The remains of Christmas cake and miscellaneous crumbs bring cheer on New Year’s Day with the whole year looming ahead – “like a mountain”, as my mother says.
At the end of every year, Christmas feels like a reward for making it through – a week-long reward filled with cake, carols and food.
Over the years, the menu has been perfected with a classic chocolate cake, an orange-chocolate cake, banana bread, fruit cake and, of course, the decadent Christmas cake.
The weekend before Christmas is hectic as the kitchen becomes a bakery: smooth, golden slabs of butter are mixed with sugar; sugar smokes on the stove as it caramelises; egg whites are shaken out of delicately cracked eggs; icing sugar is stirred in with freshly-squeezed orange juice to make frosting.
The Christmas cake is made last, accorded the most dedication. Orange peels, raisins, chopped ginger, cranberries soaked in rum and spices for a month are tipped into cake batter with caramel and then baked for nearly two hours. The aroma fills the air as carols crescendo.
For the main course, it’s usually biryani but this time we decided to add a shepherd’s pie made of mutton mince, topped with mashed buttery potatoes and mozzarella cheese. For dessert, apart from all that cake, there’s phirni: rice boiled with milk and sugar and then topped with almonds.
On Christmas evening, while eating just one more piece of cake, after bowls of phirni for dessert, second helpings of pie for dinner and a lot of cheese, we sit around the tree looking at the lights and each other and say, just one more year until Christmas again.
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