December 2018 – Page 2 – The beaver is a proud and noble animal

How do you beat the Christmas blues? Take charge in the kitchen

Originally posted on The Guardian

Like your first hangover and your first speeding ticket, cooking Christmas lunch for the first time is a rite of passage. It is a passing of the flame from one generation to the next, with added gravy. I remember mine as if it was 25 years ago. Two things stay with me. One was my late mother’s nod of approval at the sweet and sour red cabbage. It wasn’t her red cabbage. It could never be hers. But it did deserve to be eaten. That was praise enough.

The other memory was the admin. Blimey, it was complicated. I had to write timetables, like I was revising for A-levels all over again, only with a greater risk of humiliation through failure. Pinned up by the fridge magnets were documents that had taken on the significance of holy scripture: “12 noon – potatoes in; 1.30pm, bird out”. And so on. When it was all done and the kitchen was festooned in edible wreckage, I took the applause and muttered quietly about not making a habit of it.

And yet, come year two I was in the kitchen again, right up to my wrist in the turkey. It was the same the next year and the year after that. For, somewhere along the way, I had made a quiet but astonishing discovery, one most Christmas Day cooks will recognise but never acknowledge.

Courtesy of natural justice, you also get let off the washing up. It is a big, hearty bundle of wins
They don’t want to be found out, because intriguingly it goes against the spirit of Christmas itself. It is this: cooking Christmas lunch is a glorious way to absent yourself from the nightmare of Christmas; from the weird, twisted dynamic of one long day crammed together with your family.

It’s perfect. There has to be a Christmas lunch. Whoever cooks it is seen as performing a selfless service. Look at them toiling over the sprouts and the parsnips and the roasties and the pigs in blankets and no really, I’m fine, you go back in there and relax. I’ve got this. If you are up to the job, spending the first few hours of the day locked in the kitchen, can be much more pleasurable than tolerating your racist auntie. Plus, courtesy of natural justice, you get let off the washing up. It is a big, hearty bundle of wins.

It took me a while to clock that my mother had pulled this trick throughout my childhood. She hated her own in-laws but also knew they had to be there. She had a two-pronged approach to the problem. The first was to invite an enormous number of people. Christmas Day in our house could have up to 30 people at the table, mostly gay men, Jews and actors: gay men, because in the 70s, sadly, many of them had mislaid their families; Jews because they weren’t really meant to be marking the pagan feast at all so were always free, and actors because they were caught between performances of panto on Christmas Eve and Boxing Day and couldn’t get back to their own families. Many of them were gay Jewish actors.

Having hidden my paternal grandparents in this relentlessly jazz-hands crowd, she disappeared into the kitchen, guaranteeing she was as far away from them as possible. Now I’ve described this, of course, the game is up. So, here’s what you do. This year, come the big day, don’t let them get away with it. Everybody should set up camp in the kitchen telling the self-absenting cook that you don’t want them to feel left out. It will drive them completely nuts. Merry Christmas.

My 10 Christmas food commandments

Originally posted on The Guardian

Having last year formulated 10 general food commandments, I feel uniquely placed to have a crack at 10 for Christmas. You can ignore them if you like, but on your own head be it.

One Thou shalt not mistake Nigella, Mary and Jamie for the Lord, thy God. Those Christmas specials are only TV programmes. They’re entertainment, not a blueprint for how your Christmas is meant to be. Yours won’t be anything like that because you don’t have battalions of home economists to knock up the food and set designers to decorate the house. Even Nigella’s won’t be like that.

Two Thou shalt not always make your own. There is no shame in buying ready-made bread sauce or mince pies. That’s why supermarket new product development units were invented.

Three If you’re the cook on Christmas Day thou shalt have first crack at the sausages and bacon as they come out of the oven.

Four Thou shalt not feel compelled to make every side dish ever invented. Roast potatoes, and one other vegetable, two at a push. No more. What are you trying to prove? That you’re a whizz at Oven Tetris? No one will judge you. As long as there’s gravy everything will be fine. (This last rule applies all year round.)

Five Thou shalt not wear a stupid hat during lunch if thou doesn’t want to. Even if the children whine at you for being a spoilsport. Children need to learn that one of the pleasures of adulthood is not having to do stupid things.

Six Thou shalt not serve Christmas pudding, at least not on Christmas Day. Nobody likes it. And even if they do, by the time you get to dessert at Christmas lunch nobody has any space. All they want is jelly. Make jelly and if anyone complains, tell them Moses made you. If you must serve Christmas pudding, wait until the week between Christmas and New Year, buy it up cheap, steam it, then fry it in bacon fat. You’ll thank me. I’m a biblical prophet; I know what I’m talking about.

Seven Thou shalt eat trifle for breakfast on Boxing Day. It’s Christmas. The usual rules do not apply.

Eight Thou shalt not be embarrassed about making exactly the same things from leftovers as you always do. Yes, your turkey curry is awful. It’s always been awful. But tradition is important and your awful turkey curry is one of them. Stop trying to re-invent the wheel. Though don’t make that turkey risotto thing with the frozen peas again. That really is a crime against food.

Nine Thou shalt drink Bailey’s, though only at this time of year. Drinking it at any other time of year marks you out as having the palate of a seven-year-old. Drinking it at Christmas defines you as sweet and sentimental.

And finally, ten Thou shalt have a meltdown if thou wants to. In theory Christmas is a delightful festival, a time to draw near to your loved ones. In practice it’s a bloody nightmare, a breeding ground for recrimination and, eventually, divorce. Far better to get it all out there. Other than that, it’s peace and goodwill all the way. Merry Christmas everyone. And you’re welcome.