I do love food, and Christmas is full of it. We came home from work and sat to eat another big meal, with dessert, this time lovingly reheated in the microwave. Afterwards our bellies pushed outwards and, following 48 hours of go-go-go, I lie on my bed to relax, quieten, have my quiet time. I do this while savouring some peacandoodles, a chocolate I’d never heard of before Christmas and I am now a devotee.
Food, cooked with love and care is always a pleasure. My long standing memories of my mother as a child is the smell of dinner cooking as I came in from school. When my university friends and I get together it begins with a meal around the table. When it comes to Christmas, the food is where it is all at, and it was no different with my other family this year. It begins with making sure everyone has something they want on there: their meat or their potato or their vegetable. It moves onto the team effort of preparing it. Then, we sit and eat. Afterwards, there is the clean-up. It is like a book well written, with the foundation, the drama and struggle, tears and laughter, the climax as we savour and share and talk and then, the resolution, tidying it all away.
Even with my nearest and dearest, there will be tensions. Why are we making that when only A likes it? Why is B still lying in bed while we are rushing to serve? Why is C hogging the ovens and why did D use the last roasting tray when E needs it more? Yet, when it is plated up, and everyone has more than enough of all that they love, we are happy and content. Yesterday, we all jumped to help with the tidy-up: 9 people, 4 sinks, 2 bins and 2 fridges nicely packed with left-overs.
We will be eating left-overs until Wednesday I think, which is the added bonus: Lovely food for 3 days without cooking.
Christmas, a festive feast.