Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
En Famille! En Famille!
Ah, the traditions of Christmas chez Moore. The
Radio Times
and a highlighter pen, being told
to turn off James Brown's 'Funky Christmas' CD, the argument over whether the lights go on
the tree before or after the decorations, the children deciding a week before Christmas Day
that their current interests are old hat, thereby rendering all unopened presents already obsol-
ete and, of course, huge numbers of Natalie's family descending on us for Christmas Eve and
Christmas Day.
Growing up, Natalie was always used to big Christmas gatherings hosted by her grandparents
and for the last five years we've carried on that tradition and have twenty or so guests over
the two days of Christmas (they don't do Boxing Day here, which is a shame as Boxing Day,
once the pressure is off, is the best day of Christmas) and I look forward to it. Christmas Day
fare is the usual stuff, turkey and so on, but Christmas Eve has always been my night - a new
recipe or a twist on a classic. It's my chance to show off. I love the planning, the preparation,
the cooking and, as a stand-up comedian who just needs to be loved, the 'applause'. It's my
night and I love it, even the stress. And, as you can imagine, an Englishman cooking for a large
number of French people does not come without its pressures.
Last year, in an act of madness I decided to cook a fish curry. The sheer magnitude of it all
only dawned on me mid-afternoon when I was preparing the meal. I broke out into a cold
sweat as I realised that I was making a meal I had never cooked before for twenty-odd French
gourmets (all French people think they are gourmets) and who, for the most part, had never
eaten fish curry. Not only did I not know what I was doing, I did not know what I was doing
on a massive scale. And it was fish; I might kill someone! Thankfully, the meal was a success,
but while every child found it difficult to sleep that night in anticipation of Christmas Day, I
didn't sleep either, convinced that I may have started a food poisoning epidemic.
I had planned a safer menu for this year with a selection of English and French sausages; well
the sausages were English but the
boudin noir
(black pudding) were French and the
andouil-
lettes
were definitely French. It's difficult to describe an
douillettes
, except to say that they are
not for the faint-hearted; they are a local speciality, a large white sausage made up from the
parts of animals usually reserved for the strings on tennis rackets or spare patches on a punc-
ture repair kit. Needless to say they are something of an acquired taste and even fans of them
very rarely manage a whole one.
