the Brie horizontally and lay one half, cut-side up, in the centre of the phyllo (you will probably need another set of hands to help lift off the top layer of cheese). Then spread the red pepper mixture all over the top. Cover with the other half of Brie, cut-side down, and then fold the phyllo pieces up around the Brie. There will be a space in the centre on top where the Brie is uncovered, and that’s okay.

(4) Lightly crumple one of the remaining sheets of phyllo and place it on top of the phyllo/Brie package to cover up that space. Drizzle a little butter on top, then repeat with the remaining phyllo sheets, scattering them over the top of the pastry and drizzling a little butter each time. It may look messy but will bake up into gorgeous golden waves of pastry, so fear not.

(5) Bake until the phyllo is golden, 20 to 25 minutes. Remove it from the oven and let it rest for about 15 minutes before drizzling it with the hot honey. Slice (it will be runny) and serve with crackers or bread, and with more hot honey as needed.

Most baked Bries tend to the sweet with layers of jam or chutney beneath the crust but this is a savoury variation using anchovies, garlic, and roasted bell peppers.  A drizzle of honey and the pinch of lemon zest lends the dish a complexity and for the best effect it should be served straight from the oven because that’s when the Brie is at its most seductively gooey.  It’s ideal with crisp crackers or crusty bread for crunch.  The hot honey is a bit of a novelty and those who want to enhance or tone-down the effect can create their own by stirring a pinch or more of cayenne into any mild honey.

Enthrone

Enthrone (pronounced en-throhn)

(1) To put on the throne in a formal installation ceremony (sometimes called an enthronement) which variously could be synonymous with (or simultaneously performed with) a coronation or other ceremonies of investiture.

(2) Figuratively in this context, to help a candidate to the succession of a monarchy or by extension in any other major organisation (ie the role of “kingmakers”, literal and otherwise).

(3) To invest with sovereign or episcopal authority (ie a legal instrument separate from any ceremony).

(4) To honour or exalt (now rare except in literary or poetic use).

(5) Figuratively, to assign authority to or vest authority in.

Circa 1600: The construct was en- + throne and the original meaning was “to place on a throne, exalt to the seat of royalty”.  For this purpose it replaced the late fourteenth century enthronize, from the thirteenth century Old French introniser, from the Late Latin inthronizare, from Greek the enthronizein.  In the late fourteenth century the verb throne (directly from the noun) was used in the same sense.  Throne (the chair or seat occupied by a sovereign, bishop or other exalted personage on ceremonial occasions) dates from the late twelfth century and was from the Middle English trone, from the Old French trone, from the Latin thronus, from the Ancient Greek θρόνος (thrónos) (chair, high-set seat, throne).  It replaced the earlier Middle English seld (seat, throne).  In facetious use, as early as the 1920s, throne could mean “a toilet” (used usually in the phrase “on the throne”) and in theology had the special use (in the plural and capitalized) describing the third (a member of an order of angels ranked above dominions and below cherubim) of the nine orders into which the angels traditionally were divided in medieval angelology.  The en- prefix was from the Middle English en- (en-, in-), from the Old French en- (also an-), from the Latin in- (in, into).  It was also an alteration of in-, from the Middle English in-, from the Old English in- (in, into), from the Proto-Germanic in (in).  Both the Latin & Germanic forms were from the primitive Indo-European en (in, into).  The intensive use of the Old French en- & an- was due to confluence with Frankish intensive prefix an- which was related to the Old English intensive prefix -on.  It formed a transitive verb whose meaning is to make the attached adjective (1) in, into, (2) on, onto or (3) covered.  It was used also to denote “caused” or as an intensifier.  The prefix em- was (and still is) used before certain consonants, notably the labials b and p.  Enthrone, dethrone, enthronest & enthronize are verbs, enthronementm, enthronization & enthroner are nouns, enthroning is a noun & verb, enthroned is a verb & adjective; the noun plural is enthronements.  The noun enthronable is non-standard.  The derived forms include the verb unenthrone, reenthrone & disenthrone and although there have been many enthroners, the form enthronee has never existed.

Alhaji Ibrahim Wogorie (b 1967) being enskinned as North Sisala community chief, Ghana, July 2023.

In colonial-era West Africa the coined forms were “enskin” (thus enskinment, enskinning, enskinned) and “enstool” (thus enstoolment, enstooling, enstooled).  These words were used to refer to the ceremonies in which a tribal chief was installed in his role; the meanings thus essentially the same as enjoyed in the West by “enthrone”.  The constructs reflected a mix of indigenous political culture and English morphological adaptation during the colonial period, the elements explained by (1) the animal skins (the distinctive cheetah often mentioned in the reports of contemporary anthropologists although in some Islamic and Sahelian-influenced chieftaincies (including the Dagomba, Mamprusi, Hausa emirates), a cow or lion skin often was the symbol of authority) which often surrounded the new chief and (2) the tradition in Africa of a chief sitting on a stool.  Sometimes, the unfortunate animal’s skin would be laid over the stool (and almost always, one seems to have been laid at the chief’s feet) but in some traditions (notably in northern Ghana and parts of Nigeria) it was a mark of honor for the chief to sit on a skin spread on the ground.

Dr Mahamudu Bawumia (b 1963), enstooled as Nana Ntentankesehene (Chief of the Internet/Web), Ghana, August 2024.  Note the cheetah skin used to trim the chair.

The stool was the central symbol of chieftaincy and kingship among Akan-speaking peoples (still in present-day Ghana where “to enskin” is used generally to mean “to install as a leader of a group” and the constitution (1992) explicitly protects the institution of chieftaincy and judicial decisions routinely use “enstool” or “enskin” (depending on region)).  In Akan political culture, the most famous use was the Sika Dwa Kofi (the Golden Stool) of the Asante and it represented the embodiment of the polity and ancestors, not merely a seat (used rather like the synecdoches “the Pentagon” (for the US Department of Defense (which appears now to be headed by a cabinet office who simultaneously is both Secretary of Defense & Secretary of War)) or “Downing Street” (for the UK prime-minister or the government generally).  Thus, to be “enstooled” is ritually to be placed into office as chief, inheriting the authority vested in the stool.  Enskin & enstool (both of which seem first to have appeared in the records of the Colonial Office in the 1880s and thus were products of the consolidation of British indirect rule in West Africa, rather than being survivals from earlier missionary English which also coined its own terms) were examples of semantic calquing (the English vocabulary reshaped to encode indigenous concepts) and, as it was under the Raj in India, it was practical administrative pragmatism, colonial officials needing precise (and standardized) terms that distinguished between different systems of authority.  In truth, they were also often part of classic colonial “fixes” in which the British would take existing ceremonies and add layers of ritual to afforce the idea of a chief as “their ruler” and within a couple of generations, sometimes the local population would talk of the newly elaborate ceremony as something dating back centuries; the “fix” was a form of constructed double-legitimization.

A classic colonial fix was the Bose Levu Vakaturaga (Great Council of Chiefs) in Fiji which the British administrators created in 1878.  While it's true that prior to European contact, there had been meetings between turaga (tribal chiefs) to settle disputes and for other purposes, all the evidence suggests they were ad-hoc appointments with little of the formality, pomp and circumstance the British introduced.  Still, it was a successful institution which the chiefs embraced, apparently with some enthusiasm because the cloaks and other accoutrements they adopted for the occasion became increasingly elaborate and it was a generally harmonious form of indigenous governance which enabled the British to conduct matters of administration and policy-making almost exclusively through the chiefs.  The council survived even after Fiji gained independence from Britain in 1970 until it was in 2012 abolished by the military government of Commodore Frank Bainimarama (b 1954; prime minister of Fiji 2007-2022), as part of reform programme said to be an attempt to reduce ethnic divisions and promote a unified national identity.  The commodore's political future would be more assured had he learned lessons from the Raj.

There was of course an element of racial hierarchy in all this and “enskin” & “enstool” denoted a “tribal chief” under British rule whereas “enthrone” might have been thought to imply some form of sovereignty because that was the linkage in Europe and that would never do.  What the colonial authorities wanted was to maintain the idea of “the stool” as a corporate symbol, the office the repository of the authority, not the individual.  The danger with using a term like “enthronement” was the population might be infected by the European notion of monarchy as a hereditary kingship with personal sovereignty; what the Europeans wanted was “a stool” and they would decide who would be enstooled, destooled or restooled. 

Prince Mangosuthu Buthelezi, Moses Mabhida Stadium, Durban, South Africa, October 2022.

English words and their connotations did continue to matter in the post-colonial world because although the colonizers might have departed, often the legacy of language remained, sometimes as an “official” language of government and administration.  In the 1990s, the office of South Africa’s Prince Mangosuthu Buthelezi (1928–2023) sent a series of letters to the world’s media outlets advising he should be styled as “Prince” and not “Chief”, on the basis of being the grandson of one Zulu king and the nephew of another.  The Zulus were once described as a “tribe” and while that reflected the use in ethnography, the appeal in the West was really that it represented a rung on the racist hierarchy of civilization, the preferred model being: white people have nations or states, Africans cluster in tribes or clans.  The colonial administrators recognized these groups had leaders and typically they used the style “chief” (from the Middle English cheef & chef, from the Old French chef & chief (leader), from the Vulgar Latin capus, from the Classical Latin caput (head), from the Proto-Italic kaput, from the primitive Indo-European káput).  As the colonial records make clear, there were “good” chiefs and “troublesome” chiefs, thus the need sometimes to arrange a replacement enstooling.

Unlike in the West where styles of address and orders of precedence were codified (indeed, somewhat fetishized), the traditions in Africa seem to have been more fluid and Mangosuthu Buthelezi didn’t rely on statute or even documented convention when requesting the change.  Instead, he explained “prince” reflected his Zulu royal lineage not only was appropriate (he may have cast an envious eye at the many Nigerian princes) but was also commonly used as his style by South African media, some organs or government and certainly his own Zulu-based political party (IQembu leNkatha yeNkululeko (the IPF; Inkatha Freedom Party).  He had in 1953 assumed the Inkosi (chieftainship) of the Buthelezi clan, something officially recognized four year laters by Pretoria although not until the early 1980s (when it was thought he might be useful as a wedge to drive into the ANC (African National Congress) does the Apartheid-era government seem to have started referring to him as “prince”).  Despite that cynical semi-concession, there was never a formal re-designation.

Enthroned & installed: Lindsay Lohan in acrylic & rhinestone tiara during “prom queen scene” in Mean Girls (2004).

In the matter of prom queens and such, it’s correct to say there has been “an enthronement” because even in the absence of a physical throne (in the sense of “a chair”), the accession is marked by the announcement and the placing of the crown or tiara.  This differs from something like the “enthroning” of a king or queen in the UK because, constitutionally, there is no interregnum, the new assuming the title as the old took their last breath and “enthronement” is a term reserved casually to apply to the coronation.  Since the early twentieth century, the palace and government have contrived to make an elaborate “made for television” ceremony although it has constitutional significance beyond the rituals related to the sovereign’s role as Supreme Governor of the Church of England.

Dame Sarah Mullally in the regalia of Bishop of London; in January 2026, she will take office as Archbishop of Canterbury, the formal installation in March.  No longer one of the world's more desirable jobs (essentially because it can't be done), all wish her the best of British luck.

In October 2025, the matter of enthronement (or, more correctly, non-enthronement) in the Church of England made a brief splash in some of the less explored corners of social media after it was announced the ceremony marking the accession of the next Archbishop of Canterbury would be conducted in Canterbury Cathedral in March 2026.  The announcement was unexceptional in that it was expected and for centuries Archbishops of Canterbury have come and gone (although the last one was declared gone rather sooner than expected) but what attracted some comment was the new appointee was to be “installed” rather than the once traditional “enthroned”.  The conclusion some drew was this apparent relegation was related to the next archbishop being Dame Sarah Mullally (née Bowser; b 1962) the first woman to hold the once desirable job, the previous 105 prelates having been men, the first, Saint Augustine of Canterbury (circa 630s-circa 604) in 597 (not to be confused with the still influential Saint Augustine of Hippo (354–430)).

Despite suspicions the event was in some was being "devalued" because a woman got the job, there is in the church no substantive legal or theological significance in the use of “installed” rather than “enthroned” and the choice reflects modern ecclesiastical practice rather than having any doctrinal or canonical effect.  A person becomes Archbishop of Canterbury through a sequence of juridical acts and these constitute the decisive legal instruments; ceremonial rites have a symbolic value but nothing more, the power of the office vested from the point at which the legal mechanisms have correctly been executed (in that, things align with the procedures used for the nation’s monarchs).  So the difference is one of tone rather than substance and the “modern” church has for decades sought to distance itself from perceptions it may harbor quasi-regal aspirations or the perpetuation of clerical grandeur and separateness.  At least in Lambeth Palace, the preferred model long has been pastoral; most Church of England bishops have for some times been “installed” in their cathedrals (despite “enthronement” surviving in some press reports, a product likely either of nostalgia or “cut & paste journalism”).  That said, some Anglican provinces outside England still “enthrone”, apparently on the basis “it’s always been done that way” rather than the making of a theological or secular point”.

Lambeth Palace, the Archbishop of Canterbury's official London residence.

Interestingly, Archbishops of York (“the church in the north”) continued to enjoy ceremonies of enthronement even after those those at Canterbury underwent installations.  Under canon law, the wording literally makes no difference and historians have concluded the retention of the older form is clung to for no reason other than “product differentiation”, York Minster often emphasizing their continuity with medieval ceremonial forms; it’s thus a mere cultural artefact, the two ceremonies performing the same liturgical action: seating the archbishop in the cathedra (the chair (throne) of the archbishop).  Because it’s the Archbishop of Canterbury and not York who sits as the “spiritual head of the worldwide Anglican community”, in York there’s probably no lingering sensitivity to criticism of continuing with “Romish ways”.  It's not that northern noses are less troubled by the “whiff of popery”, it just that few now care.

In an indication of how little the wording matters, it’s not clear who was the last Archbishop of Canterbury who could be said to have been “enthroned” because there was never any differentiation of form in the ceremonies and the documents suggest the terms were used casually and even interchangeably.  What can be said is that Geoffrey Fisher (1887–1972; AoC-99: 1945-1961) was installed at a ceremony widely described (in the official programme, ecclesiastical commentaries and other church & secular publications) as an “enthronement” and that was the term used in the government Gazette; that’s as official an endorsement of the term as seems possible because, being an established church, bishops are appointed by the Crown on the advice of the prime minister although the procedure has long (and formalized in 2007) been a “legal fiction” because the church’s CNC (Crown Nominations Commission) sends the names to the prime minister who acts as a “postbox”, forwarding them to the palace for the issuing of letters patent confirming the appointment.  When Michael Ramsey (1904–1988; AoC-100: 1961-1974), was appointed, although the term “enthrone” did appear in press reports, the church’s documents almost wholly seem to have used “install” and since then, in Canterbury, it’s been installations all the way.

Pope Pius XII in triple tiara at his coronation, The Vatican, March, 1939.

So, by the early 1960s the church was responding, if cautiously, to the growing anti-monarchical sentiment in post-war ecclesiology although this does seem to have been a sentiment of greater moment to intellectuals and theologians than parishioners.  About these matters there was however a kind of ecumenical sensitivity emerging and the conciliar theology later was crystallised (if not exactly codified) in the papers of Second Vatican Council (Vatican II, 1962-1965, published 1970).  The comparison with the practice in Rome is interesting because there are more similarities than differences although that is obscured by words like “enthronement” and “coronation” being seemingly embedded in the popular (and journalistic) imagination. That’s perhaps understandable because for two millennia as many as 275 popes (officially the count is 267 but it’s not certain how many there have been because there have been “anti-popes” and allegedly even one woman (although that’s now largely discounted)) have sat “on the throne of Saint Peter” (retrospectively the first pope) so the tradition is long.  In Roman Catholic canon law, “enthronement” is not a juridical term; the universal term is capio sedem (taking possession of the cathedral (ie “installation”)) and, as in England, an appointment is formalized once the legal instruments are complete, the subsequent ceremony, while an important part of the institution’s mystique, exists for the same reason as it does for the Church of England or the House of Windsor: it’s the circuses part of panem et circenses (bread and circuses).  Unlike popes who once had coronations, archbishops of Canterbury never did because they made no claim to temporal sovereignty.

Pope Paul VI in triple tiara at his coronation, The Vatican, June. 1963.  It was the last papal coronation.

So, technically, modern popes are “installed as Bishop of Rome” and in recent decades the Holy See has adjusted the use of accoutrements to dispel any implication of an “enthronement”, the last papal coronation at which a pope was crowned with the triple tiara was that of Paul VI (1897-1978; pope 1963-1978) but in “an act of humility” he removed it, placing it on the on the alter where (figuratively), it has since sat.  Actually, Paul VI setting aside the triple tiara as a symbolic renunciation of temporal and monarchical authority was a bit overdue because the Papal States had been lost to the Holy See with the unification of Italy in 1870 though the Church refused to acknowledge that reality; in protest, no pope for decades set foot outside the Vatican.  However, in the form of the Lateran Treaty (1929), the Holy See entered into a concordat with the Italian state whereby the (1) the Vatican was recognized as a sovereign state and (2) the church was recognized as Italy’s state religion in exchange for which the territorial and political reality was recognized.  Despite that, until 1963 the triple tiara (one tier of which was said to symbolize the pope’s temporal authority over the papal states) appeared in the coronations of Pius XII (1876-1958; pope 1939-1958), John XXIII (1881-1963; pope 1958-1963) and Paul VI (who didn’t formally abolish the rite of papal coronation from the Ordo Rituum pro Ministerii Petrini Initio Romae Episcopi (Order of Rites for the Beginning of the Petrine Ministry of the Bishop of Rome (the liturgical book detailing the ceremonies for a pope's installation)) until 1975.

The Chair of St Augustine.  In church circles, archbishops of Canterbury are sometimes said to "occupy the Chair of St Augustine".

The Chair of St Augustine sits in Canterbury Cathedral but technically, an AoC is “twice installed”: once on the Diocesan throne as the Bishop of the see of Canterbury and also on the Chair of St Augustine as Primate of All England (the nation's first bishop) and spiritual leader of the worldwide Anglican Communion. So, there’s nothing unusual in Sarah Mullally being “installed” rather than “enthroned” as would have been the universal terminology between the reformation and the early twentieth century.  Linguistically, legally and theologically, the choice of words is a non-event and anyone who wishes to describe Dame Sarah as “enthroned” may do so without fear of condemnation, excommunication or a burning at the stake.  What is most likely is that of those few who notice, fewer still are likely to care.