There is an exact moment that Christmas Day tensions peak: 12.56pm. In 2013, Magimix found it was at this point, after an average four-and-a-half hours of cooking, that, as frazzled hosts start to bring the dinner together, once happy homes from Aberdeen to Hastings kick-off like Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares. It need not be like this. Not if we all respect some basic rules about how to do Christmas dinner right. Read on and merry Christmas … hopefully.
Never eat out on Christmas Day
“Come on,” you say. “It’ll be great.” It won’t. Your hassle-free Christmas dinner means choosing from a set menu of high-profit, easy-to-serve dishes seasoned with the salty tears of bitter, divorced chefs and served by disengaged young staff only here because of student debt. It is £50 a head to eat in a ropey chain pub, north of £200 to go “posh”. Everyone will hate you for it.
Offer, don’t order
Do not passive-aggressively announce you are “doing” Christmas, regardless of how inconvenient it is for everyone to drive, sleep over or cram into your flat. It is their Christmas, too.
Breakfast early
Whether that be on smoked salmon and champagne or a whole Cadbury’s selection box (because Christmas), make sure it is in good time. It is demoralising for hosts when bloated guests arrive protesting they are not hungry.
Drink, be merry
On Christmas Day you are free, if not obligated, to get on it early. A poll commissioned by the ginmakers Mason’s reports that we start drinking on average at 11.54am, which is hugely beneficial to our collective enjoyment of the day. Hungover? Hoist yourself out of that despondency. Love Christmas? A nip will heighten your excitement. Despise this forced jollity? Magically, alcohol will make it tolerable, and you tolerable to other people.
Swerve social media
On Christmas Day, social media is a wasteland populated by tragic stragglers wishing their families “Merry Christmas!” on Twitter (you live with them, just shout upstairs); posing with their gifts on Instagram; or posting on Facebook from a sleeping bag in the Boxing Day sales queue outside Next. Staring at a screen on Christmas Day, therefore, is not just rude, it is depressing. The people you love are here IRL. Enjoy them. Failing that, read a book.
Stop interrupting the cook …
... with half-hearted offers of help, booze that needs stashing or constant reminders about who won’t eat dark meat or sprouts. It is infuriating.
Support your local
Pubs are gorgeous places on Christmas Day. But such midday excursions are too often men-only, as the womenfolk are left with the children and potatoes. According to YouGov, 51% of women cook Christmas dinner solo compared with just 17% of men. Address this by a) discussing structural sexism with Uncle Derek in the pub (he’ll love that) or b) planning ahead so that everyone who wants to go to the pub, can.
Cough up, it’s Christmas!
There has been a rash of news stories this year about people charging their families for Christmas dinner. The typical price is £30 a head, prompting one Mumsnet user to declare: “OMG! No! Fuck, that is horrible.” It certainly seems provocative, particularly if, as one couple told the Daily Mail, they price it to turn a profit. However, in an age of rising food costs (last Christmas, the average UK family spent £225 on food and drink), rampant gluttony (we eat on average 6,000 calories on Christmas Day) and soaring expectations (one woman told This Morning she spent £500 feeding her tribe), it raises the question of how we should share the financial burden. Money need not change hands. Instead, in a sensitively Marxist way (“To each according to need, from each according to ability”), a list of shopping and jobs (veg prep, bringing dessert etc) should be split among the party. Broadly, guests can then spend as much time or money as they wish on their tasks. The host must start a WhatsApp group to coordinate this; now obligatory in building anticipation before any event. Accept the tsunami of nonessential chat that will ensue. Count to 10. It is Christmas.
Dinner time?
Confusingly, Christmas dinner is a late lunch, served between 2pm and 3pm. Go into early evening and guests will be too hangry or drunk to appreciate it. Traditionalists will be livid (“Your grandad didn’t vote leave so he could eat Christmas dinner at 7pm, Claire! We’re not French”), as will those who suddenly find that eating clashes with the Strictly Christmas special.
Don’t go crackers
A pox on elaborate table decorations. Waitrose’s Silver Glitter crackers (£30 for six) are a compelling argument for higher personal taxation.
Hats on, guards down
Wearing a Christmas party hat is a sign of true maturity. No, it is not cool. You never saw Che Guevara, Ian Curtis or Tupac in a festive titfer, but who are trying to impress? You are eating with your family. They already know you’re a pillock.
Park the politics
For one day, after a year of such division, could we reach beyond politics to find some deeper connection with our kin? Giving it to the in-laws with both barrels won’t make you feel better and will change nothing about Brexit, Trump or Syria.
Keep the starters in perspective
They are the support band here, the B-movie, the Bake Off Extra Slice. You want light dishes, served in modest portions that, from shop-bought paté to jerusalem artichoke velouté, can be brought by guests and served quickly with little fuss. The host will go berserk if you start commandeering kitchen space to prepare a complex winter salad.
Consider your audience
Foodies, this is not the day (is any?) to foist your outre tastes on your guests. Ask yourself: will Karen and Dave love my kombucha-marinated duck liver and gooseberry teriyaki croquettes? Invariably, no. You may find it baffling that 76% of British households serve boring turkey, but it is the consensus meat. The majority expect it and it is a blandly inoffensive compromise, certainly compared with divisive alternatives such as goose or duck. If your family want beef, great: order that rib. But park your ego. Ultimately, Christmas dinner is less about what you eat than creating a good vibe around the table.
Trimmings self-discipline
One type of potato is plenty. Serving mash and roasted spuds takes up precious plate-space better occupied by pigs in blankets. Beyond potatoes, the core Christmas vegetables are commonly acknowledged as sprouts, parsnips and carrots. They offer a clear balance of sweet, mineral and roasted vegetal inflections to the meat. Go beyond that (peas, red cabbage, broccoli, mangetout) and your plate gets very crowded, both literally and in its flavours.
Plate-up in the kitchen
Serving everything on sharing platters sounds festive, but it is a fiddly mood-killer. Guests will spend 10 minutes in near silence, shuttling dishes around the table as the food goes cold.
Stuffing = sausage meat
Think: a savoury combination of pork, sage, shallots, chestnuts and pancetta. Breadcrumbs, onions and herbs do not a stuffing make. Serve one of those monstrosities dominated by booze-soaked fruits and your guests will be justified in mutinying.
As with booze, you should never run out of gravy
The receptacle is irrelevant. The age of the gravy boat has sailed; a measuring jug will do. Just keep it coming. It is all gravy, literally.
Do not demand Yorkshire puddings
This is not Sunday dinner, they only really go with beef and the host is frantic.
Don’t be a festive food fascist
From mulled wine and bread sauce to Christmas pudding, there are many heavy, egregiously spiced festive foods created for Victorian palates that contemporary Britons find revolting. A minority of self-appointed keepers of the Christmas spirit take that revulsion as a personal insult, as if declining an eggnog is Grinch-like subversion. No. It is just a vile drink.
10pm snack attack
As host, you may still be stuffed, but you cannot neglect that cheeseboard or first leftovers sandwich. For many, it is more exciting than Christmas dinner itself. So crack on … somebody.
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