Italian Import

Christmas lunch is pretty much like most meals with my family: you just sit at the table and don’t move for six hours. We always start with anolini, small meat parcels served in a deep-flavoured broth, or tortelli, usually filled with pumpkin. Making and eating these is a long-standing family tradition. Every year my mother, my aunt and I form a production line, chatting all the time. I even came back from college for the annual anolini-making session. I’ll make these along with all the women in my family until I die.

My mother, aunt and I form an anolini-making production line, chatting all the time

It was my maternal grandmother who imported the tradition of pasta-making. She grew up in the Emilia-Romagna region of northern Italy, then moved to Wales at 19. So, although I was raised in England, I have strong Italian roots. When I was a child, Christmas Day was always spent at my grandmother’s, and she did the cooking; I was often her little helper. She would make a savoury torta – a potato and spinach cake – to accompany the roast bird, which would be turkey or pheasant. This was eaten with mostarda di frutta, fruits – often baby pears – preserved in a sugar syrup with mustard essence.

Nowadays, it is me, my aunt or my mother who cooks Christmas lunch. For the past two years I have cooked for the whole family – all 18 of us – at The Connaught. I was working, but we had a private dining room and I could pop up for a course here and there, then disappear again. That’s life when you work in a restaurant; it’s better than missing out on their company entirely. Christmas is about getting us all together, which is especially important now my brother and his family live in the US – and my little nephews really make Christmas come alive.

Working in restaurants has taught me the importance of preparation and delegation, both of which should be borne in mind by anyone cooking Christmas lunch. Do as much as possible in advance, so all you need to do is cook the meat on the day. You can prepare all the vegetables ahead and spend a day earlier in the month making anolini or tortelli and freezing them. Share out the tasks: get someone else to bring the pudding or the starter. My mother always makes the Christmas cake – she gives them away as presents, too – and if we have a pudding she’ll make that. My job is usually to bring the broth if we’re having anolini, because in restaurants, the meat bones needed for the stock are always in plentiful supply.

I think some people enjoy the martyrdom of cooking this huge orgy of food. They take on too much and cook far too much. People are seduced into thinking there must be a groaning table of food. It’s very easy to go over the top.

I think some people enjoy the martyrdom of cooking this huge orgy of food by themselves

One of my most memorable Christmases, in 1999, was full of companionship and sharing. We were in Bardi, my grandmother’s birthplace; on Christmas Eve, my friend made moreish olive canapés, and we ate a simple cod dish. The next day, we drove to the local restaurant and feasted on pasta, followed by roast pork and roast veal. By the time we had finished, the roads had iced over. Eventually, we made it back to the house, inching carefully up the dirt track, and instead of having Christmas pudding, we cooked a delicious bread and butter pudding together, using slices of panettone.

We didn’t have a television, so we played cards and games instead. In the UK, as it gets dark outside and everyone’s full of food, it’s tempting to switch on the TV and doze, which is a shame because Christmas is one of those rare occasions when most families get together. And that’s what it is really all about.