Christmas 1990

I have already referred to my mother's Christmas book. Here is an extract relating to Christmas 1990 and its aftermath. I have decided not to edit it:

"1990 Menus:

Day before Xmas Eve.
Lunch - clam chowder. Simon and Aunt C.
Dinner at Paul and Kathy.

Xmas Eve.
Lunch - cold pork - soup. Donald, Rosemary, Aunt C, Nanny, Ali, Julien, William (John in bed with flu).
Dinner - Kedgeree.

Xmas Day.
Turkey lunch - smoked salmon starter. Donald, Rosemary, Aunt C.
Dinner - soup & sarnies (beef, smoked salmon).

Boxing Day.
Lunch - cold buffet. Cold damp beef, ham, pickled pork, raised venison pie, potato salad, cold veg, leftover salad, rice salad, green salad, tomato and cucumber salad, olives, mince pie, chocolate rum trifle, Alison's mincemeat and apple tart. (Donald, Rosemary, Aunt C, John, Ali, Julien, William, Alan and Alison Miller, James, Suzanne, Christopher, Edward, Robert.)
Dinner - soup & sarnies/leftovers.

Thursday.
Lunch - shepherd's pie.
Dinner - soup, smoked salmon & cream cheese rolls, lamb, pineapple. Celebration because John had missed Christmas. Crackers/Champagne. (Donald, Rosemary, Aunt C).

Friday.

Saturday - Westendorf.

Lots of leftovers - meat & cheese.
Pickled pork joint - 2 lb.
Lots of Veuve du Vernay.

Good skiing holiday in Westendorf except Nanny Simpkin who bust her anterior cruciate ligaments (R) knee. Tree put up before Xmas Eve - good move. Check supplies of olive oil for J's mayonnaise. The Xmas cake was taken skiing but left on the plane by Will & grabbed by some greedy thieves! It was white iced & encrusted in Harrods gold & silver dragees. Ali called in to work for emergencies 27th and 28th. John had 'flu on Xmas Day."

Cold meat

It was unusual to be asked what we would like on the cold meat platter which we ordered to go with a glass of Ouzo next to the Aegean. Katie said "Not too spicy and not too salty". We ended up with German green peppercorn salami, smoked turkey from Kos, pastrami and calves' tongue. Together with an interesting selection of cheeses which were of no interest to me. The waiter neither sounded nor looked Greek. Dutch, we wondered. Towards the end, he brought us a little plate of tiny green apples which had been soaked in Calvados. Katie said they went beautifully with the cheese. I ate mine whole.

Cold turkey

The turkey is a bird I could live without. As Pippa Middleton reminds us, it is convenient for feeding large numbers, but that ought not to be the test. It seems more than a little ominous if the first thing to be considered is its ability to assist with mass catering. Just multiply your chickens or pheasants is my alternative suggestion. That said, the size of the bird does mean a large quantity of the very finest dripping, for spreading on toast with flakes of sea salt.

To begin with, we did have turkey on Christmas Day. My father was particularly keen on it cold and there I think he is right. There is something rather fine about slices of cold, dry, crumbly turkey breast. That reminds me of the appalling moment in our house when I realised that the turkey which I had been picking at had started to grow a white beard. Cucumber with lashings of Tabasco seemed, for some reason, a sensible plan.

Let me conclude with a post-Christmas story. It happened in London, maybe the day after Boxing Day. Plenty of cold food around. I had offered to prepare supper for my parents and the offer had been accepted. So I "paved their plates" with turkey slices, probably cold ham as well, and potato salad. Then disaster struck when I decided to make a French dressing to go on the green salad. Olive oil and wine vinegar: can't go wrong, you might think. But shortly after I triumphantly carried in the plates of food came howls of outrage from my mother. What on earth had I put into the salad dressing? It turned out that the bottle of what I thought was red wine vinegar was in fact cherry brandy.

Completely unintended by me, but my mother was unforgiving, thinking it was one of my "jokes" which had been becoming increasingly tiresome of late. But food was not something with which I would ever joke.

The best gherkins...

...are from Borough Market. You can buy them in tubs from a stall called "A Taste of Turkey". They are crisp and, not unexpectedly perhaps, salted rather than in vinegar. For about two years, they stopped being available and I would make a thorough nuisance of myself by asking the stallholder on every visit whether there were any prospects of their return. At last, they returned, slightly differently flavoured (a chilli in the brine gave them even more of a bite) but truly welcome. For eating with little cubes of Iberico ham.