Three wise men in a gravy boat

This definitely is, just the right time to put a layer of fat on! What makes Gran Britannia rather unique a nation is: when it comes to weather, sports and food we would rather be traditionalists and leave the rest to paunchy television shows. We like things done properly, just as yesteryears, and the years before them. When it boils down to Christmas shopping, there thus is no real exception! Just as the national treasury is busy dangling its empty coffers at us (which once was bright red and coated in exotic oriental suede!) and everyone on the street is either occupying something or striking over the unseen future: there is a band of desperate middle aged house-

bands trying their hardest to camouflage their apparent embarrassments amongst semi clad (sweat shop mass produced) exotic lingerie models in innumerable High street flagship stores. Hello Christmas! or as they say in Spain,Para Navidad Well, once the dreaded shopping is out of the way and the house is kind of stuffed with miles and miles of tatty gift wrapping paper and presents (that are situation ally called so, as they dont tend to work more than once in real life and end up {organically donated} onto the loony shelves of impoverished charity shops, promising to plough precious pound sterling money to needful third world countries, which were once plundered dry to the bones by ancient mariners!) Speaking of bones, how rather forgetful of me to have not thought about a good whiskey gravy to accompany our rather petite sophisticate Christmas celebration bird! Thanks to a certain goldylocked, hyena eyed, foul mouthed chef on popular television, we now rest assured that consuming salt rich granules (also known as Gravy)is the way to go.Afterall, someone in the glory days of British culinary renaissance was so successful, in selling the cubes of stock to the inhabitants of Gourmet Britain, they built a tower in the city of London to commemorate their accomplishment. Now, I like doing things rather more adventurously. Just for a while I would forget my sense of disdain for all things French (Its not that bad afterall, when it comes to scoffing off tonnes of fingerling shaped potatoes smothered in oil, and subtly christening it French Fries) and humbly request our friendly butcher (remember him!) to provide some giblets (sans liver) and turkey carcasses for our stock pot. Not bothering too much about when is a gravy not a jus, and otherwise, I place the bones et all along with some festively chopped carrots and onions, a few blades of mace, half a dozen peppercorns, a bunch of semi dried herbs from the neighbors unkempt allotment and brimful of cold Cornish water into a kettle and bring to a boil. Once the water has come to a boil, we skim off all the scum (dirt and stuff that accumulates in bones due to rising pollution levels on the planet) and leave the flavoured water to simmer on low heat for a couple of hours, to prevent the bones and vegetables from disintegrating.Once, packed with natural Cornish flavors I, strain the stock through a fine sieve, and keep aside for later.

Relieved that the bacon rolled stuffed slices of turkey are cooked to the point, and I have made arrangements for the bacon and chestnut rolls, bread sauce, chestnut pure, cranberry orange and port sauce and hot spiced chestnuts and prunes, to be ceremonially improvised upon, I have all the time to settle about adding finishing touches to my gravy jus.(Do I suddenly sound like Nigella on speed!)Into another sauce pan, sat majestically over low heat, I drain over the excess fat from the tray of cooked turkey rolls, pour in a wee dram of whiskey and boil furiously for a couple of minutes,untill hopefully all the bad alcohol has spirited away to the dreary recesses of the highlands. I stir in a handful of plain flour, and cook in along with the reduced fat and whiskey, before I have scraped off the last sediment of cooking juice from the poor pan. I gently pour in the home made turkey stock (bursting with good flavors) and whisk vigorously, to incorporate every bit of the flavoured flour into the liquid. Magic is realized when, the rather liquid turkey stock, starts thickening. and looking a lot like

mums out of the packet gravy, tasting only a few notches better!(You know?)Season, to taste, with a pinch of salt and red hot chilli peppers.

E voila! we have home made gravy, without lumps to accompany our celebrity Turkey! and if you are already ventilating over food waste, and your Christmas footprint, over a rather overflowing stomach, visit us in a fortnight for a leftover party comprising of Christmas Ploughmans and forced peas.

Merry XO, mas everyone! Yours Flavoursome, Rick Oliver