Saint Valentine, the patron saint of lovers, epileptics, and beekeepers (a baffling trinity if ever there was one). When I heard he met his end outside Rome’s Flaminian Gate, I immediately realised the occasion deserved a drink. How else to toast a man who lost his head for his faith, only to be posthumously roped into the commercialised carnival of hearts, chocolates, and limp roses?
For the morbidly curious, his skull can be seen in Rome’s Basilica of Santa Maria in Cosmedin, tastefully adorned with flowers (because nothing says devotion quite like a cranium in a glass case). But the saintly remains don’t stop there. His heart rests in a golden box in Dublin, the bulk of his skeleton is housed in Glasgow, and a shoulder bone made its way to Prague, his relics scattered across Europe like the world’s least romantic treasure hunt. Love itself often follows a similar pattern — unpredictable, fragmented, and occasionally unsettling.
The association of Valentine with passion, however, owes less to divine intervention and more to Geoffrey Chaucer, who, in Parlement of Foules, described birds gathering on “seynt valentynes day” to choose their mates. Centuries later, the birds have been replaced by humans, crammed into bars clutching pink cocktails and overpriced fizz, hoping to charm their Hinge dates.
So, in honour of this most misunderstood bishop, here’s a selection of pink drinks to raise to the sheer absurdity of love.
Here’s to being hopelessly smitten, utterly besotted, and maybe — just maybe — drunk in love.
