The turkeys have been ordered, the presents have been bought and the spectre of stress-filled hours of peeling, stuffing and stirring dubious concoctions is creeping into the minds of family cooks across the world.
It’s that wondrous of occasions: Christmas; bringing magic and mystery to children, pressure and pain to some and frivolous fun to many.
The depth of joy, divinity, horror and destitution that people experience at this time of the year can be balanced evenly on the spectrum of human emotions and it’s at Christmas especially that we can see this on the faces of the people around us.
In the Curran camp, I’ve yet to prepare my game plan for the festival of food and fun that is Christmas. Taking on this festive dinner is a glorious challenge that I’ve attempted a couple of times — I’m sure I’ve even written about it in this column, such is the intensity of my feelings for the feat.
It’s easy cooking food for yourself or a family; chuck a few vegetables here and there, boil a few edibles, fry everything else and throw it all on to a bunch of plates.
However, cooking for the family, any family or friends on Christmas Day is a testament to skill, planning and ingenuity, all the while maintaining that magical Goldilocks state between cool, calm and confident chef and confused, cock-eyed cook.
Hovering between said states with a glass of bubbly in hand is my ultimate aim and a challenge I don’t take lightly.
As you read this I’ll be making gravy in advance. In advance, I tell you. Gravy, it’s been said, is the holy grail of the Christmas dinner — if you’ll forgive my mash-up of religious myths.
I’ll attempt to make my own blend of golden brown nectar a few days before and then mix it with the turkey juices that will be lovingly willed from the roasted bird on the big day itself, assuming I haven’t burnt it to a crisp.
There’s the small chance I could let myself get caught up in my own winter wonderland, wittily ruminating to imaginary sycophants about last year’s triumphant feast while gesturing wildly and spilling liquid gold across the kitchen worktops.
But I’ll make sure that my trustees keep me grounded and the sounds of carols and popular festive songs wafting through the house will bring me back from the Christmas abyss.
For each of us, Christmas can highlight all the good in our lives, but it can also etch out any gaping holes. We think of the people who are far away and those who are missing from our lives.
It can make us think too long and too hard about what might have been and what might be to come. We can be filled with terror at the alarming fact at how short the years seem to be becoming and the limited number of Christmases we might have left on this earth.
But with these feelings also comes a gratitude that we might all have forgotten to acknowledge throughout the year as we trundle through the days and months in our normal lives and mundane routines.
This time of year can help us reflect on the people we want to be and the challenges we might want to try to overcome. We can be thankful that we are alive and can fight over the turkey leg with our tubby uncle or cherubic niece; thankful that we can sit at home and watch TV by ourselves with our favourite drinks and indulgent treats; and thankful that we can find something to be thankful about.
We can visit elderly or ill-loved ones, or take a box of chocolates to a neighbour to say that we are thinking of them.
And while these tasks may feel like they are being conducted for the other person, in truth these little deeds and scrapes make us feel more alive and appreciated and more a part of the world.
For me, the secret to happiness is not to seek happiness but embrace the craziness and wonderful chaos of every day with the people around us, whether they are strangers, friends or family. That’s what I’ll be doing this festive season, and hopefully not howling over a blackened, tear-stained turkey. Merry Christmas, everyone.
Christina Curran is a freelance journalist based in Northern Ireland.
