... and breathe
Well, that’s that, I suppose. The pressies are done, there’s 600lbs of organic turkey to be repurposed, the Amazon returns have to be repackaged, the packed fridge contents need to be itemised, date-checked, and their future resolved; and the gratitude for others’ kindnesses widely disseminated.
Some clever, kind, loving and thoughtful presents from Madame, some of which came with a “… and I can use it too…” caveat. Equally, she was gracious and put on a brave face about some of the presents I gave her.
For myself, the day was marred by the illness of a great chum who couldn’t make lunch, but the arrival of one of Madame’s nephews marginally brightened the mood. Our other chums survived my tortured cooking and bought the world’s most excellent home-made pudding, but in the end, I instead felt it was a day when all the traditions that needed to be lost should be kicked into the Mariana Trench.
I have two ovens, a double air-fryer, a 1947 toasted sandwich maker, an induction hob, and a charcoal BBQ - yet despite my array of apparatus, I was struggling to find space to manoeuvre!
I had resolved to blanch the sprouts first, then wok-fry them with smoked pancetta and chestnuts, with a crushed garlic clove and a sprinkle of pil berbere. Simultaneously, Teddy, the Turkey, was under South Africa’s entire aluminium output for 2025, and several oven cloths and was generally doing nada, except occupying the counter-top. The gravy was being made, and the cranberry sauce needed reheating, having been made the day before. The bread sauce also needed making, which I did badly and with some real lack of skill; and the glazed carrots with fresh sage, sugar and mustard seed needed to be turned into something inedible, which I’ve never done before, but managed with aplomb. The roasties were fine, the pigs in blankets and the stuffing balls were all under management, but it felt as though hundreds of dishes and containers were now in holding patterns over the culinary runways, looking for somewhere to land before they ran out of fuel and ploughed into the kitchen floor - much to the dogs’ delight!
In the meantime,
