Christmas, Food, and Warmth.

Smell is a funny thing. A powerful sensation. Although my nose doesn't work properly (I don't know why) so my senses in taste and smell are fairly dulled, and I don't enjoy food as much as the average person. Still, I love it, and I'm convinced my dulled senses are a good thing, because if I loved food as much as I would if my nose worked, I would eat myself to death without a doubt. Even so, every once in a while I'll smell a scent that will take me back to my home, England.

I didn't live in a beautiful, sweeping countryside like something out of Wuthering Heights, it was a quaint little village with an Asdas and a few other supermarkets neatly hidden in the corner, featuring the classic 'supermarket smell' of packaged everything. I'd often take a 20 minute walk in any direction and either end up at school or a friends house. To go anywhere, I had to walk past a pub I don't remember the name of, the smell of cheap beer and fatty, oily sausages filling my nostrils.

One of my most fond memories of the place is going down to the kebab shop to get some classic kebab and chips. I don't think any takeaway place will ever beat those thick cut meat and chips at the end of the road.

But every Christmas I would travel down to an even quainter little place to a small cottage tucked away as much in my memory as in reality. I don't know how accurate this is, but I remember the smell of firewood from the fireplace and lavender and rosemary hitting me immediately as I walked in. As well as the warm embrace of my Great Gran.

Probably the first productive thing I ever did was help, well, attempt to help, my Great Gran in maintaining her garden. I would run around spraying water on plants and picking out the ones that weren't supposed to be there. It was a pretty place. But my favourite thing about coming to hers were the massive Christmas dinners she would make for tiny me, my mum, my gran and herself. Occasionally other family members as well.

This is where I learnt tableside manners that, when I eat with other people at a table, I have kept in habit. For example, never putting my elbows on the table. The funny thing is, it wasn't my Great Gran enforcing this, but my mum. She wanted me to behave for my Great Gran. We smiled and laughed as I gobbled up roast chicken and, once, ate so much sherry trifle I may have gotten slightly tipsy.

Roast chicken recipe (stolen from Jamie Oliver because I don't remember exactly how my Great Grand made it):

1. 1 x 1.6 kg higher-welfare chicken
2. 2 medium onions
3. 2 carrots
4. 2 sticks of celery
5. 1 bulb of garlic
6. olive oil
7. 1 lemon
8. 1 bunch of mixed fresh herbs , such as, thyme, rosemary, bay

Sherry Trifle Recipe:

https://www.bestrecipes.com.au/recipes/grandmas-sherry-trifle/0vnhd1h4

1. 1 sponge cake
2. 825 g (pie) canned peaches
3. 85 g jelly crystals
4. 600 ml thickened cream
5. 500 ml custard
6. 1/4 cup hundreds and thousands *to decorate
7. 1 punnet fresh strawberries *to decorate
8. Also some sherry because this recipe didn't have sherry in it for some reason

Speaking of roast chicken, that meal really stuck with me. The way the crispy skin coated the warm and tender inside. And I found it funny how lemons were stuffed up the butt.

Eventually however my great gran, impressively, left to move to Australia. She was roughly 90. I spent the last two Christmases in England with family friends, and we had turkey instead of chicken. Our family friends bought the first turkey from a farmer, it was called Gilbert. It killed the oven. The oven just stopped working because of it.

We named the second turkey Gilbert the second. It also killed the oven.

Gilberts are cursed.

Gilbert Recipe (If You Dare):

(https://www.taste.com.au/recipes/ultimate-roast-turkey-recipe/aqk592ud)

1. 4.2kg Coles Medium RSPCA Approved Australian Whole Turkey
2. 2 carrots, peeled, coarsely chopped
3. 2 brown onions, coarsely chopped
4. 3 celery sticks, coarsely chopped
5. 100g butter
6. 2 tsp Worcestershire sauce Gravy
7. 3 cups (750ml) salt-reduced chicken stock
8. 60g butter
9. 1/3 cup (50g) plain flour

As nice as these two meals were, they weren't the same. I loved the family friends, their daughters were two of my best friends even as little as I saw them, but it wasn't the same. Turkey isn't chicken after all.

But as the years went by, and, due to climate change, the snow stopped falling me and my mother realised we were also due for Australia, and hopped on a plane. I remember hearing everyone talk about how awful airline food is but, somehow, I actually rather enjoyed it. It was something to do with fish, but like the rest of the flight, it's a bit of a blur.

As I write this I realise something; the worst portions of my life always have rubbish food. Or perhaps, through association, I simply remember it that way. Thus is the power of food.

Anyway, I was able to see my Great Gran two more times before she passed away. We never had roast chicken again unfortunately, I had to stay in a hotel when I went to see her since her apartment was too small, but that didn't really matter. I was just happy to see her.

In her spirit, after her funeral, our whole family had a massive lunch at a restaurant and I, excitedly, got a whole glass of champagne. My mum's cousins were impressed when I drank it all in one gulp, I clearly hadn't learnt from the sherry trifle. I didn't have chicken however, I had steak. It was time for a change.

For roughly four years the Christmases were empty, no chicken or anything. Me and my mum didn't really celebrate it, as we didn't have anyone to celebrate it with. But then I met my amazing girlfriend, and her great family, and I've spent the last two Christmases away with her in a place called Byron Bay. Unfortunately for me and my carnivorous tendencies, her grandparents we stay with are vegan, however they kindly allowed us to have turkey, and this time I could accept my new pseudo-family. The offering of turkey definitely helped.

And over the past few months me and my mum have had roast chicken a few times. It's been nice. I like the smell.

So what's the lesson of this story? Food is important to us, and can accent different periods in our life, as well as our feelings towards experiences. For me, the food I had at Christmas was symbolic of how I felt, as every Christmas after my Great Gran left simply felt like a lesser replacement. It stopped me from being able to enjoy time with those I loved, and before I knew it I wasn't able to spend time with them. Luckily, I get a second chance.

I'd love to hear about what food is important to you, and how it's shaped your life :)