This post was originally published at Novelicious.com and is now at WritingTipsOasis.com. WritingTipsOasis.com acquired Novelicious.com in June 2022.
I
must say at the outset, that I haven’t quite cracked this one yet. I have, over
time and through bitter experience, got considerably better. But I still don’t
know whether it is better to roll my roast potatoes in semolina (Nigella) or
just wang them in goose fat and be damned (Jamie).
I love my Christmas dinner. It is the very best meal of the year. So why have I never quite got the hand of it? The first Christmas dinner I ever cooked was not an unmitigated success and that has somehow set the tone for my Christmas dinner career.
At the age of twenty-one and new bride, I was very excited to cook my first turkey. What I hadn’t appreciated was how much difference there was between said turkey and a chicken – which I had happily roasted most Sundays. So I popped the monumental turkey in the oven for an hour and a half and whacked on the rest of the vegetables at the same time too. Result: an excellent meal of veg and roast potatoes for dinner at seven, followed by turkey sandwiches at half past eleven at night when the damn thing was finally ready. Who knew that a turkey would take hours and hours to cook!
Sprouts. They’re a mystery too, aren’t they? My mother puts the sprouts on in July and let’s them percolate on a slow simmer until Christmas day. I didn’t realise until I went to someone else’s house for Christmas dinner that sprouts could be anything other than a noxious grey puree. I have, however, followed in her footsteps and eschew every recipe that advises me to stir fry them with lardons and white wine. I boil them. To oblivion. And no one in the house likes them anyway, so I don’t even know why I do that!
Our current Christmas morning ritual is to
go to our next door neighbour’s at ten o’clock and start the big day with a
sociable round or two of bucks fizz. I thoroughly enjoy it. Some years a bit
too much. Due to imbibing fizzy wine and orange juice, I have dropped two
Christmas dinners just as I was about to serve them. One year I pulled both
shelves out of the oven at once to inspect the roast potatoes and veg. Both
slid in slow motion to the floor before my drink-fuddled reactions could kick
in. The next year I did exactly the same but, for added effect, stumbled
backwards and knocked the resting turkey to the floor too.
On both occasions we had our soup and then a very, very long wait. Now I buy an emergency, back-up Christmas dinner. Bernard Matthews’ turkey roll, Aunt Bessie’s roast spuds and parsnips. If all else fails, we can eat that.
One year , for a change, we had a three bird roast which was a duck inside a chicken inside a turkey. Which was, indeed, every bit as bizarre as it sounds. I’ve never had the nerve to tackle a goose.
For the last few years, I’ve tried to put aside the temptation of creating a gorgeous, groaning feast as peddled to us by Gordon Ramsay and the like. I’ve bought in most of my dinner pre-prepared. Marks and Spencers are the housewives’ friend. I buy all my veg peeled and cut into appealing shapes. I buy my gravy ready made and my cranberry sauce. Heston Bloomingheck does my Christmas pudding (thank you, Waitrose!) and Mr Kipling will do my mince pies.
This year I am going to bake and ice my own Christmas cake for the first time! I fear it may be a step too far.
Hope you enjoy making your own Christmas dinner whatever you have. Anyway, must go, have to get the sprouts on!
Good luck with the Christmas Cake, Carole!
Carole's latest novel is With Love at Christmas