Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Last Christmas my daughter asked me to Christmas dinner, and the very next day I caught food poisoning.

Prior to the last 12 months or so, I confess to have never even managed to cook a Sunday roast. But after a couple of successful chickens and a beef joint, I reckoned a turkey was my gradual next step: lucky then, since this year I have invited my Dad to mine for Christmas dinner.

Armed with my pre-stuffed Morrisons turkey joint earlier today, and the legal version of Nigella’s tips for a perfect Christmas, I began with some trepidation as I negotiated margarine hands, burning tin foil and whether those little pink bits were really supposed to be there or not.

A relief it was finally then, to pull the steaming bird from the oven a couple of hours ago and carve, to find it looks near enough OK.

It doesn’t look at present like I will kill him (from the food, that is). But there’s time yet.

 If all goes well, next year I might even attempt my own stuffing.