“Remind me to make the trifle later,” says Ma.
There’s little chance that I’ll forget. It being Christmas Day, this is no mere trifle (though mère trifle, on the other hand, it most certainly is). It will add to the already too much food that will be prepared for today’s family gathering, and Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without a heaving, over-stuffed table.
As I’m writing this, the conversation in the kitchen has turned to turkey prep and Ma is consulting with Darina Allen, or one of her cookbooks, at least.
Over the next few hours we’ll ready the full gamut of Christmas edibles, from bread sauce to brussels sprouts (and yes, we are lovers, not haters, of that most divisive of vegetables), and of course there will be freshly prepared roasties. And though it feels not a little strange, I might even flick through the pages of the recent Irish Farmer’s Journal Country Living supplement, which, I’m flattered to say, features an interview with yours truly on the subject of Christmas spuds. That, in my world, is no mere trifle either.
Suffice to say, dear readers, that it’ll be a happy, spud-filled Christmas here, and I hope that it’s the same for you, wherever you are and however you celebrate. Merry Christmas one and all.