Talking Gobldigook TAMMY MOLESWORTH
Christmas is a dirty word in our household. My poor Mother in Law made the ill-advised
mistake of having her son on the 18th of December. No one is allowed to mention the ‘C’ word prematurely, quality control test marzipan, mince pies and brandy butter or hum seasonal carols in tune, until after The Birthday has been successfully celebrated as a standalone event. Woe betides the Muppet who fails to heed my advice. It doesn’t go down well with the chap. But Hark! 2012 heralds exceptional circumstances without
even a whiff of grizzling. Cue Terence, Teresa and Testicle, three Norfolk White Turkeys, who arrived in October, three whole months ahead of Christmas to fulfil one objective (and many tummies) only: dinner on the 25th of December. This is a new adventure for us driven by motives of curiosity, austerity and one-upmanship in the gifting department. Year one, the parental departments received dullsville pants and socks. Year two, they were blessed with ‘The Cat’s Pyjamas’ range of homemade chutney and pickle, and so on. However, on this occasion I do declare a self-satisfied trumping of all that went before. A home reared bird for the dinner table. A gift that genuinely celebrates the season and can be enjoyed by many on more than just one occasion. Think sandwiches, pies, soups and Boxing Day curry of Bridget Jones’ notoriety. Best of all, it has commandeered much of our energy and care in the making. Suddenly, every day resonates just a little bit of Christmas as I go about feeding them and herding them from stable to Cluckingham Palace, a lovingly built run to keep them safe from the unwanted attentions of the bar-steward fox. I know I shouldn’t have named them, but don’t worry. My raft of turkeys might seem white all over to the regular observer, but to me their plumage is metaphorically infused, drizzled and massaged (oh for goodness sake!) with recipe ideas. I have to think of them as receptacles for sage and thyme, garlic cloves and lemon halves; or as vessels laced with scrumptious streaky bacon. Or else we’ll all be having nut roast for lunch and for a family boasting more than its fair share of self-confessed carnivores, I’ll be seriously in the compost! I’m very fond of my new little flock. Unlike the guinea fowls
who were ‘moved on’ to a white, waist high, box shaped version of Antarctica for my own sanity because they were so rowdy. The turkeys move about as a sedate procession, trilling happily, wheezing infrequently and emitting the occasional peep of excitement. Elegant they are not. More Miranda Hart than Darcy Bussell as they caper after insects, wings akimbo with imminent landing gear failure. I appreciate they’re only yutes at the moment and they may
grow out of this comic pleasantness. But for now, I’m more than happy to watch their antics, vary their diet with the occasional Aga-singed sage and onion stuffing ball and talk complete gobbledegook to anyone that will listen. F
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