Attempted at lunchtime to wheel the tank, our double buggy, containing both girls into local hardware shop. Shop owner came out from behind counter, stood in front of door and barred us entrance. Said it was "ridiculous" to bring a buggy of that size into his shop. "It's only a small shop," he said. Like I had artillery fitted to the tank. Like I was planning to decimate the washing-up bowls, washing lines and moth repellant in our way. Like one mother and two little girls were going to harm his shelves of clothes pegs, faded price tickets marked by hand in red felt tip pen, yellowing displays of kettles and dusty tins of furniture polish.
"What do you want me to do?" I said. "I'm not leaving my children outside on the pavement." He shrugged. "You're not coming in here with that," he said. I gave up hope of buying turkey tin foil in his shop and reversed the buggy. We did not say "Happy Christmas" to each other. Went into nearby shop to vent. "Don't worry about him," said shop keeper. "He's notorious for that kind of behaviour."
Expect to queue for up to an hour on Christmas Eve when picking the turkey up, the butchers warned. "You need a stooge for that job," said another, older woman in the shop, giving me a knowing look. Then she added: "I'm sending my husband." Nice strategy, sure, but what do you do if you are married, as I am, to a vegetarian? He has chosen nut roast for Christmas lunch. Forcing him to wait an hour in the cold to pick up meat for the rest of us does not seem right.
It is a rite of passage that almost every woman will
experience at some point in her life. Not quite as life-changing as
first boyfriend, first job, first baby. But cooking your first
Christmas dinner for extended family must surely still count as one of
life's turning points, something that leaves you changed in all kinds
of ways, just as you're not the same person after a broken heart, or a
month travelling in India or or a stint working with the homeless.
Christmas dinners can change a woman.
It
has finally come round to my turn to cross this milestone. Thinking
preparation might be key to handling this transition, in an attempt to
make things easy for myself, I persuaded Granny to give me a copy of Delia's Happy Christmas
as an early Christmas present. What a mistake. An aspirational book
setting out standards of culinary perfection that only a professional
cook and full-time masochist could achieve, it has put the fear of
Christmases past, present and future into me. I am as Scrooge,
terrified before the ghost of Jacob Marley at mistakes too late to
rectify. Why did I not start on my puddings in October? Where can I
find juniper berries at this late hour? What is 'sauce flour'? What is
the difference between 'silver or gold standard' muffin cases and the
ordinary ones? Do other people know about this stuff, or am I alone in
my ignorance?
Before reading this book, I thought turkey curry was just a joke from the pages of Bridget Jones, that nobody could actually make such a thing. But no, wrong again. Delia actually features something called an English Colonial Curry with Turkey.
She suggests (well, more like orders) that you serve it on December
29, as part of her Gant Plan-style, project management approach to
celebrating the birth of Christ. She has detailed and difficult menu
plans for eight days. The D-Day landings could not have been planned
with more military precision than Delia directs into Christmas menus.
"Christmas
lasts for eight days," warns Delia. "Be prepared!" For those tempted to
buy mince pies and Christmas pudding on-line from supermarkets, there
is the inevitable reminder that home cooking not only tastes so much
better, it's cheaper. Delia has costed out comparisons between
shop-bought and home-made Christmas staples that show how much money
you'll save making stuff yourself. Interestingly, though, she does not
factor in the £25 cost of her book, which would buy you the short-cut
to quite a few shop-made mince pies. Or even a temporary respite from the onslaught in the form of a take-away.
Reading the book I felt not just worried for my own pathetic attempts at Christmas - but also for Delia herself. Delia's Happy Christmas
makes it sound as if Delia is released from the kitchen just once
during her two-week festive ordeal - for Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve
- before being reshackled to the Aga. What a drilling of pickling,
freezing, cutting, peeling, grinding, marinating, chopping and basting
takes place in these pages! I felt exhausted just reading about the
relentless grind. No wonder that in her recommended lists for Christmas
shopping she suggests, under the heading "General Non-Food Shopping"
that you buy 'Hangover Remedy'. You may need something to cushion the
pain should you forget to buy any of the cornichons, sweetened chestnut
puree, shredded suet and fine capers Delia also recommends as essential
Christmas fare. In fairness, this is a beautiful book, with lovely
illustrations and lots of ideas for making nice meals for family and
friends. There are lots of good ideas for a vegetarian Christmas, which
I plan to adopt. Also, I must confess that, like millions of others, I
rely heavily on some of Delia's other cooking books, which have never
let me down on timing, ingredients etc. But oh, for the days when a
satsuma was the height of Christmas sophistication.