Boxing Day.
1.30, Cornflake has gone back to bed. A super, brandied champagne cocktail with brunch will do that, send you to bed like the naughty boy you are.
Cornflake had thought that Xmas day would be insufficiently different from a normal Sunday, a lockdown day or Sunday lockdown day to register as a holiday. However, it was very nice.
With all who have been missed, and all that is missing this year, I’ve discovered that nothing says Xmas like pigs in blankets and scrambled eggs for breakfast. We have a surfeit of pigs in blankets. This is due to a bout of hysteria in house tart created by the lack of same in M and S food hall on the 23rd. The concern spread like wild fire though my studio and those in close proximity. This resulted in Marmalade panic buying excessive quantities of ready wrapped pigs for our consumption, thirty two of them in fact.
Waste not want not. It’s just as well the diet starts in earnest after the current seasonal piggery, or I would potentially be found wandering the aisles of food stores hunting down more in the new year. I’m not sure they’re available at times other than Xmas. I am aware that it is possible to wrap bacon around a cocktail sausage oneself, but who does, really, who does?
We also have alarming amounts of Xmas pudding. Partly because I love it, but mostly because we bought enough to feed several visitors who are now unable to come visit due to tier four rules. We are steadily working our way through the pudding mountain and brandy cream lake. I can’t say this is a hardship and hope it’s not habit forming.
27th December 4-30pm
The third roast dinner in as many days will see off the last of the Brussel sprouts and pigs in blankets. Just the pudding to quell before the year ends.
Brussel sprouts are a thing of beauty, I wonder why I don’t eat them any other time of year.
fat tart 