Christmas Memories

Being born in Brisbane, Queensland and having always lived in Australia, I find it difficult to connect to the northern hemisphere’s images of a white and snowy Christmas. The festive season is an entirely different type of celebration in Australia, where temperatures on The Big Day can often push the mercury to over 100 degrees Fahrenheit and tempers can become frayed while trying to cook traditional European style Christmas fare in such heat.

As a new bride in 1969, I decided to invite my mother and mother-in-law (both widows) and my maternal grandparents to Christmas lunch. I raced around completing my last minute food shopping after a full day’s work as an operating theatre sister and collected my turkey as the shops closed on Christmas Eve. During the night I spent several hours assisting a surgeon as we reset the badly broken leg of a man who’d fallen while constructing a swing set in the dark, and I was still half asleep at 8am when I rose to start the preparations for lunch at 1pm.

I took the turkey box out of the fridge to discover that the bird was totally frozen and weighed 5 kilos, not the 3 kilos I’d ordered! In a daze, I also noted that it would not fit into our 1927 model stove oven and quickly decided that plan B would mean cooking the frozen monster in an electric frypan (we’d received two as wedding gifts and the bottom of one, with the lid of the other just about covered the huge bird). However, the fact that the turkey was frozen solid was still the problem and I felt the start of panic fluttering inside my tummy.

While my husband snored away, I gritted my teeth as I placed the frozen lump into the laundry trough, covering the huge bird with warm water, which I changed every 20 minutes. By 11am, I decided that I’d just have to cook it, regardless, as I was running out of time. I sent my new husband (we’d been married for 7 weeks!) to collect our guests and implored him to ‘take his time’ returning by taking the long scenic route along the river.

After I’d wrapped the bird in bacon, I placed it in the first frypan, wrapping an aluminium foil collar around the gap between the bottom pan and the second lid. I prepared the prawn cocktails, vegetables and whipped the cream for the pavlova (made to Mum’s tried and tested recipe). As the turkey cavity was still frozen, I decided to bake the stuffing separately in the tiny oven on our stove and tried to make some gravy with chicken stock.

Our guests arrived and all commented upon the wonderful aroma of turkey wafting out of the kitchen. “I thought we’d eat a little later,” I muttered as I passed around the nuts and cheese straws. “It’s rather a large bird,” chimed my husband. Glasses of champagne for the ladies and beer for the men were sipped as I made the last minute additions to the appetisers and again checked the progress of the turkey, which seemed to be sulking.

“Let’s take a stroll around the garden,” I nervously suggested as I collected the empty prawn cocktail dishes. “I’ll bring some bags as you might like to pick some peaches to take home.” My mother grabbed my elbow and steered me into the kitchen as the others walked out of the front door. “What’s going on?” she demanded, having recognised my delaying tactics!.

By this time, the turkey had been cooking for 3 hours, but was still frozen inside. Mum and I decided to carve pieces of cooked meat from the outside edges of the bird and to place them decoratively on a platter, surrounded by mounds of sliced baked ham and let our guests serve themselves. This arrangement worked well and only Mum and I were aware of the still frozen bird slowly thawing as it cooked away in the kitchen, out of sight.

The Pavlova, decorated with whipped cream, fresh strawberries and passionfruit was a resounding success, as was my first solo attempt at baking Nan Wallace’s famous Christmas cake. My mother-in-law’s hints about taking a slice or two of turkey home with her were brushed over by giving her a parcel of sliced ham.

At 6 pm that evening, once everything was washed up and put away, I rang my beloved Nan in Queensland and told her about the entire Christmas dinner debacle in Adelaide. By this time, the bird had finally cooked, and, to my absolute horror, I discovered a small plastic bag inside the turkey cavity which contained the turkey giblets!!! Nan and I both dissolved into hysterical laughter at my first attempt to cook Christmas Dinner.

I am pleased to report that since my first attempt at cooking Christmas dinner in 1969, I have progressed rapidly, shunning ‘ye olde world’ recipes and traditions for new ones more suited to both our Australian climate and more relaxed lifestyle.

Wishing you and your family some Australian festive fun and cheer!

NAN'S/MUM'S PAVLOVA – Serves 8 - 10

                Method:

·         Preheat oven to 200 degrees Celsius. Place a sheet of baking paper on a baking tray and mark a 20cm circle.

·         Beat egg whites & salt with an electric mixer until they form stiff peaks. Sift the sugar and gradually add 1 tablespoon at a time, beating on full speed until all of the sugar has been added. Lastly fold in vinegar and vanilla.

·         Spoon large dollops inside the marked circle on the baking sheet and smooth a depression into the middle, raising the mixture around the edges of the circle.

·         Place Pavlova into the oven, reducing the temperature to 150 degrees C for 1 hour. Turn off heat and leave Pavlova in oven until cold.

·         When ready to serve dessert, slide Pavlova on to a decorative plate, slather with whipped cream and decorate with strawberries and passionfruit pulp.