Okay, it’s the evening and I’m piecing this together from photos. So, this morning I had a lie in (usually up at 4 to 4:30, today it was 8:45), then we had a leisurely coffee until Jackie suggested, “I feel a bit weak from last night…fancy a port?” “No, how about a rum?”
And with that the kettle was on and two shots each were in the mugs with some brown sugar and butter and soon we were medicating. Happy Christmas.
I started the duck the day before which involved scalding the bird 5 times in a boiling water and malt vinegar bath, internally coating with five spices, then cooling and drying overnight before coating with a maltose, soy, and rice vinegar and baking slowly for fucking ever.
Along the way, I fitted in a run around the buurt and broke a real sweat and somehow got the sugar equilibrium back under me before drawing a hot bath and putting on some Christmas radio. It was a sunny, if cool, day so the bath was going to be relaxing looking out on the world…even more relaxing since Jac noticed her glass of sloe gin left just a shot of our precious fluid for me to carry in with me. A delight.
She wasn’t expecting the dinner to take so long (I already had the cornbread for the southern style dressing done and was awaiting the crust for the sweet potato pie while the tub filled). So, I had her set out a bit of runny brie and open a grand bottle of old St Emilion to breathe. It was lovely but I needed to come up with something for the dinner.
The Lussac St Emilion was perfect and the dinner was Christmasy enough (Jewish Christmas, like the link in the previous post but Christmas nonetheless) considering the punk classics we were playing instead of carols (we had enough of that up to that point). We finished up with some pie and the last of the port (farewell, old friend).
Somehow, we had the sense to realise that the booze was rapidly depleting and opted for a bottle of fizz — a prosecco we’ve been sitting on for weeks — which should have been plenty but as it was only 5:30 pm we had to soldier on: Christmas is not for the weak hearted or the soft-livered.
And, so here I am…Merry Christmas…both of us having fun…here’s to tomorrow and the hangover to come. And. another run tomorrow. And an off license trip ’cause we are out of beverage. Almost.