So I’m, like, standing out on the balcony and – yeah, no – I’m vaping like a crazy person and I’m going, “Remember, goys, your old dear is going to be under a lot of pressure today.”
“Correction,” Honor goes. “She’s putting herself under a lot of pressure?”
Long story short, Sorcha’s old pair are going away for Christmas, so we’re having the big dinner a week early, and Sorcha is determined to make it a meal to remember, just to thank them for letting us crash in their gaff ever since the fire.
I’m there, “What do you think she’s at right now? A six?”
Sorcha is standing at the island with a boning knife in one hand and an espresso in the other, grinning at us like a serial killer
The old dear goes, ‘I don’t want my vital work on the campaign Move Funderland to the Northside to die with me’
‘I remember Past Ross thinking, you need to stort being nicer to Future Ross. He’s a genuinely good bloke’
‘Sorcha, I’m wondering is climate justice maybe a bit above Santa’s pay grade?’
Honor’s like, “An eight. Definitely an eight.”
I go, “Fock! Already? Well, remember, just don’t ask her if she’s okay. That goes for you goys as well.”
Brian, Johnny and Leo all nod, then – yeah, no – inside we go. Sorcha is standing at the island with a boning knife in one hand and a Nespresso in the other and she’s grinning at us like a serial killer.
“I’ve wanted to do this,” she goes, “since oh my God forever!” and I can already feel the tension coming off her. She’s not even pausing between sentences. “The 15-bird roast a snipe inside a guinea fowl inside a quail inside a woodcock inside a Gressingham duck inside a mallard inside a portridge inside a teal inside a pigeon inside a wigeon inside a poussin inside a pheasant inside a chicken inside a goose inside a turkey don’t just stand there Honor get me an espresso will you?”
Honor’s there, “Er, you’ve already got one in your hand?”
And Sorcha goes, “This will be drunk by the time you make me another one and hurry up I need to be on my literally game today!”
Suddenly, I hear the egg timer go off.
Sorcha’s like, “Oh my God I’m already behind I haven’t even storted boning the turkey can someone please get me a focking espresso!”
I nod at Honor and she pops a capsule into the machine.
She storts pulling the two sides of the turkey together and I’m reminded of me trying to squeeze into the tux that I wore for my debs for a wedding in Castle Leslie in 2006
“Okay,” Sorcha goes, “I need to open this turkey right up!” and she storts going at it with the knife.
The kitchen island, by the way, looks like Noah’s focking Ork. All the birds are laid out from the smallest to the lorgest.
Leo goes, “Mom, can I drive my Ferrori?” meaning the miniature one that Sorcha’s old pair bought him for Christmas.
Sorcha’s there, “I’ve already told you not indoors okay that’s the turkey opened up!”
I’m like, “There’s no way you’re going to fit all of those birds inside that actual turkey,” and in that moment she looks mad enough to kill me. I’m there, “Sorry.”
She goes, “Oh my God I totally forgot how underrated pigeon was as a game meat if it’s cooked right it’s every bit as good as steak Johnny will you make the stuffing while I bone these birds?”
Johnny’s like, “Errr ...”
Sorcha goes, “It’s easy,” as she knocks back her coffee in one, “sweat down two onions then add the sausage meat that’s it then add breadcrumbs two handfuls that’s perfect then the juice and zest of two oranges then the juice and zest of two lemons then some cranberries then some fresh herbs and could someone get me another espresso?”
The egg timer goes off again.
I’m like, “Honor, get your old dear another espresso.”
“Guinea fowl,” Sorcha goes, while sawing away at the dead birds, “it tastes just like chicken used to taste?”
She knocks back the espresso in one.
She’s there, “Okay I’m cutting the breasts off the snipe and I’m going to wrap them inside the guinea fowl breasts and I’m going to wrap those inside the quail breasts and I’m going to wrap those inside the woodcock breasts.”
I’m there, “This is great! We’re all having fun, goys, aren’t we?”
Leo goes, “I want to drive my focking Ferrori!”
I’m like, “Yeah, no, forget about the Ferrori until the entire thing is in the oven, Dude.”
Don’t you pull this shit on me today of all days you will eat 15 birds vegetarian or no vegetarian because it’s focking Christmas and this is what we do!
— Sorcha
Sorcha goes, “Okay I’m packing some stuffing around this and then I’m going to push it inside the duck and then inside the mallard and then I’m going to push that inside the oh my God it’s so tight the teal and then the pigeon and then the wigeon I didn’t even know there was such a bird Cavistons had to order it for me and then the poussin.”
I’m there, “I’m just wondering is it worth all this trouble,” because she sounds like she’s about to crack.
She goes, “And that all goes into the pheasant which goes inside the chicken could someone get me another espresso which goes inside the goose Ross hold that steady will you which goes inside the turkey okay the most important thing is that it still retains its turkey shape it needs to look like a turkey?”
The egg timer goes off again.
She storts pulling the two sides of the turkey together and I’m reminded of me trying to squeeze into the tux that I wore for my debs for a wedding in Castle Leslie in 2006. She uses string to tie the entire thing together and then she storts laying strips of bacon on the outside to – in her words – give it some added flavour.
She shoves the thing into the oven and she’s like, “My mom and dad are going to love it.”
That’s when Brian goes, “I don’t want any. I’ve decided to become a vegetarian.”
Sorcha’s like, “You are not becoming a vegetarian.”
Johnny’s there, “I want to be a vegetarian as well.”
Sorcha goes, “Don’t you pull this shit on me today of all days you will eat 15 birds vegetarian or no vegetarian because it’s focking Christmas and this is what we do!”
That’s when Honor ends up asking her the question. She’s like, “Mom, are you okay?”
Sorcha flips. She’s there, “Am I okay am I okay do I look okay or did I just spent the entire day busting my orse to give you all the best Christmas dinner ever?”
I’m like, “Where’s Leo disappeared to, by the way?”
Two seconds later, I have my answer. He comes flying through in his little Ferrori.
I go, “Not indoors!” but before I’ve managed to get the words out, he’s crashed it into the kitchen island, completely collapsing the thing, sending bits of bone and scrap meat flying everywhere.
I’m like, “Dude? What did you do? What did you do? You’ve ruined Christmas!”
