SUSAN JANE’S ALT CHRISTMAS

Keep the yuletide belly in check

Ilove Christmas. No matter how many relatives I trap, or number of Brussels sprouts I fit into them, my family are always so patient and biddable. If I was a cynical person, I might think they’ve been sponsored by Grey Goose. No. I love Christmas. And Christmas loves me. I say ‘ phlugh!’ to the irresponsible naysayers, convinced that Christmas has been colonised by capitalism. Eh, hullo? Christmas is not an industry, dudes, it’s a hobby like knitting, or running for the Presidency.

So don’t let the naysayers twerk your synapses with their windy sermons. My synapses are on annual leave during the Yuletide. It’s the only time of year I can justifiably hold a pair of cashmere socks and demand they be publicly inaugurated on my feet. Or hold my local wine tasting to ransom — again, without inciting a criminal record. I love how unreasonable I can be it’s like the mothership of PMT with national immunity.

I am also acutely aware that this may be the only time my saffron apricots will ever trump Noma’s marzipan and port reduction. If my frolicking has taught me anything, other than the limits to my belt-expansion, it is that how food tastes qualifies as only one segment of its true appeal. ‘When’ is just as crucial to our taste buds, because of the memories it can set in motion. And ‘who’ also plays a decisive role in a food’s celebration. Nothing demonstrates this better than Christmas.

So here are my traditional Christmas family recipes, which I start pimping as early as the mocks (Thanksgiving). Each dish is suffused with giddy memories, and industrial amounts of Dean Martin. They are the purveyors of mirth and merriment. Happy Christmas, y’all! May endless mistletoe and sherry be upon you.