Through his work, Sir Terence Conran has been responsible for the modernisation of many of our homes, but in his own house, Christmas is a time for tradition – for family, presents and laughter (and the odd cigar).
So many of the pleasures of Christmas are about familiarity: the particular rituals of stockings and presents; the special feast and once-a-year treats; the silly games played with varying levels of competitiveness. And in the Berkshire home of Sir Terence Conran, whose influence on design has changed the way we dine and the look of our homes, it is no different. But every year, the plan is to add more sparkle around those festive fixtures.
This year, thanks to his wife Vicki, who has a talent for original Christmas fare (there’s no sign of turkey, Brussels sprouts or plum pudding), there is plenty of culinary sparkle and with friends, children and grandchildren gathered, the house rings with laughter.
“Christmas morning is a reasonably leisurely occasion,” says Terence, “depending on the children. The adults don’t open their presents until around midday, but normally you can’t keep the children waiting that long.”
Indeed, breakfast has barely finished in the Conran household when the nippers charge down the corridor. They belt past Terence’s unique collection of toy Bugattis hanging from the wall, and career left, dodging an old, school-gym wooden horse and bolt into the family’s light, white and very Conran-style sitting room, where under a tree – a stylish wooden creation by Terence’s son Sebastian – lie those presents.
“I try to keep the house fairly tidy on Christmas Day,” says Terence, “you need a container for all the wrapping or the place becomes like a dump.”
Following a little light tidying, the family sits down to lunch – the centrepiece being a hearty game pie. The children are then let loose for a robust game of hide-and-seek before coming in for cakes and treats. And as the evening draws in, Terence retreats to his cellar with the boys for sticky drinks and a vital cigar – a Hoya de Monterrey Epicure Number Two.
“The world seems a better place,” he says, “the moment I light a cigar.”
Christmas Eve Supper
Religion doesn’t feature massively in the Conran household at Christmas, but after everyone has arrived and eaten a light supper, such as the mussel dish below (“in preparation for tomorrow’s gargantuan amount of food,” says Vicki), God does get a look in. And so Midnight Mass is the one service the family attends. “I think we overdid it when I was a child in Ireland,” explains Vicki, “going to church on alternate days before Christmas. We were a big family and it was a little church so if we didn’t go, the place was empty.”
Christmas Lunch
Vicki Conran has one principle that guides her through the fraught maze of festive food and influences her choice of Christmas dishes.
“You need to do things in advance; remember that some food – like the filling for the game pie – can improve from hanging around a bit. You want to be able to relax with the family. And that means not getting up at 4am to put the goose in the oven.”
The thorny question of the Christmas bird becomes a feature of conversation during lunch. “Turkey seems such a hopelessly bland bird,” says Terence, tucking into his pie.
“But they do make good sandwiches,” says Terence’s restaurateur son Tom.
“You know they deep-fry turkey in Texas...” adds Cynthia, Tom’s wife, to amused horror.
Christmas Afternoon
Lunch stretches enjoyably into the afternoon with the help of some fine burgundy to ease down Vicki’s trifle.
“You don’t want any,” Vicki tells Terence.
“Of course I do,” he retorts.
“Oh, I thought you were sniffy about trifle.”
“See,” exclaims Tom, “you don’t know anything about him.”
Gradually the table is deserted. The children put on coats and run outside to play hide-and-seek among the topiary. And then it’s time for tea: mince pies made with puff pastry, warming ginger cake and exquisite candied peel – almost too good for children but placed within reach of tiny hands.
Christmas Evening
Terence’s home has a choice of two havens to which he can escape. There’s the greenhouse in summer and the cellar in winter. And so it is to a table set with candles and a most fabulous array of digestifs that Terence descends as the evening advances. Tom follows his father’s lead, lighting up a cigar and sipping a glass of Calvados.
“My mother had a butler,” muses Terence. “He went down to the cellar one day and never came back. It turned out he’d drunk a bottle of bleach.”
“That’s a cheery Christmas story,” chuckles Tom. And thus the familiar customs continue. Wonderful food, happy families, silly jokes and sparkle.
