Christmas special #1: Hosting the Day

Welcome to the first of my series of festive posts, which will continue until I run out of inspiration, or until December 24th - whichever comes sooner.

Today: some words for those who are hosting Christmas Eve, Day or Boxing Day and are scared rigid at the prospect and wish they'd never offered.

I freely admit that I am naturally a very bad hostess. The worst. From the smallest dinners to huge parties I have always been uptight, nervous and *this* close to tears. But over the last year, I've forced myself to do it so much that I've collected a series of tactics that makes things go easier both for me and for my guests. I now actually quite like it.

I've also canvassed the opinion of YOU, my readers, about what makes a good and a bad host and I've thrown in all your suggestions.

Your second biggest gripe is a stressed-out host. (For your top gripe, see Tip 15) And how right you are.

At any function the host sets the atmosphere. You are in charge, whether you like it or not. It's like when you're on an airplane and it's being a bit wobbly and everyone cranes their necks to see the expression on the stewardesses' face. If she looks calm, you feel calm. If she looks worried, you feel like puking.

So, get this into your head: this is not a film and your anxiety is not an adorable idiosyncrasy - it freaks everyone out. And it won't make anything run more smoothly or prevent anything from going wrong.

I'm not saying don't be anxious, because of course you're going to be anxious. I'm just saying pretend you're not. Dissemble. Act. Lie.

When you find yourself alone at various points in the day, take a calming breath. Force yourself to walk more slowly round the house than you feel like, rather than marching from room to room, breathlessly shoving plates of smoked salmon under people's noses and screaming "NOTHER DRINK?!?!?" before running back to the kitchen hissing "Fucking fucking fucking HELL...".

Other top tips are:

1 Light a lot of candles. And they're not just for the evening, as long as you compensate by not having overhead lights on. If you're into ordering stuff in advance, Price's has a good website. Just put them anywhere that they're not going to set fire to the curtains. Place in groups of three or five. Instant loveliness.

2 It's always surprising how few people have music on when they're "entertaining" (retch). Something - anything - pootling along in the background is instant atmosphere, especially in that inital critical 45 minutes. I am tone deaf and don't have a clue about music, but find having something on when people are round makes a huge difference.

3 Attempt to stay sober until you sit down to the main event. You've got a better chance of achieving this if you don't drink anything at all until you do sit down. After that point, get as ratarsed as you like. In fact, see how ratarsed you can get.

4 Think about heating. When it's just you in your house/flat, it will feel cold. When there are 5 other people in there with you, plus the oven on and the hob blazing, it will heat up very fast, so don't have the place greenhouse hot from the word go becase people will start fainting and you'll go magenta.

5 I know it sounds really obvious, but think about where you're going to put coats - even if it's just over a chair in the corner.

6 When people arrive, a surprising number always want a glass of water. You can, if you like, just fill a chipped Homer Simpson mug from the tap and hold it out, dripping - a lot of people would think that was frightfully smart - but I think it makes people feel more loved if there's a jug of water and a clean glass available.

It is also hard to overstate the importance of taking people's coats and getting a drink in their hands as quickly as possible after they've arrived. I mean, without actually ripping off their jacket or running out into the hall with a gin and tonic.

I know a girl who never offers you anything when you go round to her house, ever. Nor does she tell you where you can put your coat. It's only because she expects you to make yourself at home and just help yourself to whatever you want - but the effect is, in fact, monstrously inhospitable.

7 At any kind of party, you will go through a lot of loo roll. So have at least 2 spare in the bog.

8 Don't cook anything you haven't cooked before. And I mean it - this is really important. If you've never made roast potatoes, or honeyed parsnips - or anything else you want to do - use the next 3 weeks to give them a small trial-run. The recipe will tell you it's easy. And it might be if you're not cooking anything else, but with other stuff on the go it'll suddenly be like taking History A Level in Russian.

The one exception is the turkey; with that you just need to follow the cooking timings, which it ought to come with or you can seek out advice from Hugh F-W, or Nigella, or Jamie. People make a lot of fuss about cooking a turkey, but its mythical difficulty comes from the days when people used to buy them frozen and not defrost them in time. Just make bloody sure that it'll fit in your oven.

If you don't have a good timer, that does minutes and seconds and does a loud bleeping thingy, now is the time to purchase one.

9 It is perfectly acceptable to buy the following:

- Bread sauce
- Cranberry sauce
- Christmas pudding
- Christmas cake
- Brandy butter

I am the first person to scream in disgust at shop-bought stuff, but at Christmas, all bets are off. Yeah fine, kill yourself making all these from scratch if you like, but no-one will know or care if those things are bought.

Obviously, don't be a dick about it: get top quality stuff - I can make suggestions if you like - and don't leave the buying of it until 5pm Christmas Eve.

It is not acceptable to buy:

- Pre-roasted potatoes
- Pre-peeled carrots
- Stuffing
- Gravy

People will know. And they will judge you.

10 Overcater

11 It might seem cool and relaxed to let people sit wherever they like, but actually it fills most people with fear and option paralysis. Me? I love a place card - for dinners for more than 6 I always use them. Luckily, I don't give a damn if people think I'm naff, but you might - and they do make most people cringe.

My brother-in-law once bought 12 lottery tickets and wrote everyone's names on the bottom and used them for placecards, which I thought was brilliant.

Anyway, don't use them if you don't want to, but at least have an idea of where people ought to sit. They like it - and I know that for a fact because you've all mostly said you like it. It's especially vital at Christmas as if you know someone's going to be unhappy sitting next to a particular person, you can separate them.

12 Let's talk about portion control. Yes, it's Christmas and yes, it's a time for overindulgence, but at the same time, people like being able to take as much as they want - and by that I mean as little as they want. It's a bit overwhelming to be handed a plate literally towering with food.

So carve up your bird and give everyone a few slices and then if you can make space, put dishes of veg and sauces on the table so that people can help themselves. People will eat more in the long-run if initially handed the food reins.

13 Now let's talk about booze. At a large gathering, you can't be expected to be constantly filling up everyone's glass - plus I feel about booze the same way I feel about food - people ought to be given control over their alcohol intake. YES it's Christmas and YES it's a time for overindulgence, but getting more pissed than you want because your host keeps filling your glass when you're not looking is really annoying. Especially if you have to operate heavy machinery later.

The vital thing is for there to be a lot of booze available. It should not run out. Ever. What you can do, if you're so inclined, is to say to everyone as you press their first drink on them: "Please do me a massive fave and help yourself to more drink...?" OR say to one or two key helpful sorts: "Would you help me keep an eye on everyone's glass?"

14 You probably don't salt your food enough when you're cooking, because pretty much no-one does. So it's really important to make salt and pepper available on the table and don't, for God's sake, take offence if someone seasons their food. I am, obviously, a massive snob about salt and pepper. Maldon salt in some kind of dish or bowl and black pepper in a grinder is the only thing I think is okay - but LoSalt in a big plastic thingy and ground pepper out of a jar is better than nothing.

15 Okay, this is it. Here it is. Ready?

Your top, Number 1 most hated thing is.... hosts complaining about their own food. *Tsh*

So when the food is out and everyone's tucking in and someone says "This is brilliant, thanks so much for all your hard work," YOU SAY (repeat after me)

"Thanks! Yeah it's worked out okay. Merry Christmas!"

It's very hard to say this when in your head you're screaming "FUCK FUCK FUCK THIS IS A BIT COLD" but you must hold it in and start making conversation about absolutely anything other than the food.

Do not say:

"Chuh took fucking long enough"
"Chuh yeah sorry sprouts bit burnt"
"Oh God this is such a disaster"

Just don't, okay? Every cook - you, me, Delia, my mum, Giles - feels compelled to apologise for something as they present food and it's really annoying and everyone hates it. So. Just. Don't.



Next time: Devils on Horseback

Chocolate cake

I know it looks a bit weird, you'll see why further down



This is a really fantastic chocolate cake. Like something you might buy in a shop, which is my highest accolade. It's dark and rich but also springy and light at the same time. Bliss.

It's also very, very easy. So imagine my shame when I managed to fuck the whole thing up anyway by picking the wrong-size cake tin, meaning it bubbled up and went everywhere and then generally collapsed and looked odd. Stupid me.



damnitall


Anyway, it's easy peasy to avoid this kind of disaster - use the right sized tin, which ought to be 2 x 23cm sandwich tins or 1 x 23cm sandwich tin if you're doing this in half quantities.

So here we go - don't be spooked by the long list of ingredients.

Chocolate cake

225g plain flour
350g sugar
85g cocoa powder
1.5 tsp baking powder
1.5tsp bicarb soda
2 eggs
250ml milk
125ml veg oil - I used groundnut
2 tsp vanilla extract (I think this is too much - I think vanilla essence makes things taste a bit plasticky - next time I will halve this...)
250ml boiling water

1 Put everything except the boiling water into a bowl and stir until smooth

2 Gradually add the boiling water and incorporate, stirring each sploosh in - it'll end up very wet and this is normal.

3 And that's it! Pour into your appropriately-sized tin or tins and bake for between 30-35 mins at 180C, or 170C for fan ovens

What you do with this after cooking is up to you. You can stick it together with a chocolate ganache if you like (I don't like chocolate ganache with chocolate cake... bit sicky... which is why I haven't done it) or with cream, or top it with cream and fruit, or sandwich together with raspberry jam or whatever, really. But it's quite interesting on its own.

Orange polenta cake for Immy

So, an orange polenta cake is a thing I've been meaning to have a go at for a really long time. I was dithering over it yesterday and then I received a Tweet from a reader, Immy, who needed some inspiration for a tea party this weekend. And there's nothing like a reader in distress to get me going.

This works really well and it's very easy. But unfortunately, it's not as wheat-free as it sounds as it still contains 200g of flour. There are flourless and wheat-free cakes you can do but I find that they're often very dense and more puddingy than tea time-y.

(Having said that, Immy, you could do a flourless chocolate cake topped with cream and fruit, a la Sophie Dahl)

But if you're not really that bothered about the flour, this really is an excellent cake. It's jammy and delicious with a surprisingly subtle flavour and doesn't dry out. And doesn't have the bilious after-taste of a lemon cake. There looks like a staggering amount of sugar in this but the end product is not too sweet at all.

One word of warning though: this makes a HUGE cake. Enough for 15 people, easily.

It's made using a 23cm diameter cake tin, that's about 7cm deep. Cake tins are normally about 23cm, but they are sometimes shallower than 7cm. I can never, ever be bothered to measure tins but in this instance it's worth making sure you've got a big enough tin - alternatively you could halve the quantities.

Orange polenta cake

250g butter
250g sugar
4 eggs
140g polenta OR substitute semolina, doesn't really make a difference
200g plain flour
2tsp baking powder
zest and juice 2 oranges

Glaze
100g sugar
100ml orange juice

1 Zest and squeeze your oranges. Roughly chop the zest. Measure off 100ml of the juice and set aside for the glaze.

2 Set the oven to 140C for fan ovens and 160C normal ovens. Grease your cake tin and - if you feel like it, line with baking parchment. I rarely bother, but then I almost ALWAYS get cake stuck to the sides. So if you can be arsed then do it - if not it won't be a disaster, but don't say I didn't warn you.

3 Cream together the butter and sugar. Yawn... why is this task so tedious?

4 Add each of the four eggs, one at a time. They may start to curdle towards the end of adding the last egg. Just ignore it.

5 Add your dry ingredients and mix. Then add the zest and your half-quantity orange juice and mix. Pour it all into cake tin and shove in the oven for 1hr 10mins. Yes, I know, seems a long time. But that's how long it takes.

6 Take cake out of oven and leave to cool. When it's sort of tepid, sling together the remaining juice and sugar and bring to the boil - then simmer for 5 minutes. Once this has cooled down to lukewarm, prick all over your cake with a fork or a skewer and pour over. It'll probably go everywhere so don't worry - just get as much down the holes as you can and spread it around and it'll sink in eventually. But I would wipe up any sugar-juice combo quickly because it will basically set and glue itself to your work surface otherwise.

Nice on its own, or with creme fraiche.

Dill Risotto with Salmon

This is rather a simple, modest, yet very flavourful, filling and soul-satisfying risotto dish that's quick and easy to make. From vegetables, fruit to meat, poultry, and seafood, the variations are endless, just like pasta. Get yourself a glass of Valpolicella Classico Superiore or Pinot Grigio if you prefer white, and enjoy!

Recipe adapted from Essen und Trinken

• 1 Onion, finely diced
  
• 3 tbsp Olive oil
  
• 150 g Risotto rice
  
• 1 clove Garlic, minced
  
• 50 ml White wine
  
• Salt and black pepper
  
• 200 g Salmon steak
  
• 500 ml Vegetable stock, hot
  
• 2 tbsp Chopped dill
  
• 2 tbsp Green peas
  
• 2 tbsp Creme fraiche

1. Heat two tablespoons of olive oil in a skillet on medium heat. Add in the diced onion and stir until tender. Add in risotto rice and minced garlic. Stir until rice becomes translucent. Pour in the white wine. Simmer until the wine is absorbed.
   
2. Cut the salmon into inch-sized dices. Season with salt and pepper. Heat one tablespoon of oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add in diced salmon and cook until lightly golden.
   
3. Season the risotto with salt and pepper. When the wine is all absorbed, add half of the hot stock and keep stirring, until that has been absorbed. Pour in the rest of stock, stirring frequently until the rice is cooked al dente. This will take 20 minutes or more.
   
4. Add in chopped dill, green peas and creme fraiche. When the rice is cooked, gently stir the pan-fried diced salmon into the risotto, and cook for a further 1-2 minutes to heat through. Season, to taste, with salt and black pepper and serve.

Stuffing

I can't be bothered to have opinions anymore. I used to have loads, about all sorts of things. Politics, economics, charitable giving, the Euro - all sorts of stuff. People used to look scared when I came into a room because I had all these opinions, with percentages and factoids to back them up, and I would shout like Brian Blessed, given half an excuse. 

But over the years I've realised that I can't be bothered. Having opinions is totally pointless. First of all, it's boring. Second of all, if you offer an opinion, about 3 people will agree with you and everyone else will turn on you like a mongoose who's spotted a snake.

I once repeated the idea - not even an opinion! just an observation! - at some party or other that in practical terms there's not much point in taxing the very rich because there aren't enough of them. Even if you taxed everyone who earns over £300,000 in this country at 80%, you'd still fall way, way short of the revenue raised if you taxed everyone who earns under £30,000, like, 2 extra pence. *

I mean, I might as well have stood up and declared that mentally disabled people ought to be sterilised. 

"I didn't say I thought it was a good idea!" I spent the rest of the night shrieking. "I didn't say that's what ought to happen..! I'm just saying it's one way of looking at it, that's all..! I just mean taxing rich people isn't all about revenue, that's all...!"

Then a few months later I was invited to a book club. I'd never been invited to one before (exactly why not will become apparent in a second) and I was rather excited. The book was Lolita, which was unfortunate for everyone because it's one of the three books without illustrations that I've actually read.

We all sat about eating a really excellent fish pie at the house of some genial Sloane and then started talking about the book. I sat there, becoming more and more amazed at the stupidity of everyone. For half an hour they talked about the book in the most slow and dim-witted way imaginable. It wasn't even like being in an A-Level class, it was like pre-GCSE stuff.

"Do you think maybe," I said finally, "we're not getting the whole truth from Humbert?"

There was a horrible silence.

"Do you think maybe, since he's the narrator, he's giving only his version of events? The phone call at the motel, towards the end, where we only hear one side of the phonecall - wasn't that kind of a giveaway?"

Then a boy sitting in a corner - okay not a boy, he was probably about 28 - said:

"Oh I hate all that reading-between-the-lines practical criticism stuff. Derrida and all that. Such bullshit."

It was then I, fatally, lost my temper. "I'm sorry," I said, blinking a lot for outraged effect. "Do you actually have a degree? What do you do for a living?"

And, I'm not joking, he was a literary agent.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw my friend Iain, who had invited me, almost but not quite, put his head into his hands.

Things broke up quite shortly after that. I wasn't invited back.

So, I think it's safest not to have opinions anymore. I find that life is so much more clement if you just smile broadly and say nothing. No-one ever notices that you haven't said anything, they're too busy telling you what they think about global warming and they just think you're charming. But it's got to the point now, where I don't want to hear anyone else's opinions about things, either. I pretty much have to leave the room if anyone mentions Iraq, climate change, or interest rates.

My first boss, Jemima, knows everything. She really does - everything. And she never talks about it at parties, because she thinks it's rude. She just wants to gossip and tell jokes.

Luckily, I married the one person in the world who holds fewer opinions than I do. Every week he sits down to write his opinion column and has to dream up some wild thing to say - if it might get him into trouble even better - but privately he has almost no views whatsoever. It's bliss.

My opinion on roast chicken at the moment, as it happens, is completely off-kilter. It's basically all I ever want to eat, except pizza, and so whenever I go to the shops, I don't buy a chicken to roast because I think "Can't have that again! Boring!" and then I realise that we haven't had it for 6 months.

So I bought one last week and I thought I'd do it with stuffing and two veg and everything for Sunday lunch.

Jolly nice it was, too.

My opinion on how to roast a chicken goes like this:

1 Lightly oil the bottom of the pan so that the chicken doesn't stick. Put it in the oven at 200C for 20 minutes.

2 Turn down the oven to 180C and then turn every 20 minutes for 1 hr 20 minutes. Or 20 minutes more if it's a very large chicken. Rest under foil and a teatowel for 20 minutes.

My opinion on stuffing goes like this:

1 Put three ripped-up slices of bread - whatever you like - in a food processor. Follow that with 1 onion, roughly chopped, thyme, sage, rosemary, few strips lemon peel, 1 skinned raw sausage (if you've got it, don't worry if not) salt, pepper, 2 glugs olive oil and a garlic clove.

2 Whizz until combined. Fill the cavity of the chicken with it. Proceed with the cooking instructions.

Breadcrumbs are the base of a stuffing, but you can add whatever you like. A lot of sausage, less. Prunes, orange (festive) - leave out the onion if you like - chestnuts! Liver! Pine nuts! Basil! Go wild.

Here ends my catechism.



*DISCLAIMER: These figures are not accurate. Like, obviously obviously for fuck's sake, they're not accurate. I can't imagine who'd think they were, but it's been brought to my attention that some people might be confused. And I can't have that. Especially when they have boyfriends who are so monstrously long-winded and tedious in their complaints. You see? This is why I don't talk about shit like that anymore.

Flaxseed Bread

This is a very nutritious and delicious loaf with spelt, wholewheat, flaxseed and honey. It has become one of our favourite breakfast bread recipes and it's perfect for a lunch sandwich too.
Flaxseeds contain high levels of dietary fiber, are high in omega-3 fatty acids, and may lower cholesterol level, stabilize blood-sugar levels and reduce the risk of heart attacks, provide antioxidants and may play a role in decreasing your risk of cancer.

• 200 g Spelt #1050 flour
  
• 150 g Wholewheat flour
  
• 5 g Instant dry yeast
  
• 1 tsp Salt
  
• 120 ml Milk
  
• 60 ml Water
  
• 50 g Honey
  
• 1 tbsp Butter
  
• 1 Egg
  
• 2-3 tbsp Flaxseeds
  
• 1 tbsp Butter, melted
  

1. In a large bowl, combine the spelt flour, wholewheat flour, undissolved yeast, and salt. Heat the milk, water, honey, and butter until the mixture combined and warm.
   
2. Make a well in the center, and gradually add the milk mixture and the egg to the flour mixture. Stir at slow speed for 2 minutes, then stir in flaxseeds until well-combined. Increase the speed and stir until soft dough forms. Turn the dough out onto the lightly floured surface and knead until the dough smooth and elastic, about 5 minutes.
   
3. Shape the dough into a round and place in a large, lightly oiled bowl. Cover with a cling film and leave to rise in a warm place for 1 hour, or until it doubles in size. Roll out dough to a rectangle, about 12x8 inch/30x20 cm. Roll it up, starting from the short end, and pinch the seam to seal.
   
4. Place, seam side down, in a standard loaf pan lined with baking paper. Cover; let rise in warm, draft-free place until doubled in size, about 1 hour. Bake at 180C/350F for 30 to 35 minutes until golden brown and cooked through. Brush the top with melted butter. Cool on the wire rack.

Kitchen kit: update

So, please try not to think mean things about how fat I am here... I really do look like Princess Beatrice pre-diet. That double chin! Although I've possibly always had one. I swear to God, when this kid is out, I am going to STARVE myself. I will of course lie, though, and say that the weight just "fell off".

Anyway this is 10 minutes long and quite boring. But's it's semi-amusing when I start to get really bad reflux half-way in. And yes, I know that there's a knife-sharpener swinging away like a pendulum in the background - but what can I say? I can't imagine that what you're most looking for from me is razor-sharp professionalism. At least, I hope not.