Greg and Michel would have been proud of us. Sister2 presented us with a quad of starters. Most people ended up having two or three starters, like a tasting menu.
First up was scallops and black pudding – neither of which I had ever eaten, but can now add to my list of tasty treats – although if I was doing it myself I’d have haggis in place of the black pudding. The second starter was melon and parma ham, or harma pam, even. And prawn cocktail. Then there was goats cheese wrapped in parma ham and fried.
(I am having an apostrophe crisis now about the goats cheese. Is it goat’s cheese? Or goats’ cheese? Or does it depend on whether or not it actually was goat’s cheese or goats’ cheese? Or do we just acknowledge that we’ll never know for sure and as just as well to drop the apostrophe? Or should I dig about in the bin and find the wrapper and see if it has an apostrophe?)
Next was the technical challenge: carving the turkey. While I was testing the electric knife thing, the blades fired out and narrowly missed shredding my mother. No harm done. I conceded defeat and got husband to do the carving part after that. Of the turkey.
The main course was the aforementioned turkey and a collage of accompaniments. I think Michel would have thought the plate was a little crowded and the presentation a little haphazard, but, hey, it was Christmas.
Through to the third round: desserts. We had a retro-fest with a baked alaska and traditional Christmas pudding which we doused in whiskey and lit. Whoomph. It was the sparklers on the baked alaska that set off the smoke alarm though.
So the food yesterday was completely brilliant, whereas today I am stoating around like some kind of humanoid vulture, picking the carcass clean, with a drumstick in one hand an a tub of salt in the other, and a jar of Hellman’s in easy reach.
I would clean the kitchen, but every time I go in, someone asks me to get them some food.
*tries to muster the will to go boil up turkey stock*