Christmas eve
The room looks so different after being changed for the grand evening. An evening filled with happy feelings and joy, as they like to sing in those old songs. The table is set with flowers as deep red as the wine to be served within a few moments, and mixed with a touch of green and white. A very festive, yet so forgotten combination, though the bright red takes the victory.
White wine is chilling in the fridge. The favourite Zalto glasses, lonely on the table, must wait yet for a little while for the first drop of wine to arrive. Also spoons are awaiting their turn to be dipped into the chestnut velouté. Also forks and knives are ready to cut that guinea fowl cooked to perfection.
No matter the planning, the kitchen is a mess, as it always is on this day. A tradition as present as the gift exchange and the tree beautifully standing in the corner of the room. One by one, the candles are lit, and a few lights forgotten, switched on. The vinyl record player is ready to make hundreds of turns (thousands, even maybe) to play Christmas music. The day is here. Christmas.
One by one, you prepare those small toasts, topping them with a generous spoonful of homemade salmon rillette. Then it is time to gently place the smoked duck slices on rosemary crostini to be hidden under a spoon of fig jam. Both of them will be perfect accompaniments to the champagne. You can smell the guinea fowl sizzling in the oven with Brussels sprouts and chestnuts, while in a saucepan, the chestnut velouté is simmering to be perfectly hot for serving. It arrives on the table topped with crème fraîche and pepper, disappearing many talks and laughs later with no signs of being on those plates. The roast arrives, as does the red wine. The music gets louder. Conversations, too. It is magical, getting even more magical the moment that white chocolate and pistachio Bûche De Noël arrives. Everyone is so full that it is hard to understand how to get that cake down, but when it is gifting time, there are no traces of the cake ever being there. Washed down with a cup of espresso and cognac, it just disappears as all those hours have on this evening.
