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CHRISTMAS IN THE COUNTRY – Figgy Pudding

I come from a long line of farming and country stock which has included some notable cooks, (and it has to be said), some forgettable ones!  The one thing they all have in common is Figgy pudding doesn’t figure in their culinary repertoire! I, being a staunch traditionalist, am carrying on this practice.  Like the rest of the formidable women in my family, some of which rose to the higher echelons of the W.I. I see no need to suffer a dish of mashed figs and bread when we have the expertise of Delia and the like to draw upon which is why I decided, this year, to give her Christmas cake recipe a whirl. Personally I relish Christmas cake with as much enthusiasm as I do Figgy pudding, but there is the ancestral honour to uphold.  I cannot let the side down when the extended family gathers around the table over Christmas and casts a critical eye over my efforts.  Delia’s recipe seemed like a fail safe dream, moist, stuffed with fruit and best of all liberally laced with brandy. Slight problem re the brandy.  Neither Nearest and Dearest or me drink the stuff, though almost everything else seems to go down our necks without too much trouble!  Although I am a traditionalist, I am also totally disorganised when it comes to cooking which is why I am a fantastic improviser.  Whisky we have a plenty so whisky it is. Soak fruit over night, says Delia in three table spoons of the stuff.  Three table spoons?  She can’t be serious!  That’s no more than a gnats eyeful!  We had an unopened litre bottle so four or five good sloshes went in with a nip or three for me! Next day, take two paracetamol, shout at N & D for jangling change in his pocket and have to be forcibly restrained from killing No. 2 son who has eaten more than half the soaked fruit mixture consisting of raisons, currents, sultanas and cherries amounting to over 3 lb of fruit. Replace fruit which now consists mainly of currents since we’re out of raisons, cherries and sultanas and more sloshes of whiskey.  Do NOT have a nip or three and wonder if I should add a drop of water to the bottle as we are well into the last third. Have heated argument with N & D who seems to have developed psychic powers.  He is convinced I am going to burn the thing and proceeds to lecture me on the importance of correct oven temperature, proper preparation of the tin with protective wrapping and the necessity of staying around while it is cooking. I retaliate by reminding him that his one and only attempt at festive baking, (done in the microwave), produced something resembling furnace clinker.  He had the temerity to say it was my fault for not relaying the instructions properly! Four hours later, cake emerges done to perfection.  For the first time I allow myself to think that my faint hope of becoming the queen of the Kendrick cake makers may well become reality this year!  Silly woman!  What is that saying about pride before a fall or rather thieving dogs and Christmas cakes?  By the time No. 3 son’s dog was discovered, she had eaten half the cake and the kitchen was covered in fragmented tin foil! No idea what N & D is going to say when he finds out and there is also the little matter of his single malt …

CHRISTMAS IN THE COUNTRY – All I want …

There’s a good chance our little Anniekins will get her two front teeth for Christmas as the bottom two are now showing up like a couple of little pearls.  The rest of the clan have somewhat different tastes! For some reason most of the off-spring are sourcing and buying their own presents this year, mainly due to the ease of online shopping I suspect.  This suits me fine as I hate shopping at the best of times.  Pushing around crowded shops, served by bored assistants and being charged an arm and a leg for car parking isn’t my idea of a festive frolic! Even so, I suspect that Chicken G’s mum would have much preferred some M & S smellies than the coffin she almost got! Chicken G is one of several young lads that gravitate to our yard, lured by the attractions of tractor and landrover body parts and the company of my sons who can always find a job for willing hands! G though is a bit special!  He is 16 going on 40.  He farms his own pigs with a ready customer base for the free range pork.  He also sells eggs and hens, (hence the name) and like any good farmer, is always on the look out for a bargain which is how he came to buy a coffin for £30 off Ebay! As Chicken G has yet to pass his test, (although this doesn’t stop him driving through the woods from his farm to our yard), No 2 son volunteered to do the pick up, little realising he’d have to go into the middle of London!  Undeterred, the two of them pulled up outside a smart Georgian terrace in No. 2 son’s breakdown truck and proceeded to load the coffin into the back after deciding it wouldn’t be respectful roping it to the top of the truck. This proved somewhat difficult as various tools and boxes had to be relocated onto the roof.  While this was being done the coffin remained on the pavement, much to the horrified stares of passers by! Meanwhile Chicken G’s mum had got wind of the impending arrival of her mortality confronting gift and made it clear in no uncertain terms that the coffin was not coming into the house! Chicken G, unable to understand his mother’s somewhat violent stance against his Christmas bargain, had no choice but to store the thing in his farm shop.  Unfortunately the “shop” is little more than a wooden shed, hardly big enough to swing the proverbial cat which meant the coffin had to be stood on end.  You can imagine the shock suffered by one of his customers when on opening the door the poor woman walked into the plush velvet lining of the open coffin! The coffin now resides in a small outhouse and Chicken G mainly uses it to store eggs, but has been known to sleep in it on occasions when late home from the pub! I’d love to be able to show you a photo, but alas I don’t have one to hand.  Instead here’s little Annikins in festive mood.

CHRISTMAS IN THE COUNTRY – Deck the Halls

Once upon a Christmas time our house resembled something like a cross between a Hare Krishna shrine and a bad acid trip.  Fortunately the days when the kids fought to near death for the privilege of placing the fairy on top of the tree after adorning it with all manner of garish knickknacks, paper lanterns, cut out angels and various other festive craft items dreamed up by well meaning primary school teachers is long gone! I now have full control over what adorns our walls and ceilings and what doesn’t.  Well almost full control.  I will draw a veil over the little altercation I had a couple of years ago with Nearest & Dearest.  He referred to my dripping, icicle twinklies which I’d tastefully arranged along the front of the house, (to much public acclaim, I might add), “tacky” and insisted on replacing them last year with a string of prim, multi-colours which were only permitted to fade discretely on and off between the hours of 4.00 p.m. and 11.00 p.m.  My twinklies performed 24/7 and never failed to turn the heads of passing walkers, cyclists and motorists.  I dare say the odd pilot probably wasn’t adverse to a quick glance either, since we are under one of the East Midland flight paths! Anyway, for the sake of marital harmony, the twinklies are no more and neither are the multi-colours as we can’t find the transformer!  Apart from this small problem, the rest of the glittery decs are up and we have a very nice Christmas tree taking pride of place in the hall. Actually we also have a very nice Christmas tree in the middle of our lawn and another one by our front door.  There are definite advantages of having tree surgeons in the family as these fine conifers all appeared in our garden as if by magic.  No doubt the work of wood elves!  N & D took an executive decision and proclaimed the tree near the door “tacky” (as you’ve realised, one of his favourite adjectives) and gave it to a neighbour, who it seems, doesn’t mind tackyness.  My favourite decs though are the real things.  Proper holly that stabs your fingers and drops wizened berries on the carpet for the dog to eat and then regurgitate on someone’s Christmas slippers.  Beautifully variegated ivy accompanied by the full spectrum of insect life, including little red spiders which drop into the trifle and quickly disguise themselves amongst the hundreds and thousands and best of all, my authentic Yule log. I spend ages looking for just the right size and shape which N & D always objects to, but on Yule log matters I won’t be dissuaded!  I am resolute!  After admitting defeat, N & D barrows this in from the wood pile.  No mean feat this as the logs are stored two muddy fields away and he always complains his knuckles drag on the floor by the time he gets back!   The log is then adorned with candles, holly, ivy and any other evergreens I can find.  So what if we have to suffer leaked ditch water and a few wood louse for a few days.  There is always a fly in the ointment of life!  You can’t have authenticity with out its associated wildlife.  Our Yule log takes pride of place on the hearth and is only removed to a less conspicuous area when the fire is lit. I would love to be able to show you this year’s effort, but it isn’t coming in until Sunday so here is the Christmas tree instead!

HOW TO MAKE A CHRISTMAS CAKE

As you may know from previous <a href="../blogs.php?action=show_member_post&ownerID=5&post_id=7505">Christmas postings</a>, I have a tendency to run into trouble when it comes to Christmas cake making.  However, I’m happy to report that this year, so far, everything has progressed without a hitch … well all most!   Forget all that fluff and nonsense preached by the TV chefs.  There is only ONE way to make a Christmas cake!  Follow my step by step instructions and you won’t go wrong!   <ol> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Go to Ripoffco’s and buy ingredients. </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Get back in car and return to Ripoffco for allspice, chopped walnuts, ground almonds and anything else you forgot the first time around.  </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Take pantry apart looking for baking powder which you didn’t add to your list as you were absolutely, dead sure, certain you bought some for Anniekin’s Christening.  In spite of your certainty you don’t find baking powder, but you do find a very nice bottle of last year’s sloe gin so …  </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Take a small nip to calm your frustration and place back in pantry well out of sight!  </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Assemble all ingredients on worktop and rap No. 2 son across knuckles for stealing glace cherries.  (Keep wooden spoon handy for future attacks.) </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Spend the best part of an hour searching for your favourite Christmas CD only to find that little Anniekins has emptied all the cases of their discs so whole collection is now mis-matched. </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">To prevent spontaneous combustion through pent up rage, retrieve sloe gin from pantry, take a medium sized nip then place back in pantry, preferably under assorted biscuit tins or even behind the sack of spuds. </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Struggle with wellies and stumble up to farmyard to feed hattle and corpses or should that be hows and cosses?  (Must get the IT chap in to look at this keyboard). </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Return to kitchen and stare in disbelief at empty glace cherry carton. </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Look for No. 2 son to kill, (yet again!). </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Don’t decline Nearest & Dearest’s offer to pour a festive tipple to calm you down.  In fact, say you’ll have a drop of that sloe gin you happened to see tucked behind the potatoes. </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Give N & D a big hug and kiss for finding favourite Christmas CD, but don’t go over board otherwise he will think his luck is in and Christmas has come early! </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"> Jump down N & Ds throat for criticising your rendition of Kerrfuffle’s Cherry Tree Carol and say what do you expect after a large slug of sloe gin?  Susan Boyle? </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Succumb to N & D’s suggestion that another might improve voice.  It does, but agree that it would be a good idea for him to put SG in pocket while he DIY’s new fireplace. </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Throw all ingredients except for cherries into mixing bowl. </li> <li> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Compensate for lack of cherries by adding a generous slosh of sherry.  (Good substitute as they are almost spelt the same). </div> </li> <li> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Lurch sideways to oven with prepared Christmas cake and have panic attack as kitchen floor seems to have developed subsidence. </div> </li> <li> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Holler through to sitting room for N & D to come and check. </div> </li> <li> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Rub butter on N & D’s bump gained after collision with pantry door who agrees there is a definite lift in floor. </div> </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Whilst consulting The Homeopathic Doctor for remedies for possible concussion, discover that sloe gin causes convoluting eye, a condition akin to being at sea in a gale, but without wind or water. </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Inform N & D that the natural remedy for concussion is to remain awake for at least six hours after accident which means he can take cake from oven when it is done at 2.15 a.m. </li> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Congratulate self for making cake when thieving dog is not around.  (See last year’s <a href="../blogs.php?action=show_member_post&ownerID=5&post_id=7505">Figgy Pudding</a> posting!).</li> </ol>

CHRISTMASITIS

Anyone else suffering from Christmasitis?  You can easily tell as the symptoms are a dead give away!   <ol style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1"> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Gritty eyes due to too many late night parties and festive tipples.  So far this week I’ve yet to go to bed the same day as I got up and my eyes need match sticks to prop them open!  What’s worse there is no sign of improvement any time soon as we’ll be celebrating the winter solstice shortly.</li> </ol>   <ol style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1"> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Raging hormones.  You don’t need any long winded NHS tests to diagnose these.  One minute you are cheerfully humming along with Frosty The Snowman and the next your whole body threatens to spontaneously combust in a paroxysm of pathological rage!</li> </ol>   Up to now, I have had to be forcibly restrained from killing No. 1 son for losing the out door fairy lights after his bonfire bash, divorcing N & D for suggesting I need to look in the mirror before going out in my new Tam O’shanta and striking Darling Daughter from my Christmas list for accusing me of wearing said Tam O’Shanta to deliberately embarrass her in front of her friends.   <ol style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1"> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Hot sweats and palpitations.  These may well be linked to raging hormones, but at this time of year definitely have their root cause in the thud of cards which regularly hit the floor around lunch time provided Postie has deemed it safe to negotiate the drive and dogs.  </li> </ol>   In our case, these are mainly from people we, (or rather I as N & D never gets involved with Christmas admin), have forgotten to send one too or even worse have no recollection of who they are or where they live.    If there is time and you know their address you can do some fire fighting by sending them a last minute festive greeting, provided you can remember if they have any children, what their names are, whether they are still at home, do they have partners etc. etc.    I’m currently struggling with two former work colleagues who I have a sneaking suspicion lost their husbands early this year.   <ol style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1"> <li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;">Ringing in the ears.  This can have two causes, the incessant tingling of joyful bells emanating from High Street cash registers as they gleefully gobble up your plastic or the various permutations of canned carols looping over the mall tannoy.  No matter what the cause, the only real cure is to avoid all city centres and online shops.</li> </ol>   Unfortunately if you do this you are not likely to be very popular with off-spring and extended family who will develop very long noses on Christmas day when they realise that Santa hasn’t stopped at their stocking.  You will also gain unwelcome nicknames such as Scrooge, Skinflint and Tight Wad from the more polite and something unprintable from the majority of the family who are not known for either politeness or mincing words.   IS THERE A CURE?   Happily yes.  I favour two methods.   1.      Drop everything, grab your saddle and go for a long ride in the woods.  Just now they are magical and due to the intense cold, empty of humankind.  Once your hormones settle and the ringing fades from your ears you just may hear the voice of the Winter Wood whispering through frost cracked branches and snow rimmed ever greens.   Romantic as it sounds, this method does have disadvantages.  If you can’t ride the only thing you are likely to hear is the pounding of your heart as you wonder whether you are going to fall off or be carted into the next county.   Also, due to the intense cold, your feet will have lost all feeling.  This means when you reluctantly arrive back in the yard and slide off, you’ll feel as if all your metatarsals have snapped off and are rattling around in the bottom of your wellies!   2.      Method two is infinitely more doer-able and highly recommend for almost every case of Christmasitis!  Lock yourself in the bathroom with a good book and a glass of red wine.  DO NOT TELL ANYONE WHERE YOU ARE!  If you do let your location be known you will be faced with constant interruptions of “where are the tractor keys …” “should these mince-pies still be in the oven?” or “You do know we’re baby sitting in twenty minutes?”   You wouldn’t think there could be any draw backs with this method, but I can assure you there are!  Firstly, do not leap into bath without checking that you have plenty of hot water otherwise you will make a pretty spectacular leap out again, especially if heating in your bathroom leaves a lot to be desired!   Secondly, your choice of reading matter is important.  I wouldn’t recommend reading The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters if you are alone in a creaky old house with attitude.  Novels about poltergeist activity in the hands of writers are recipes for certain nightmares or day mares come to that!

I LOVE IT REALLY!

Just dropped in to say my bout of Christmasitis is over!  I'm all ready to go with just the turkey to stuff and N & D's present to wrap and the last batch of mince pies to pop in the oven and ... Oh dear I think I might be in for a relapse! Not to worry, I'm past caring now so I'm off for a hot bath and a good read.  Hope you all have a super Christmas and the man in red brings you all you have wished for.

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS' PAST!

Now that we have little Annie in the family we’re reliving the intoxicating rush of adrenaline fuelled anticipation engendered by the recollection of our own dim and distant childhoods.  Well perhaps not to the point of creeping down the stairs and peering through the door to catch a glimpse of Ma struggling with wrapping paper and sellotape, but there is definitely an air of suppressed excitement between Nearest and Dearest and me when we discuss this years festive plans.   This is slightly ironic considering our own off-spring, from quite an early age christened their Pa “Scrooge,” not so much for meanness, that I’m glad to say, isn’t one of his faults, but for his oft voiced opinion that Christmas was definitely “humbug!”  (Or words to that effect!).   To be fair, I can see his point.  After the age of about eight, Christmas for one reason or another tends to lose its magic and with four small children bouncing off the walls from around August onwards due to the advertising hype thrown at them from the small screen, the Christmas spirit tends to be something you get from a bottle, hopefully to blot out the whole ghastly business!   I hate to say this, but our most memorable Christmas’ have been so for all the wrong reasons and began three months after typing the knot.  We’d just finished major renovations to our first matrimonial home and everything was brand new and polished to within an inch of its life including a cut glass set of sherry glasses and matching decanter.   Why N & D had to take it into his head to start hovering minuscule specs of dust from the carpet I can’t imagine, but the result was he backed into a small table displaying the crystal and smashed the lot, except for one glass which amazingly, 37 years later I still have!   From then on it was down hill all the way!  When Darling Daughter arrived on the scene she became an instant family celebrity being the first new arrival in the family for decades.  It seemed as if every granny, aunty, sister and cousin wanted us at their festive bash and we, being proud parents were only too eager to show off how clever we were to have produced such a beautiful child!   Unfortunately, being novices, we didn’t realise that hawking a child who had only just started sleeping through the night around to so many different venues would have such a devastating effect on her sleep pattern!  It was Easter before either of us dispensed with the match sticks!   Once the boys came along the very thought of Christmas caused my stomach to flip and sweat bead my brow!  I shudder at the memory of N & D struggling long past midnight to build up complicated toys which we thought were ready assembled as the boxes were so enormous and then two hours later bellowing … “Get back to bed!  Santa’s not #@#*! been yet!”   Well of course he had as was evidenced by the laser sword fight scything the landing with blades of garish green light and the glittery foil from a million chocolate coins littering the stairs!   Then there was the time when N & D was taken out for a Christmas lunch by a grateful, but near alcoholic client who plied him with so much food and drink that when he finally staggered back three hours later, he was in no state for more turkey and tinsel at my Ma and Pa’s pre-Christmas bash!   What was more, one of the boys poked him in the eye during a rough and tumble which caused it to close and swell up for most of the festive break!   Not best pleased by all this, I reaped revenge the following year when amidst the usual pandemonium of Christmas Eve last minute preparations, I noticed a stack of cards destined for local villagers lying forgotten on the dresser.  As this should have been N & D’s responsibility to get them to their destinations, I erupted!   Still covered in flour from endless mincepies and with tinsel and bits of sticky tape in my hair I flung my pinny at N & D, grabbed my coat and Christmas cards and leapt on my bike to deliver the lot myself!   Now you might think this was cutting my nose off to spite my face, but you would be wrong!  I had a great time!  I delivered each card personally and being Christmas Eve I was offered sherry, a drop of red, (mulled at two houses) and even a tot of Captain Morgan’s as well as endless chocolates and mince-pies!  I confess I didn’t refuse any of it!   My last visit was to a friend who lived outside the village at the top of a steep hill.  To this day I don’t know how I managed to get up it and I can’t remember what I had or did when I got there.  What I do remember is the settling silence of a bitingly cold winter’s afternoon and the sinking of a firey sunset whose crimson fingers, splashing across frost seared snow seemed to hold back the curtain of night as I made my way home in the failing light.   Hmm … perhaps Christmas hasn’t lost its magic after all!

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