The best thing about doing the festive cooking? You can appear selfless while avoiding the family arguments
Like your first hangover and your first speeding ticket, cooking Christmas lunch for the first time is a rite of passage. It is a passing of the flame from one generation to the next, with added gravy. I remember mine as if it was 25 years ago. Two things stay with me. One was my late mother’s nod of approval at the sweet and sour red cabbage. It wasn’t her red cabbage. It could never be hers. But it did deserve to be eaten. That was praise enough.
The other memory was the admin. Blimey, it was complicated. I had to write timetables, like I was revising for A-levels all over again, only with a greater risk of humiliation through failure. Pinned up by the fridge magnets were documents that had taken on the significance of holy scripture: “12 noon – potatoes in; 1.30pm, bird out”. And so on. When it was all done and the kitchen was festooned in edible wreckage, I took the applause and muttered quietly about not making a habit of it.
Courtesy of natural justice, you also get let off the washing up. It is a big, hearty bundle of wins
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