A has been watching The Santa Claus on a constant loop since July. So, the key phrase in our house for the past six months has been “Scott Calvin burnt the turkey“. It’s probably one of my favourite scenes in The Santa Claus when Scott sends the big whooper of a bird up in flames and himself and Charlie end up in Dennys on Christmas Eve. It’s all too reminiscent of an unwanted Christmas tradition myself and B have. We either burn the turkey or undercook the dear bird. We’ve lived together for over ten years and yet, I still call my Dad to ask his advice about the turkey every year. And most years, we magically cook an abysmal failure. To be fair, one year, our oven packed in half way through roasting so that one wasn’t our fault… no matter how often we fiddled with the temperature gauge, wondering what we were doing wrong! This year, I’m ready. Ready to cook that turkey with the mighty gusto of the Domestic Goddess that is petit vieux moi. Although, I’m no Nigella Lawson, I can follow her recipes with ease.