Christmas Gimp Fest
At some point in November (or - god forbid - maybe even October these days), the first Christmas advert comes on television, the first lights go up somewhere on Oxford St, and some keen bastard has already erected a Christmas tree.
From that point the frequency of Christmas jingos heard on the radio only increases, the food magazines begin to post about bread sauce, the high streets get busier and the migrations of man are put in motion until we’re all at home on the day with presents, trees, turkeys and natty jumpers.
And then it’s done.
And suddenly no-one is writing about it anymore… not a peep.
Even reading this, you’re probably thinking wait are you really bringing up Christmas now?
It doesn’t feel right. It’s like the whole thing were some sordid sex party involving whips, gimps and a couple of sacrificed virgins (female and male of course - it’s 2022) that we feverishly anticipated for months only to do the deed and suddenly see ourselves naked and spent and surrounded by discarded latex and ask ourselves what was all that about?
Except it’s not like that of course because it’s a week spent with family. Or at least I hope it’s not like that with your family. Or well actually if it is like that with your family, who am I (but a humble food writer) to judge? Poor virgins though.
Christmas is probably in fact the wholesome antithesis of such a party. Indeed it’s so wholesome that it is equally sickening, and having spent ourselves of generosity and good will toward our own family, we find ourselves loathe to discuss it any further.
It ends with hugs and goodbyes and sighs and inevitably somebody declaring Christmas this year to be a “success.” The declaration is made no matter how appallingly everyone fought over the game of Monopoly, and instead is only uttered with less conviction.
Though what I find most disconcerting about the whole Christmas thing is the way it repeats every year.
It’s not just that it repeats in that it happens again, but that it happens again almost identically. The same songs play from the 50s through to 80s, the food magazines give the same recipes, the adverts take the same tact and you get the sense that Christmas has long finished evolving.
And when things don’t evolve, it seems like we must be nearing the end. This doomed feeling was then compounded for me in December when the only film posters I saw on London buses were for Matrix Resurrections. “Is there really nothing new left???” I bellowed at the driver, and then tapped my contactless card and went to Oxford Street to buy gifts.
I know now you’re beginning to feel it; I really have talked about Christmas for far too long in January. We don’t need to be reminded of our indulgences, whether they be of generosity, glutton or gimp.
It’s done. It’s the bleak mid winter. It is a time of abstinence now.
So shall we instead find solace,
In a bowl of porridge?
Parsnip Porridge
This porridge is shamelessly stolen from the great Gill Meller. Needless to say his recipe was not prefixed by any such similar story.
Parsnips and oat are a wonderful team and make good use of some of the only produce that is “naturally” available at this time of year. Top with a syrup of honey and prunes (or dates) and a little cream too if you so wish.
Ingredients (for two people)
100g large porridge oats
1 parsnip (about 50g), peeled and grated
350ml water or whole milk
8 prunes or dates, whole or chopped
runny honey or maple syrup, for trickling
double cream, to serve (optional)
Method
Using a heavy-based pan if you have one, cook the porridge oats and grated parsnip in the milk or water (my preference is to just cook in water and maybe add a dash of milk at the end) with a pinch of salt on medium heat.
Cook for about 10 minutes, stirring now and again, until the oats are soft and broken down and the parsnip is also giving. If it’s a little thick you can add more water.
Divide the portions and then top with your prunes or dates and a generous trickling of syrup or honey. A delicious and simple breakfast on its own, though a dollop of double cream turns this into a much more luxurious start to the day if you are ready already to indulge again.
You are surely right to call out the deep strangeness of the rite of Xmas (that so few thiink it strange for one), the repeated investiture of hope in the light of experience, the eliciting of anticpatory feelings that are rarely met, the fusion of a myth with the engine room of capitalism ('wanting'), the emptiness of it all (where is the promised nourishment?) and the sense of having been duped somewhere along the line. that we have lost touch with the core of something rare and precious...., But perhaps we can touch that core when, head bowed, we join another to share a bowl of parsnip porridge where none of the above hold sway.