Lindsay Woods: It started with the turkey...

Food is important to us. No more so than at this time of year. A cramped table does not feel so cramped at Christmas, writes Lindsay Woods.

It started with the turkey.

“Right, I’m going to order it tomorrow in case I forget and we are left with the dregs.”

“Hang on a minute, there’s no need to get a full turkey…we won’t use it all.”

“So, let me get this straight... the year we are having ALL of our family to dinner, you decide that you want to ration the bird?”

“I’m just saying, most will only have two slices. Aside from the fact that no-one really likes turkey anyway.”

“Again, just to clarify, you want me to monitor the turkey consumption so no-one chows down on more than their allocated portion? Are. You. High?”

“I’m just saying that…”

“I’m ordering it tomorrow and I will only discuss anything further in relation to same with the butcher. I have not spent the better part of the last few weeks collecting annoying little stickers to paste them one by one into a booklet to secure a coveted gobble-gobble for you to decide that a measly chicken will suffice. This is not a Charles Dickens novel.”

It also ended with the turkey. After I had kindly reminded my husband of the ‘International Incident of the Nuts’ that was a few years prior. In a nutshell (snort!), he threw his spoke in regarding the volume of festive nibbles I was throwing into the trolley. Which resulted in me throwing the trolley at him and then promptly leaving him. In the supermarket. Without transportation home. Goes without saying that he has never questioned the dry roasted/salted/honey/sweet chili options since.

So, it was with great gusto that I promptly ordered a 14lb centrepiece direct from the butcher. If we were having lock, stock and the grandparents then I was going to make it look like Ma Walton herself had catered the Christmas feast.

“You know you’re going to have to do the nut roast?” “Crap! I forgot about the vegetarian!”

The vegetarian was a last-minute addition to the table. In the form of my brother and his fiancé who had returned from Canada to surprise everyone else but me. Because I had to sit on that secret for weeks prior: even going so far as telling my mother I had included her present in our parcel to them and posted same. All the vegetarian had to do was get on a flight: I had to organise a tactical operation that would have put ‘Mission Impossible’ to shame.

Food is important to us. No more so than at this time of year. A cramped table does not feel so cramped at Christmas. We are also a family that likes to feed you. My husband, for his litany of whinging prior to the day, handles the entire orchestration of the dinner. It matters not a jot if he has 10 or 100 sitting at the table, everyone is served. I remind him that, ‘You have to cook with love’ – normally exclaimed with a demonstrative fling of my arm buoyed on by the fizz I will have gulped that very morning. Because for all of my culinary misadventures, I can categorically state that ‘love’ is the most important ingredient. I’m also certain that there is some loose data somewhere from an Institution not recognised by any higher education authority whatsoever to support same. So there.

We are a loud family. Not a brag, in fact, it is somewhat unfortunate as we reach peak decibel when we sit around the dinner table. Throw in a wayward cat and an overly opinionated seven-year-old and it cements our lack of festive harmony within five minutes.

Himself will undoubtedly comment once more upon the turkey’s girth, half muttering it beneath his breath in the hope that I will let it slide. Yet, just as sure as I was that I would purchase a 14 pounder; you can be just as sure that I will refuse to let that grumble go unchecked. My mother will defend my husband, my mother -in-law will reserve commenting, my father will roll his eyes, the vegetarian will be too busy scoffing the nut roast, the kids will substitute chocolate for some sprouts and the cat will have her eye fixed purely on the prize: a leg of that 14-pound bronzed vision!

Yet, there will come that moment, when eyes begin to droop sleepily, followed by rumbling snores from the depths of the sofa. When the rustle of the foil wrapper from that, ‘…just one more...’ chocolate competes with the popping of a cork. That moment when you survey and think, ‘How lucky we are. How very lucky’. In that one moment, all is grand and as it should be.

I wish that very same moment for you and yours this season; whatever your version of that may be. To one and all, Merry Christmas.

@thegirlinthepaper