Ownsome Lonesome

 

It's been a very family-orientated few days. Ganching was here Friday-Monday and Leitrim Sister Sunday-Tuesday and last night we had Martha, Evie and their parents for supper. All good. 

This morning Leitrim Sister and I went out for breakfast. Not too far as Cully has two cafes. We chose Toast and as we went in I asked LS,

Shall we have the full relish?

She knew what I meant. An Ulster Fry with additional toast. How could we not?

The previous morning we had hoped to go to Middletown for a slightly more sophisticated breakfast but it seems they take Mondays off so the Leitrim one, the London one and myself went to Cameron's coffee shop for scones and coffee and a nice view of Slemish. Afterwards, we had to say goodbye to Ganching as her mini-break was coming to an end and she was off to the airport. 

Today it was Leitrim Sister's turn to head back and I found myself home alone as Bert was off doing Christmas farming with Clint. It felt very odd. Also good. Just me and the dogs and the cats and the pigs and the hens. Tomorrow I will get back to fretting about Christmas. Just 12 days to the best day of the year - the day after Christmas. Can't wait.

The 2011 Boxing Day Disaster

It has taken me a while to be able to share this story. I must warn you in advance that it is a very sad story and that you will probably cry. This is the story of Nelly's Boxing Day Dinner Disaster.

My day began at 6am Why so early? I wanted to get a handle on my day and a start made on my enormous 22 pound Black Norfolk Turkey, a gift from Clint.

By 10:30am the turkey was thoroughly cooked, in fact it was a tad over-cooked. I was a little dismayed but Bert said, never to worry, sliced in gravy, nobody would notice a thing. Still I was embarrassed to see it sitting there all black skin and singed legs so I got Bert to slice it up and I tucked it away out of sight.

All was under control – desserts ready, most vegetables prepped, a nice pork roast sizzling away in the slow cooker. I just had some stuffing to prepare. At 2pm the pork was succulent and only needed a quick blast in the oven to make the crackling. This was a method I was quite confident about as I'd cooked pork in the slow cooker at least a dozen times.

I put the oven on to high and left it for thirty minutes. To tell the truth I got involved with other tasks. Suddenly I remembered I needed to put the pork in for a blast of heat so transferred it to a roasting tin. Over to the oven, door open....

Oh dear God! There were my turkey slices, burned, dried out, totally fucked. I was so distraught I dropped the pork whereupon it fell on the floor and disintegrated. See! I said you would cry. I certainly did.

What Happened Next?

I saw Bert coming across the yard carrying a bucket of logs. I ran to the door. I sobbed,

Bert! Come in! Something terrible has happened!

He took one look at my anguished face, dropped the logs and ran in. I believe he thought I had discovered his mother lying dead. Little did he know it was far worse than that.

Then What Happened?

I had hysterics.

Then What Happened?

I stopped crying and went to collect Hannah and her friends. On the way in I started howling again thinking of that noble turkey who had lived and died in vain. I gathered up my guests who. I believe, were rather apprehensive about their evening's entertainment.

Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch

Zoe and family arrived and measures were discussed as to how dinner could be salvaged. With the help of my lovely guests we saved the day. There was enough meat underneath the burned turkey and above the splattered pork to feed us all. Second helpings were in short supply but thankfully there were lots of desserts.

Last Year's Boxing Day Dinner

I seem to remember that there was also some sort of disaster at the 2010 Boxing Day dinner. I don't recall what it was about but it culminated in me running out and sobbing in the polytunnel and when I allowed myself to be persuaded back into the house the guests had eaten all the food. Ah well. I dare say it served me right for being such an hysterical bitch.

Next Year's Boxing Day Dinner

If God spares us things will be very different in 2012. There will be no more trying to serve two kinds of potatoes, three kinds of vegetables, stuffing, turkey and other festive meats to a party of a dozen or more, all at the same time and without a warming oven or enough chairs. Next year I'm going to go for a Polish-Irish feast. There will be thirteen dishes, desserts, casseroles, fishy things, pickled cabbage, mixed vegetables, turkey, pork, soup, flans, salads etc. Many of these dishes will have been prepared in advance. There will be a stack of napkins, plates and cutlery. There will be glasses and at least three bottles of vodka. There will be crackers. Because this year I forgot to put the bloody crackers out. Ah well. Next year.

Division of Labour Christmas Style

It's said that women do most of the preparation for Christmas and I'm sure that in many homes that is the case. Take our house - Bert won't go near a shop during the run up to Christmas unless it's to the garage to stock up on gas or dogfood. He wouldn't dream of buying anyone a present, much less wrap one. At a pinch he'll chop down a Christmas tree but he wouldn't have the first notion about decorating one. You might, if you're really persuasive, get him to go to the off licence to stock up on booze and he's pretty good with the Christmas meats. No fancy trimmings for him though. He'll cook a turkey to perfection, he'll carve it with skill but you can put it on your own damn plate yourself! What you want? He eats it for you?

But last night I had to concede that sometimes women get the better deal. I spent my evening baking citrus based Christmas desserts - a Lemon Mascarpone Cheesecake and an Orange and Almond Cake. Whilst so engaged, I chatted happily with some folks who'd dropped by to wish us Season's Greetings. Meanwhile Bert was down at Clint's plucking and drawing teens of turkeys and geese. The conversation was terse as Clint was still traumatised from the killing that had taken place a few nights before. He'd really loved those birds.

So I got to smell the sweet tang of sugar and citrus while Bert, poor man, had the reek of blood and guts in his nostrils. Sometimes it's good to be a woman.

Goner

There's a part of me that thinks it is wrong to pray for animals. It's a part I don't agree with. We're all animals when it comes right down to it. It's just that we humans are particularly arrogant, selfish animals that believe, rightly or wrongly, that we're more important than the rest.

Nevertheless I prayed for Lucy and I prayed for Bonnie. Whilst doing so I had the sneaky suspicion that somebody, something would die in their stead. I'm a superstitious fool. I admit it.

Today I accidentally drowned a spider. And on the Dreen Road, Big Ernie, the angriest turkey in County Antrim, died with his head stuck in the feeding trough. Heart attack? Who knows. Clint weighed him prior to burial. He weighed exactly 60 lbs, including feathers and guts. He was a big boy. Clint is sad. But Lucy is grand and Bonnie is on the mend.

Noeliniz Ve Yeni Yiliniz Kutlu Olsun

It's just after five am - I awake from some sort of a horrible dream to the noise of the alarm. WTF? Oh yes. Christmas Day. Got to put the turkey on.


It's enough to turn you vegetarian.

To absent friends & family, to all fellow bloggers, to everybody. Have a good one.

Orange or Green?

Bert spent today plucking poultry. Clint has been rearing free range turkeys for Christmas and today was their last day on earth. Well they're still here but they're not gobbling any more. He came in this evening and divested himself of his boiler suit. Feathers flew everywhere. I asked him,

Was it awful?

Aye. It was a bit. But I thought...if I'm going to be eating some of those turkeys then I should, at least, give a hand in the killing and getting them ready for the table.

That Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall way of thinking is definitely getting through to somebody.

Did you do any of the killing?

No. I just plucked.

How many were there?

Thirteen turkeys and four roosters.

Roosters. We should have got at least one of ours ready for the pot.

Which one? Mervyn?

No! Not Mervyn. He's too handsome. One of those two that look the same.

Which one? Orange Legs or Green Legs?

Green Legs.

No. Not Green Legs. I like Green Legs.

Seems like we'll not be eating broth for a day or two yet.

Talking Turkey

Meet Big Ernie, Clint's Attack Turkey. When Big Ernie is on the loose Clint has nothing to fear from burglars, robbers or sneak thieves. But Ernie is about to meet his match.

Hello there, Big Ernie. Lovely weather we're having. I do hope it keeps up for the Easter weekend. Are you looking forward to Easter lunch? We are.
G'wan ye sarcastic fecker or I'll hae the goolies of ye!

Ye wudn't be the first and I daresay ye'll hardly be the last! C'mere ye skinny bastard 'til I get a dig at ye!

Aye! Run ye yellow fecker! I'll get ye in the long grass!

Ye bastar...! Urghhh!
I suppose ye thought that was funny! I'll mind ye, ye hoor ye!

Nellybert would like to reassure readers that no actual turkeys were harmed in the making of this blogpost. Clint would also like it to be known that Big Ernie, though temperamental and vicious, is a valued and respected free range turkey who, he hopes, will become the father of very many turkey chicks to come.