So, what was your worst/best Christmas dinner? Chances are the former involved aspic.
Perfectly innocent pieces of fish (their dead eyes staring at you with a gel-like glare) dodgy-looking meat always so mangled as to be unidentifiable and what was once an innocent vegetable that had never done anything to anyone ever, aspic-ed together in the sort of shape that would scare small children and only slightly larger adults.
It was a real thing back in the day. Somehow aspic developed a reputation that whatever it stuck together would be a recipe for success. Except for brussel sprouts – nothing good can ever come from them.
Apparently the Holiday Tuna Tree always made a splash, as did anything with carp. (Take note you folk in fishing distance from Lake Burley Griffin).
Then there was that turkey thing with the duck inside and a chook inside that. Turducken. At least the first four letters of the word were right. Otherwise, absolutely fowl. One Australian supermarket sells them, voluntarily. The same store also sells roast turkey – that doesn’t actually contain any turkey. It’s made by someone called Vegan.
But when you think Christmas food can’t get any worse, you discover why the Internet was created – so it could host sites like the Disgusting Food Museum. It shows its festive side around this time of year, posting rank images of things we love to eat, ideally with our eyes closed.
The site is literally exploding with disgusting Christmassy hot suggestions – I know I had a few.
It’s hard to name a favourite revolting one, but the tin, yes tin, called, sensibly, the Christmas Tinner, takes the pudding. Literally. There are seven layers of fine festive fare inside, almost lyrical enough to be sung by someone called Carol.
Read it and eat/weep: Scrambled egg and bacon, two mince pies, turkey and potatoes, gravy, bread sauce, cranberry sauce, brussel sprouts with stuffing – or broccoli with stuffing, roast carrots and parsnips and Christmas pudding.
This is not a drill, rather, it is just ill – and as you know, it didn’t happen if there aren’t any pictures. Sadly, we have pictures.
So what is a perfect Christmas dinner? For you, it might be fish and chips by the beach, something under a silver cloche delivered by a white-gloved waiter in a fancy restaurant, a devon and tomato sauce sandwich squashed into white bread or the traditional meal, not from a tin, at a table with bonbons and people you love.
For me, the best one was when we were invited to the home of some friends and they made me a tofu turkey – and a pav. The next best was when I had to work Christmas Day and my lunch was a bag of cheese Twisties and a Mars bar from the vending machine in the Parliament House press gallery. The worst? The following Christmas when the vending machine was empty.
However you cook it up, I hope, for you, it’s the best day. And that you leave room for pav.
Happy festiveness to you and yours.