Indian takeaway at Christmas? It would be better than my turkey!

AND once again after 72 hours of cleaning, peeling, chopping, boiling and roasting it’s all over for another year – Thanks Be To Baby Jesus!

What a palaver for ONE meal, that, if you’re anything like our family, was eaten in 20 minutes flat.

Himself was like a dog because he cremated the turkey! After giving me grief for ordering a cooked ham, he goes and burns the turkey to the consistency of an old boot. This was partly due to the fact that the turkey was too feckin big to fit in our oven so he had to put it in the in-laws oven across the road!

This necessitated constant checks on said turkey. However after a few glasses of red, the checks became less frequent, hence the cremated turkey! I told him it didn’t matter. One of our guests was drunk before they arrived so probably couldn’t taste anything. Another was so grumpy, Nigella Lawson could have cooked the turkey and he still would have said it was s**** and the rest of us don’t like turkey anyway!

Meanwhile my sprouts were like bullets. In retrospect it was a bit ambitious to try and cook a sprout gratin when I can’t cook at the best of times but I gave it my best shot. It was, to put it bluntly – disgusting. All was not lost however. The spuds were lovely, the wine was flowing and the 13 year old’s apple crumble was divine.

So you prep for 72 hours, eat for half an hour and spend another two hours cleaning up afterwards That’s not my idea of fun! ‘ The taxi driver told me the other night that the Indian is open on Christmas Day. Maybe we could go there next year.’ I told him hopefully.

‘I’m not eating a bloody Tikka Masala on Christmas Day,’ he fumed, trying to stab a rogue piece of dried up turkey with his fork. ‘I would!’ replied The Son , ‘anything would be better than this!’

‘I wonder are they allowed serve alcohol?’ I mused, after all, let’s be honest, that is the crux of the matter. ‘It doesn’t matter if they serve alcohol or not. We are not going to the bloody Indian for Christmas dinner,’ he yelled across the table.

Silence descends. The drunk guest is oblivious to the tension. The grumpy one appears to be enjoying the unexpected entertainment.

We move on to the annual game of Trivial Pursuit. Himself refuses to go on the same team as me so I go with very drunk guest and son. We win and do a lap of honour round the living room singing the theme tune to Match of the Day. It’s the last straw for Himself. He hits the brandy.

I choose my moment carefully. ‘I believe The Canaries is lovely this time of year!!’

IT WAS A BIT AMBITIOUS TO TRY AND COOK A SPROUT GRATIN WHEN I CAN’T COOK AT THE BEST OF TIMES BUT I GAVE IT MY BEST SHOT