On the birth of a son to our nephew, Simon, I presented them with 21 bottles of home-made Port-
good stuff as any recipient would have agreed. Manufacture is long ceased. The bottles were accompanied by the following note-

Nathan’s Port

     It all began with the juice of a quantity of particularly fine, rich, dark grapes of the Bergundian strain, fermented with a sweet decoction of Angels’ tears and the distilled breath of yearling Unicorns. This was then tempered with a mere trace of the salt slather of Camels and Arab Stallions raced across the Devil’s Anvil, but by moonlight. Next it was seasoned with a few, dark crystals of the aromatic Musk Resin of a Siberian Mammoth of long ago, jealously preserved and guarded by Tibetan Monks through many aeons of eternities. Then to give it bight was added the merest droplet of the Venom (more would have been calamitous) from the India Crested Mogul Cobra. Finally, to draw the whole into one, to bind, stabilise and fortify the Matrix, Gallic Maitres des Caves administered a punctiliously calibrated quantity of L’Eau de Vie- the Water of Life- Brandy. And so it was phyltered, bottled and stored in a cool, dark and secret place for uncounted years, until the time came to bring it to the Eve of the Simcha of the Naming of Nathan John, in the Temple.