Fatty Boombalada and the Christmas Turkey

"You must have an abundant table!" proclaimed Mother Bear when all her skinny friends were coming over for a birthday celebration several years ago.

The Moet was on ice with Eaglehawk Brut as backup for later.

Said table was heaving with handmade quiches of roasted pumpkin, charred feta and fresh sage, glistening lemon tartlets with vanilla custard, thick wedges of gluten-free chocolate mudcake, made mostly on butter and a little cocoa, sandwiches bursting with pink ham, tasty cheese and golden dollops of Dijon... It was a picnic the likes of which Enid Blyton would be super proud and the Famous Five would "simply gobble up"!

Thing is, ... I tend to over do it  bit when I go home to the farm...

Life in Sydney is one hectic swing from the protein diet to Park Run, to the gym, to the office, to Sephora, to skimmed water, back to the commute, to the beach for a run and off to Westfield to remind myself just how unrefined is my house and I should buy some creme peach throw cushions... for the cat to throw up on, right?

Thing is, homemade is just so damn good. Homemade with wine and sisters, brother and nephews and BBQ and coffee and full cream milk and toast and butter and ham and an entire dairy full of Dutch cheese is freakin' awesome!!  

In the spirit of the "abundant table" Mother Bear roasted an entire turkey for dad, me herself one year. It was a sad state for the holiday - siblings were at in-laws, my own sweet babes were with their dad enjoying the delectable treats of a traditional Polish Christmas (NO ONE in this family goes unspoiled) and I was lapping up the opportunity to be an only child after 38 years of sharing (erghhh).

So Mum baked a turkey.

For three people.

An entire chook - you know, with stuffing and breadcrumbs and roasted garlic and brown gravy. Proper brown, not Gravox brown. Proper brown like your grandma fried it off in the baking dish with flour and salt and pepper from little 60's pots. Oh my God.

For three people.

And roast potatoes and cranberry sauce with fat berries.

And juicy green beans and peas getting slick in the gravy.

Washed down with the Moet and Shiraz from the year's Birthday gift haul...and again!

And carrots all burnt on the edges and pumpkin too, which got crispy on the outside yet so sweet and soft inside. 

Much like my bellyguts have been since...ye gods.

I'm trying terribly hard to be a committed marathon runner, all fit and strong and disciplined.

I envisage self gliding through the cheerful crowds, beaming for race photos with no hint of red-faced sweat and guilt of Christmases past; protein-focused, lean, mean atheletic machine.

Boombalada!! Damn that turkey was good!