Minutes from Christmas Day – a Foodie’s perspective
Discussion
08:00 Alarm sounds, sleep button pressed.
08:07 Alarm sounds, sleep button re-pressed. Realisation it’s Christmas Day and I’ve got a lot to do.
08:14 Alarm sounds, attempt to wake up snoozing wife.
08:19 Go downstairs to open our presents together. These include new spatulas, an ice cream maker and even a dough scraper all the way from America.
08:27 I’m so pleased with my new Wusthof Santoku Ikon Classic knife that I’m in the kitchen slicing an apple in to wafer thin pieces with no intention of eating it. I get moaned at for wasting perfectly good fruit. “Apples are expensive you know!”
08:43 Shave and shower whilst rehearsing timings for the day and in particular how I am going to get the turkey ready for 11:00hrs. You see, we’re eating 12 miles away at my in-laws’ and need to be there for 11:30. MIL is working at 13:30 and we all want to eat dinner together.
08:59 Breakfast of toasted brioche, loosely scrambled eggs and thinly sliced home cured salmon. I’m devastated that I’d put too many crushed juniper berries in the cure rendering it over-perfumed and soapy tasting. Ate it anyway.
09:14 Top oven turned on, set to fan at 175c. I’d jointed the turkey the night before knowing it’d cook faster and give us more time. I had five roasting bags consisting of two breasts, drums, thighs and wings, pre-seasoned, with thyme and stock added.
09:15 Oven to temperature, thighs, wings and drums in. I’m praying for succulence and golden skin just like Bernard Matthews would want.
09:23 Aunt Bessie will not be making an appearance at any Christmas Dinner table that I’m sitting at, so in goes a cup of sifted plain flour, six eggs and a cup of milk along with a pinch of salt. All mixed up and decanted in to a transportable container - these should be good, I think to myself.
09:40 I shout up to my wife who is well known for taking an age to get herself ready. This has previously led to numerous arguments; being overly punctual myself. She casually informs me that she still has to ice her cake, bag up the fudge and do her hair. Great! I’m thinking we are going to be late.
09:50 Breasts go in the oven - thighs et-al doing well. Again I pray for juicy succulence and no hint of the all-too-common chalky, choking dryness of turkey so feared across the Land.
10:03 So who is responsible for clearing away the breakfast dishes, tidying up the sitting room which is strewn with wrapping paper and boxes, and loading up the car? I know the answer is a resounding “ME” so get on with it all in a slightly miffed fashion.
10:14 I gather a boning and scalloped carving knives as well as a huge chopping board and other foodie paraphernalia and struggle out to the car. I hadn’t unlocked the car or opened the boot first so had to put it all on the wet driveway in order to do so. I catch a friendly neighbour and wish him Merry Christmas and can see he’s wondering why I’m heaving half of the contents of my kitchen in to the boot on Christmas day.
10:21 My wife is now downstairs and is already beating icing sugar in to a bowl causing a sugary dust to settle on our brand new granite and limestone. I take over due to arm ache and her need to mix some green icing for the obligatory holly and glace cherry berries.
10:24 The bottom oven is set to fan at 110c and in goes the casserole dish from the slow cooker which is to act as a thermos for the resting turkey when we transport it to our onward destination. The icing is done and I have to quickly sketch a piece of ivy for my wife on the back of a Christmas card as for some reason her practice run looked like a sycamore leaf. Admittedly she does a better job of it than I would have managed.
10:32 I insert a probe in to the thickest part of the breast and we have 67c. We need 77c and I can relax knowing that it’ll easily reach it in time. I turn everything over in the oven coating the now golden turkey in its own juices to baste. Out comes a deep muffin tin which I place a small piece of lard in each recess, to ensure monolithic Yorkshire puddings for me to be proud of.
10:52 We reach the desired internal temperature and the bird in its component parts is decanted into the casserole for resting and insulation. I tape up the lid for fear of it smashing.
11:04 With the new kitchen now resembling a Saturday night service at a Berni Inn, we gather our belongings, their presents and anything else I’d forgotten and head off on a spirited yet smooth drive to the in-laws’. I’m making time whilst trying not to feed my boot floor with turkey stock and waste the opportunity to make a real turkey gravy. I’ve forgotten the bloody wine! Well, I’m not turning back.
11:34 We arrive 4 minutes behind schedule. The gates are closed even though they know we are due to arrive. My wife is sitting in the passenger seat holding a freshly iced Christmas cake with a holly leaf all spread out.
11:35 I can see my FIL in the window so surely he can see us. Still the gates remain closed (they are electric and all it takes it a press of a button no more than a foot away from him). My wife passes me the cake and she gets out of the car to manually key in a code. They finally swing open. I reverse up the drive and pop the boot.
11:36 I forgot they have a new dog. Jesus it’s bloody huge! Before I’ve entered the kitchen I’m grazed, have saliva on my hands and a paw print on my trousers. Nice.
11:40 Happy Christmas everyone! Cheeks kissed, hands shaken, hugs issued, I get every single piece of equipment from the car myself, and set to work assessing where they are with dinner. Thankfully my wife persuades them to lock the dog in the utility room despite her youngest sister’s (and the dog’s) protests.
11:45 Oh s
t. How are we going to pull this together in 30 minutes? The veg is chopped up so large for roasting that it’ll take an hour. It’s piled in a high sided roasting tin sitting in a 170c non-fan oven. The potatoes look good – all 15 of them for 6 people, including a greedy brother in law who I know will attempt to eat six!
11:50 With veg split across two trays, oiled and seasoned, ovens turned to fan and turned up to 210c we begin to bring it together. Where’s the gravy I ask. They point to a tub of Bisto granules so I warm the turkey stock, add some more Oxo and hot water, add some granules to thicken and reduce. I season, taste, season again and at last we have a savoury, umami sauce fit for a foody. MIL tastes and shrieks – it’s good enough to eat as a soup! I’m happy!
12:01 The Yorkshire muffin tin has preheated and my wife pours in the mix. The first few sizzle like I hope but the temperature drops so quickly the rest don’t even fizz. Never mind, they’ll be fine. I can see the dinner coming together nicely and we’re going to be okay for 12:30 at this rate.
12:10 I begin to carve the turkey. It’s still very hot and burns my hands slightly. I continue and slice the breast cross-grain and pull the thighs, wings and drums apart to reveal juicy, unctuous meat. MIL comes across and asks why I didn’t just buy a crown. I taste some breast and even after my careful cooking a resting it’s dryer than I’d have liked, but more than edible.
12:20 Plates are taken from the warming rack above the Reyburn and we begin to take things out of the ovens. MIL suggests hers is plated first as she is now worried about running out of time before work which is understandable.
12:30 My wife and I plate four and then turn to begin our own plates. As if by telepathy her siblings emerge from their iPads and chocolates as they sense Christmas Dinner is served, and all of a sudden our feast begins.
12:32 Cheers everyone, Merry Christmas, as our glasses and our cutlery clatters and we all tuck in. I look down, feeling too hot, sweaty and frankly exhausted. My wife looks and feels the same as our eyes meet with a knowing glance.
12:33 On my plate are two crisp, golden roasts. They are under-seasoned but still delicious. I have three sprouts, some roasted veg and a large crispy and soft Yorkshire pudding drizzled in a slick of turkey gravy. The turkey leg meat itself is moist with great flavour. There is no crispy skin to speak of because I roasted it in bags. The breast is too dry for my liking.
12:34 I continue with my analysis and get to a sausage wrapped in bacon. The sausage reminds me of school dinners. I then find an unidentified grey, flaccid and doughy object nestled under some turkey. A quick taste confirms it’s Paxo stuffing mix. This isn’t the stuffing I’d imagined or hoped for. Another foreign object on my plate is a luke-warm Marks and Spencer potato croquette which is a family tradition of theirs. Each to their own and all that, and after eating my way through just over half of my plate I was full.
12:53 Everyone apart from my wife and I had cleared their plates. All that mattered was that they’d enjoyed their dinner. Her siblings had wolfed down each component with little of it registering beyond the next mouthful.
14:00 The dog needs walking. I borrow my FIL’s boots and three of us take an excited 9-month old Airedale on to the fields which are muddy and water logged. I get a splinter in my hand from throwing a large stick repeatedly in an attempt to tire the thing out. It completes its assault on me by jumping up again and muddying my other trouser leg with a huge paw print. I accept defeat.
14:40 It’s time to serve my wife’s home made Christmas pudding. Where’s the brandy we ask FIL. He crouches down and dusts off every spirit imaginable from the cabinet which they never, ever drink. He produces a bottle of Benedictine and asks, “will this do?”
14:50 Eventually we find a cognac and I destroy the dried up cork trying to open it. We have to sieve it. Get me a candle, a ladle and some matches I exclaim politely! As FIL tries to coerce us in to the kitchen where “things are less flammable” I insist we are safe and that Brandy is not as volatile as petrol. With both hands full I ask him to light the vapours coming off the now warm spirit. Up came the beautiful blue flame as I poured it gently on to the magnificent pudding whilst my wife’s siblings videoed and photographed the occasion. The brandy sauce was the icing on the cake!
15:12 Time to relax in the living room with an open fire and a glass of port and a coffee; or so I thought. In comes the dog, licks my new watch and knocks over the entire six foot Christmas tree smashing three baubles and taking a gouge out of the wallpaper. Mayhem ensues!
The moral of the story to all you foodies: the extra effort which you put in to produce delicious home-made food is worth every minute and every penny. Christmas dinner is at my house next year!
Happy Christmas everyone!
08:07 Alarm sounds, sleep button re-pressed. Realisation it’s Christmas Day and I’ve got a lot to do.
08:14 Alarm sounds, attempt to wake up snoozing wife.
08:19 Go downstairs to open our presents together. These include new spatulas, an ice cream maker and even a dough scraper all the way from America.
08:27 I’m so pleased with my new Wusthof Santoku Ikon Classic knife that I’m in the kitchen slicing an apple in to wafer thin pieces with no intention of eating it. I get moaned at for wasting perfectly good fruit. “Apples are expensive you know!”
08:43 Shave and shower whilst rehearsing timings for the day and in particular how I am going to get the turkey ready for 11:00hrs. You see, we’re eating 12 miles away at my in-laws’ and need to be there for 11:30. MIL is working at 13:30 and we all want to eat dinner together.
08:59 Breakfast of toasted brioche, loosely scrambled eggs and thinly sliced home cured salmon. I’m devastated that I’d put too many crushed juniper berries in the cure rendering it over-perfumed and soapy tasting. Ate it anyway.
09:14 Top oven turned on, set to fan at 175c. I’d jointed the turkey the night before knowing it’d cook faster and give us more time. I had five roasting bags consisting of two breasts, drums, thighs and wings, pre-seasoned, with thyme and stock added.
09:15 Oven to temperature, thighs, wings and drums in. I’m praying for succulence and golden skin just like Bernard Matthews would want.
09:23 Aunt Bessie will not be making an appearance at any Christmas Dinner table that I’m sitting at, so in goes a cup of sifted plain flour, six eggs and a cup of milk along with a pinch of salt. All mixed up and decanted in to a transportable container - these should be good, I think to myself.
09:40 I shout up to my wife who is well known for taking an age to get herself ready. This has previously led to numerous arguments; being overly punctual myself. She casually informs me that she still has to ice her cake, bag up the fudge and do her hair. Great! I’m thinking we are going to be late.
09:50 Breasts go in the oven - thighs et-al doing well. Again I pray for juicy succulence and no hint of the all-too-common chalky, choking dryness of turkey so feared across the Land.
10:03 So who is responsible for clearing away the breakfast dishes, tidying up the sitting room which is strewn with wrapping paper and boxes, and loading up the car? I know the answer is a resounding “ME” so get on with it all in a slightly miffed fashion.
10:14 I gather a boning and scalloped carving knives as well as a huge chopping board and other foodie paraphernalia and struggle out to the car. I hadn’t unlocked the car or opened the boot first so had to put it all on the wet driveway in order to do so. I catch a friendly neighbour and wish him Merry Christmas and can see he’s wondering why I’m heaving half of the contents of my kitchen in to the boot on Christmas day.
10:21 My wife is now downstairs and is already beating icing sugar in to a bowl causing a sugary dust to settle on our brand new granite and limestone. I take over due to arm ache and her need to mix some green icing for the obligatory holly and glace cherry berries.
10:24 The bottom oven is set to fan at 110c and in goes the casserole dish from the slow cooker which is to act as a thermos for the resting turkey when we transport it to our onward destination. The icing is done and I have to quickly sketch a piece of ivy for my wife on the back of a Christmas card as for some reason her practice run looked like a sycamore leaf. Admittedly she does a better job of it than I would have managed.
10:32 I insert a probe in to the thickest part of the breast and we have 67c. We need 77c and I can relax knowing that it’ll easily reach it in time. I turn everything over in the oven coating the now golden turkey in its own juices to baste. Out comes a deep muffin tin which I place a small piece of lard in each recess, to ensure monolithic Yorkshire puddings for me to be proud of.
10:52 We reach the desired internal temperature and the bird in its component parts is decanted into the casserole for resting and insulation. I tape up the lid for fear of it smashing.
11:04 With the new kitchen now resembling a Saturday night service at a Berni Inn, we gather our belongings, their presents and anything else I’d forgotten and head off on a spirited yet smooth drive to the in-laws’. I’m making time whilst trying not to feed my boot floor with turkey stock and waste the opportunity to make a real turkey gravy. I’ve forgotten the bloody wine! Well, I’m not turning back.
11:34 We arrive 4 minutes behind schedule. The gates are closed even though they know we are due to arrive. My wife is sitting in the passenger seat holding a freshly iced Christmas cake with a holly leaf all spread out.
11:35 I can see my FIL in the window so surely he can see us. Still the gates remain closed (they are electric and all it takes it a press of a button no more than a foot away from him). My wife passes me the cake and she gets out of the car to manually key in a code. They finally swing open. I reverse up the drive and pop the boot.
11:36 I forgot they have a new dog. Jesus it’s bloody huge! Before I’ve entered the kitchen I’m grazed, have saliva on my hands and a paw print on my trousers. Nice.
11:40 Happy Christmas everyone! Cheeks kissed, hands shaken, hugs issued, I get every single piece of equipment from the car myself, and set to work assessing where they are with dinner. Thankfully my wife persuades them to lock the dog in the utility room despite her youngest sister’s (and the dog’s) protests.
11:45 Oh s
t. How are we going to pull this together in 30 minutes? The veg is chopped up so large for roasting that it’ll take an hour. It’s piled in a high sided roasting tin sitting in a 170c non-fan oven. The potatoes look good – all 15 of them for 6 people, including a greedy brother in law who I know will attempt to eat six!11:50 With veg split across two trays, oiled and seasoned, ovens turned to fan and turned up to 210c we begin to bring it together. Where’s the gravy I ask. They point to a tub of Bisto granules so I warm the turkey stock, add some more Oxo and hot water, add some granules to thicken and reduce. I season, taste, season again and at last we have a savoury, umami sauce fit for a foody. MIL tastes and shrieks – it’s good enough to eat as a soup! I’m happy!
12:01 The Yorkshire muffin tin has preheated and my wife pours in the mix. The first few sizzle like I hope but the temperature drops so quickly the rest don’t even fizz. Never mind, they’ll be fine. I can see the dinner coming together nicely and we’re going to be okay for 12:30 at this rate.
12:10 I begin to carve the turkey. It’s still very hot and burns my hands slightly. I continue and slice the breast cross-grain and pull the thighs, wings and drums apart to reveal juicy, unctuous meat. MIL comes across and asks why I didn’t just buy a crown. I taste some breast and even after my careful cooking a resting it’s dryer than I’d have liked, but more than edible.
12:20 Plates are taken from the warming rack above the Reyburn and we begin to take things out of the ovens. MIL suggests hers is plated first as she is now worried about running out of time before work which is understandable.
12:30 My wife and I plate four and then turn to begin our own plates. As if by telepathy her siblings emerge from their iPads and chocolates as they sense Christmas Dinner is served, and all of a sudden our feast begins.
12:32 Cheers everyone, Merry Christmas, as our glasses
and our cutlery clatters and we all tuck in. I look down, feeling too hot, sweaty and frankly exhausted. My wife looks and feels the same as our eyes meet with a knowing glance.12:33 On my plate are two crisp, golden roasts. They are under-seasoned but still delicious. I have three sprouts, some roasted veg and a large crispy and soft Yorkshire pudding drizzled in a slick of turkey gravy. The turkey leg meat itself is moist with great flavour. There is no crispy skin to speak of because I roasted it in bags. The breast is too dry for my liking.
12:34 I continue with my analysis and get to a sausage wrapped in bacon. The sausage reminds me of school dinners. I then find an unidentified grey, flaccid and doughy object nestled under some turkey. A quick taste confirms it’s Paxo stuffing mix. This isn’t the stuffing I’d imagined or hoped for. Another foreign object on my plate is a luke-warm Marks and Spencer potato croquette which is a family tradition of theirs. Each to their own and all that, and after eating my way through just over half of my plate I was full.
12:53 Everyone apart from my wife and I had cleared their plates. All that mattered was that they’d enjoyed their dinner. Her siblings had wolfed down each component with little of it registering beyond the next mouthful.
14:00 The dog needs walking. I borrow my FIL’s boots and three of us take an excited 9-month old Airedale on to the fields which are muddy and water logged. I get a splinter in my hand from throwing a large stick repeatedly in an attempt to tire the thing out. It completes its assault on me by jumping up again and muddying my other trouser leg with a huge paw print. I accept defeat.
14:40 It’s time to serve my wife’s home made Christmas pudding. Where’s the brandy we ask FIL. He crouches down and dusts off every spirit imaginable from the cabinet which they never, ever drink. He produces a bottle of Benedictine and asks, “will this do?”
14:50 Eventually we find a cognac and I destroy the dried up cork trying to open it. We have to sieve it. Get me a candle, a ladle and some matches I exclaim politely! As FIL tries to coerce us in to the kitchen where “things are less flammable” I insist we are safe and that Brandy is not as volatile as petrol. With both hands full I ask him to light the vapours coming off the now warm spirit. Up came the beautiful blue flame as I poured it gently on to the magnificent pudding whilst my wife’s siblings videoed and photographed the occasion. The brandy sauce was the icing on the cake!
15:12 Time to relax in the living room with an open fire and a glass of port and a coffee; or so I thought. In comes the dog, licks my new watch and knocks over the entire six foot Christmas tree smashing three baubles and taking a gouge out of the wallpaper. Mayhem ensues!
The moral of the story to all you foodies: the extra effort which you put in to produce delicious home-made food is worth every minute and every penny. Christmas dinner is at my house next year!
Happy Christmas everyone!
Edited by Pferdestarke on Thursday 27th December 18:18
Christ, you sound miserable.
Complaining about others and praising your own cooking ability is almost the exact opposite of the spirit of a festive family celebration...
I'm just pleased that none of my family are so snidey and judgemental, and we tend to appreciate each other's company more than the quality of the cooking implements...
Complaining about others and praising your own cooking ability is almost the exact opposite of the spirit of a festive family celebration...
I'm just pleased that none of my family are so snidey and judgemental, and we tend to appreciate each other's company more than the quality of the cooking implements...
Mobile Chicane said:
Do you naysayers have nowhere else to spread your poison? 
I laughed when I saw Dave's post. He had a choice of how to interpret my ramblings and no surprises which way he chose to go. The canapes were for my parents but thanks for the compliments. They take hours to do and are consumed very swiftly.
How was the duck?
Pferdestarke said:
Mobile Chicane said:
Do you naysayers have nowhere else to spread your poison?
I laughed when I saw Dave's post. He had a choice of how to interpret my ramblings and no surprises which way he chose to go. The canapes were for my parents but thanks for the compliments. They take hours to do and are consumed very swiftly.
How was the duck?
There may be quite a bit left, however I'm sure Bob (the cat) will enjoy it
Pferdestarke said:
I laughed when I saw Dave's post. He had a choice of how to interpret my ramblings and no surprises which way he chose to go.
To be fair, you did sound like a moany old kitchen queen, who thinks he's above his family... I can only apologise if that wasn't your intention...calibrax said:
Good post... but what is this obsession people have nowadays with doing Yorkshire puddings with every meal?
Better a pudding than a Yorkshire terrier with every meal.I'll have them with sausage, beef, lamb, chicken/turkey, they go well with every meat, except hedgehog IMHO.
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