Have a very merry Christmas.
I’ve had an okay day. A litle lonely and homesick, because Christmas Eve was always the big celebration night when I was growing up. We had cold cuts and stuff for dinner, not a big meal but we snacked all night, then opened presents.
Now…we’ve compromised. So I get evening present opening on a different night and we open gifts Christmas morning. Which, sorry, but I hate. It’s nowhere near as festive and intimate without the lights bright on the tree and the darkness outside. In the lonely gray light of morning, that holiday cheer is missing. Opening gifts feels mundane. Like a performance instead of an experience.
Also, I can’t get my traditional nibbles here. No corned beef, no Havarti cheese…my Mom sent us scalloped potatoes, though, so at least I had something. (We had cold cuts but one hot dish, that was usually it. My Mom made meatballs when I was little but gave it up after a couple of years, when it became obvious all we really wanted was corned beef and cheese on Ritz.)
So I made a venison stew, which turned out pretty well.
I got the venison from our local butcher, where I also got tomorrow’s goose. I ordered a goose no bigger than 5kg. I got one almost 7kg. I couldn’t believe it when he appeared from the fridge with this…beast in a bag. I swear the thing was bigger than my Faery baby. He had to cut it up for me so I can fit it in the oven.
I really don’t want or need 15 lbs. of goose, but by the time he found it in their fridge I’d been standing there for half an hour and just wanted to leave. “Oh, you Americans like big things,” he said. “You always like to do everything bigger!”
“Oh, do we?” I said.
Which got a laugh. Which is good. I’m pretty sure the little crowd we’d attracted at this point was laughing with me, too, not something you can always assume here. Especially when you’re staring ashen-faced at the goose Scrooge sent the Cratchits on Christmas morning (yes, I know it was a turkey, shut up. It was a big huge turkey, is my point.) The goose that swallowed Devon. The goose that scared the cows. The goose who played pro football.
One damn big goose, basically. And tomorrow I’m going to cook the “crown roast” of it, along with a host of accomapnying veg, after a bland morning present opening, and will likely spend most of the day slightly drunk, which is the best way to spend Christmas.
And thinking of al of you, of course. Big hugs to each and every one of you. You make my days fun, my nights interesting, and my heart light.