Those of you who are going to be home alone over the holidays may like to know that there will once again be foodie blogging here. I have sorted out something to amuse myself in lieu of roasting children over an open fire, or whatever it is us wicked witches were supposed to do before health and safety legislation put an end to all of our fun.
I have Tybalt to thank for that. That’s Small Tybalt, who lives with my friend Marjorie just down the road, not Big Tybalt who occasionally pesters my friend Seanan in San Francisco. Cats are pretty smart creatures, and Tybalt is a dab hand with the TV remote. A few days ago he pounced on it and gave Marjorie a heavy hint as to what he might like for Winterval. What came on screen when he pressed the buttons was an ad for this.
You see, everyone is doing turducken this year, so Aldi have decided to go one better and add some goose to the mix. Thus I have a fine four-bird roast to cook. This, I am sure, will be yummy. And because I thought to peer around the rest of the store while I was there I also have a guinea fowl to roast for new year.
You may be thinking that this is all very lazy of me, and you’d be right. I really ought to cook more stuff from scratch, so I’m going to make an effort for the appetizer. If all goes well, there will be chestnut and mushroom pâté. This required me to buy a small bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream, which made me feel like a right old maid, but one does have to have the right ingredients and I wasn’t going to buy a whole bottle of really good sweet sherry just for this.
I should also try to do something imaginative with the vegetables. Goose fat and potatoes may be involved. But I think I might also have a go at a seemingly impossible culinary task — making Brussels sprouts edible.
Green fingered types such as my mum and Mark Charan Newton will doubtless say that this is all about getting them fresh from the garden. However, I have no garden in which to grow them, and long experience has taught me that where plants are concerned my fingers are decidedly black, so instead I have to resort to culinary trickery. There has to be a way of making them better than just solid lumps of boiled cabbage. I have some ideas (which is, of course, very dangerous).
Meanwhile, back with the old maid bit, while I was in Tesco getting the sherry they were, as is inevitable at this time of year, playing jolly Christmas songs. Thus I heard Noddy Holder sing this:
Does your granny always tell ya that the old songs are the best?
Then she’s up and rock ‘n’ rollin’ with the rest
I spotted a couple of young girls, maybe 9 or 10, dancing in the aisles and singing along, which I guess goes to show that the old songs really are the best. But it also reminded me that rock ‘n’ roll would have been close to being old hat when their grandmothers were kids. You need new lyrics, Noddy!