This Christmas Day, I felt not just the seasonal joy of family time, gift exchanges, and eggnog-induced warmth, I also basked in the heady highs of being the Man of the House.
For it was I who prepared the Turkey, and the Fixings, and (having given thanks to the turkey for his sacrifice), carried the Christmas Day lunch to the table.
Of course, some people perform this function regularly – even routinely. But I am not some people.
You need only ask around as far as my wife to discover how shit my domestic skills are.According to her, I rarely rate as a passable room-mate, let alone a ‘man of the house’ type husband. From weather-proofing windows to unplugging drains, from hanging curtains to washing dishes, my greatest natural talent is being in the way.
However, Christmas Eve, while visions of sugar plums danced in the heads of our young visitors, I was in the kitchen, sauteing spices and herbs, mixing up stuffing, and prepping the kitchen for a busy daybreak.
And Christmas morning that task continued anew. Armed with a family recipe emailed directly to my inbox from my father, I carried on a proud family tradition of serving up a juicy bird.
And I’m happy to report that the turkey came out crispy of skin and tender of flesh. The potatoes were mashed to a consistency not dissimilar to that of the lump-free gravy, and the peas and carrots served their supporting role admirably.
It might not seem like much, but Christmas is not about the big things. It’s about the little ones. Or the medium-sized ones that seem big – like the preparation of lunch.