 Dear You,
I see you. Standing in the middle of a supermarket in Australia or wherever you have moved too, staring at the “British section” shelf with its lone packet of Rich Tea biscuits and a jar of pickle that costs more than your weekly shop. I see the ache that rises when you want a pork pie, or a proper cup of tea, or the smell of Christmas back home when the air outside is thirty-five degrees. You miss the small things, the burnt toast, the bacon butties, the sprouts on Christmas Day even though you never liked them. You miss the rituals that made ordinary days feel like home. And that’s why I do what I do. Every recipe, every jar, every word I write is for you. To remind you that you’re not silly for missing these things. To show you that home isn’t gone, it just looks different now. It can be here in a spoonful of chutney, in a candle that smells like Boxing Day, in a plate of roast potatoes cooked in the middle of an Australian summer. This isn’t just about food. It’s about belonging. About knowing that when you take a bite, or light a wick, or turn a page, you’re not alone in missing the things that mattered. So here’s to you, to us, to keeping home alive, not in the past, but right here, in the life you’re building now. With warmth (and extra pickle), Pork Pies & the Perfect Pickle
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Ah yes, the M&S Christmas food magazine has landed. Britain gets shimmering trifles, pigs in blankets by the battalion, and turkeys with a glaze so glossy you can see your face in them. And here we are in Australia, staring at our laptops like Dickensian orphans, noses pressed up against the glass of the internet, whispering, “Please sir, may I have some pudding?” I swear, if I had a dollar for every time I’ve sighed over an M&S yule log, I could probably charter a plane to fly one over. I’d even pay extra for the baggage allowance. Honestly, I’d trade my neighbour’s fairy lights, three rolls of wrapping paper, and possibly Carl’s camping chair just to get my hands on a box of those chocolate fir cone things. Instead, we make do. Our festive spreads are built on memory and improvisation: a pavlova pretending to be a Christmas pudding, stuffing balls cobbled together from sausages that “weren’t quite right”, and cranberry sauce that has travelled further than Father Christmas. But still, the ritual remains. We ex-pats dutifully flick through the pages, torture ourselves with visions of cocktail canapés, and tell ourselves that mango really does belong in December. So yes, the M&S magazine is out. Go on, pour yourself a glass of fizz, have a little cry over the prawn ring, and then get back to reality. Because this year, like every year, Christmas dinner is coming from our own kitchens, and honestly, it’ll taste all the sweeter for it. |
