Food and drink writer Catherine Devaney tells us why we should be preparing Christmas dinner ahead of schedule – and how to go about it.
You know that famous line about Ginger Rogers – that she did everything Fred Astaire did but she did it backwards, in high heels? That is what it is like to be in charge of Christmas dinner.
It’s not that any particular element is difficult – after all, there’s nothing especially hard about roasting potatoes or reheating a Christmas pudding. It’s simply that there is so much to think about at once.
Even the best multi-taskers meet their match on December 25.
Throw in an unquenchable perfectionist streak and a love of really good food and Christmas quickly becomes a circle that’s pretty hard to square.
You don’t just have to participate in all the festivities, put on your Christmas jumper, drink fizz and play Monopoly like everyone else. No, you have to do all that while juggling an unfeasibly large turkey, playing fridge jenga, with an oven at 50% over capacity and the ravenous hordes descending.
And smile. And look like you’re enjoying it. And pretend not to mind when everyone else starts eating before you’ve even managed to sit down at the table and admire the feast you so lovingly created.
The festive mantle
There was a moment about five years ago, late on Christmas Eve – in between breastfeeding bouts, as I checked on the turkey soaking merrily in its festive bath of brine (mandated by Nigella), panicked that the unseasonably warm weather might induce optimum levels of overnight bacterial multiplication – when I realised the festive mantle had well and truly passed.
It was no longer my mother’s responsibility to curate Christmas Day, it had become mine. And it would remain mine for approximately the next 25 years until one of the offspring gaily announces that they would like to host Christmas.
Then there are the demands. They start quietly, in a rather unassuming, undemanding sort of way. Along the lines of: “There will be Christmas pudding won’t there?” (my mother). Followed by, “But we are having Yorkshires aren’t we?” (my husband).
Followed by “Christmas pudding has raisins in it, doesn’t it? I don’t like raisins” (also my husband). Then my favourite, the passive plea for a choice of starters if ever I heard one: “I won’t eat smoked salmon but don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine” (my mother in law).
Then the husband pipes up, again, wondering innocently whether we might be having some nibbles before lunch (and by that he doesn’t just mean a bowl of Twiglets). Just a sausage roll or two. Or a haggis bon bon. Or maybe a blini, because it wouldn’t be Christmas without them after all.
Oh and, while we’re at it, what are we having for Christmas breakfast? Because somewhere in between all the unwrapping it’s somehow become traditional – and yes I know I am probably to blame for this – to have a full Scottish breakfast with croissants. Oh and did we mention Christmas Eve?
Three-way event
Because I’m usually informed on approximately December 23 that he’s invited the neighbours up on Christmas Eve – but that’s OK because we always have loads of food anyway, don’t we?
So by now it’s less of a Christmas lunch and more of a three-way event. I smile. I put up more fairy lights. I contemplate gin. This all led to last year, which saw us hole ourselves up alone with the kids in a holiday cottage in rural Derbyshire. Bliss, had we not realised that we would spend most of the next year holed up alone with the kids in rural Fife.
I know, be careful what you wish for. This year we must navigate our way through the guidance on festive bubbles, sadly not of the Champagne variety.
I rather covet the idea of a little floating festive bubble of my own, preferably somewhere over the Maldives, but that is not to be. Suddenly, faced with the reality that this year will be very different to all the others, I’m inexplicably nostalgic for family Christmases of old.
Because despite all my festive whinging, somewhere in amongst all the madness there are always little pockets of magic that make it all worthwhile.
Even in a good year I can barely make it through the chorus of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas without welling up. And for many this year will be especially poignant, marked by the absence or loss of loved ones.
There will be those who don’t have the luxury of a bubble, through fate or circumstance, those who can’t travel, and those who (quite sensibly) simply don’t understand the logic of the exposure risk all for the sake of a cracker tussle over the Brussels sprouts.
Festive snacks
If, like many, you’re going to see loved ones but minimise the time you spend together (there are actually advantages to this, if you pause to think about it) and if, like us, you’re going to brave the elements and gather by a fire outdoors, then here’s a few ideas for some festive snacks to share. Not a full Christmas dinner, just the essence of the season in luxury bite sized form, perfect for a little socially distanced sharing.
Christmas simply wouldn’t be Christmas in our house without a smoked salmon blini. Blinis can be made on Christmas Eve and gently warmed up on Christmas day.
Put 225g strong white flour, 5g sugar, 5g salt and 10g instant yeast in a bowl. In a jug mix together 250ml milk, 150ml sour cream, the zest of one lemon and 3 egg yolks.
Whisk the flour mixture whilst gradually adding the liquid. Whisk the batter smooth, cover with cling film and leave in a warm place to prove for at least two hours. Then fold through three whipped egg whites.
Heat a little oil in a pan and fry the individual blinis like mini pancakes, or make large ones and use a pastry cutter to stamp out little blinis.
On Christmas day top with little dollops of sour cream, some smoked salmon, lemon zest and fresh dill.
Next up is the non-negotiable pig in a blanket. But rather than serving with Christmas dinner, serve them canapé style as a snack.
Use butcher’s chipolatas for the best flavour, wrap in some smoked bacon and roast in a little oil in at 180C/Fan 160C/350F/Gas Mark 4 for 20 minutes or until golden and cooked through.
Sticky glaze
Then heat some redcurrant jelly in a pan, add the zest of an orange and a splash of water, stir then pour over the hot sausages (tip off the fat first) and shake the pan well to coat them in the sticky glaze.
The third snack is a nod to the Christmas cheese course: blue cheese, fig and walnut crostini. Thinly slice some sourdough into bitesize pieces, drizzle with some olive oil and toast in a hot oven until the bread is golden and crisp.
Then top with some fig chutney, crumble over some blue cheese (Blue Murder is a favourite in our house, but it’s worth a visit to your local cheese stockist for their festive recommendations), add some little batons of fresh pear with hot toasted walnuts and a drizzle of honey.
Chocolate pot
To finish is a little dark chocolate pot, unassuming but exquisitely rich. This recipe will make six mini portions. Melt 175g dark chocolate in a Pyrex bowl over a pan of gently simmering water. Whisk 50g egg yolk with 25g sugar in a separate bowl.
Lightly whip 75ml double cream and set aside for now. Meanwhile boil 125ml milk and 125ml double cream in a sauce pan. Slowly and gradually pour the hot cream mixture over the egg mixture, whisking all the time, to make a thin custard. Return the custard to the pot and place on a gentle heat, stirring until it thickens slightly and coats the back of a spoon.
Now whisk the melted chocolate and slowly add the custard, whisking all the time. When the chocolate mixture is smooth, gently fold in the whipped cream.
Fill little pots or jars with the mixture and leave to set in the fridge. Top with grated white and dark chocolate and a few griottine cherries, for all the flavour of a traditional Black Forest gateau.
This year, more than ever, I’m reminded just how lucky we are and whinging about whose responsibility it is to cook the turkey seems a little misplaced. Perhaps, when the last mince pies are done, the Zoom calls over and the brandy poured, for all my festive gripes, there is a certain joy to be found in taking on the mantle of Christmas.
Perhaps this is the year to let go of perfection, hold the little ones close and celebrate the glimmer of light at the end of a long tunnel.
Someday soon we all will be together, if the fates allow.
