Somehow I've cleverly become the person that 'just brings salad' to Christmas. My uncle makes a disgustingly sweet trifle, my Mum a big pasta bake, my brother in law the most insanely delicious roast potatoes, and everyone else has a dish they bring that everyone loves. This year, with my oven and my cooktop broken, I was the person who could have the excuse to 'just bring salad'.
Of course, I wasn't going to make an ordinary green salad. I made rollups of garden fresh zucchini with a leaf of basil and a smear of goat's cheese, held together with a toothpick. I'd marinated the zucchini in a little fire cider first.
I sauteed some asparagus in lemon juice and olive oil on the spirit stove, and a heap of roast red peppers that I'd use for another salad.
Assembly was easy - a bed of baby spinach and kale, and then it was layering everything on top of the salad - olives, blueberries, and the zucchini rounds. It felt Christmassy. And if you're in the Northern Hemisphere - berries are cheap in Australia at Christmas, because they ripen at this time. Berries and mangoes are often a feature at our Christmas.
My Aunty, who was hosting, made a baked salmon - if it was me, the whole thing would be meat free as I always freak out at all the animals slaughtered for Christmas lunches. It makes me gag a little.
My sister makes a traditional cucumber salad, traditional in that my German Nana always made it, and we remember her through this simple dish of thinly sliced cucumber with olive oil, vinegar and salt and pepper, perfectly wilted and crunchy at the same time.
She had set the table beautifully for us all. Sadly, my Dad couldn't come - he was in too much pain. Dad's always trying to get out of Christmas, and this year he had an excuse I guess, but we all did miss him. Sometimes I think we are just going through the motions and Christmas isn't what it used to be. Still, we had laughs, and a sense of togetherness.
On Christmas Day we joined my sister and brother in law, their kids and my son, daughter in law and 14 months grandchild for lunch. I got up early and began some fresh focaccia, always a crowd pleaser. Half of it would be practically INHALED before lunch even began. It slid, warm still, in the centre aisle of the Land Rover.
'What else shall I bring?' I asked.
'Nothing, we have plenty. Salad?'.
This time was a little simpler - a bed of greens, mango, blueberries and roast capsicum.
My dealing grandchild slept through the entire lunch.. the Christmas excitement has been clearly too much. I felt the same. It's always far too emotional for a number of reasons, not least a little sadness. Dad was in pain so poor Mum had to skip lunch to go to the hospital to get him some endone. We stopped past on the way home and he was pleased to see us. He is mainly reading and sleeping at the moment, something we all long for unless we are sick and would rather be doing anything but.
At home we settled in on the couch as it poured and poured with rain. We drink wine and watch Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, which restores a little Christmas magic.
Dinner is not salad - it's handfuls of arancini that Mum had made. We had scoffed them on the way home too, and smothered them with a with a truffle mustard, and wine. Texts go back and forth with the family about how we "stole" the much covered arancini, and I send a ninja gif in response.
Mum's arancini balls always win over my salads, it seems.
Maybe I'll make them when she's gone.
With Love,
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