Noel

'Twas the season of homecoming. I had been counting the days since Thanksgiving to get back home to friends, family, the cat, and--embarrassingly high on the list--the Wolf range. A few years of cooking on the thing, which my dad cleans and polishes as others might a rare Porsche, was like tasting forbidden fruit.

Little did I know that the year following would see me cook every meal in my tiny town in rural France on two electric 'plaquettes' (that's electric hobs or burners). This was followed by kitchen digs which were, essentially, the servants' quarters in a beautiful home in Paris' 16th arrondissement, and finally, my own Marais cuisinette (think mini fridge, two plaquettes, sink, and cupboards in a space of 4' x 2.5' x 5'). It was impressive. Even more so, the food that myself and flatmate, N., managed to coax from those two plaquettes and a micro-onde.

Going home for me in December is like cozying up to a hearth. There are always mouthwatering smells wafting from the kitchen, and the hibernation instinct manifests itself in wearing old high school sweatshirts and manic, early morning, jetleg-induced baking projects that often last throughout the day. Our family holiday season is always punctuated by my brother's Christmas Day birthday and a holiday party of friends and their families who have made the journey back from various continents and coastal states.

There is little drama, in fact, that surrounds these events. Except, that is, when it comes to the menu and cooking. Words like 'overambitious', 'stodge', and 'boring' become verbal lashings in answer to proposed dishes, and despite the six burners and two ovens, there is always the feeling of 'too many cooks in the kitchen'.

My brother's birthday dinner proved a case in point. Meat thermometers flew as grumblings over the timing of the risotto, lobster tails, and sirloin simmered. Somehow it all came together, washed down with some lovely Perrier Jouet, and all was well again.





New Year's Eve this year was a special one. With everyone home, we decided it was the appropriate moment to open a 1977 Taylor Fladgate Vintage Porto. May this year be as earthy, sweet, and balanced. Eat your heart out, Oxford, and a very happy 2010!