Goose or Turkey?

Myfanwy Al and Christmas is Coming…

‘A goose,’ Jennie remarked, ‘is a bird with a lot of structure.’

If you are fortunate enough to have a friend so steeped in tradition that she still uses a silver mu n warmer when serving a ernoon tea, her views on seasonal poultry are worth hearing. (She was also the rst person in Montgomeryshire to own an E Type Jaguar, but that’s another story.) What she meant, of course, is that there is not a lot of meat on a goose and hence our annual dilemma. My daughters could be described as Goose Girls.

‘We can’t eat turkey,’ they state, ‘because we’re not American. Goose with apple sauce is the Welsh way to celebrate Christmas.’

is cultural purism, however, ignores one of the glories of Christmas to all of us who have to provide meal a er meal, day a er day: the scraps. A goose is over and done with on Christmas Day whereas a turkey provides pickings for several days, giving the cooks of the family a well-earned break and few meals are as satisfying as cold turkey and bubble and squeak, enhanced by endless chutneys.

If you made your own cranberry sauce, it o en gets If you made your own cranberry sauce, it o en gets less attention than it deserved in the hurly-burly of less attention than it deserved in the hurly-burly of Christmas lunch but livening up a fridge forage, it Christmas lunch but livening up a fridge forage, it can properly be appreciated. My late father would can properly be appreciated. My late father would approach Andrews Tŷ Cerrig, turkey farming approach Andrews Tŷ Cerrig, turkey farming neighbours in Meifod in the late spring, asking if an neighbours in Meifod in the late spring, asking if an especially big bird could be bred for him. For Dad, especially big bird could be bred for him. For Dad, taste mattered less than being able to heroically report taste mattered less than being able to heroically report his success in mastering the Turkeysaurus Rex. Some his success in mastering the Turkeysaurus Rex. Some of those monster turkeys outlasted our collective of those monster turkeys outlasted our collective enthusiasm. It was at this time that I developed my enthusiasm. It was at this time that I developed my Rule of Seasonal Poultry Persistence, which uses a Rule of Seasonal Poultry Persistence, which uses a familiar song as a guide. Friends and family will be familiar song as a guide. Friends and family will be delighted with turkey variants up until the Fi h Day delighted with turkey variants up until the Fi h Day of Christmas. You will be pushing it if you get as far of Christmas. You will be pushing it if you get as far as Swimming Swans or Laying Geese but if you are as Swimming Swans or Laying Geese but if you are still planning Turkey Consommé with Parsnip Crisps still planning Turkey Consommé with Parsnip Crisps on the tenth day, it will not just be Lords who are on the tenth day, it will not just be Lords who are A-Leaping but your guests. A-Leaping but your guests. One way of avoiding the lack of grazing meat which follows from going for goose at Christmas is to cook a ham. My six daughters are serious fans of a homecooked ham and every year, I have a hammy chat with butcher Rikki Lloyd of Welshpool. (It’s never any hardship for me to chat with Mr Lloyd, my own nomination for Wales’ Best-Looking Butcher.) I am in the market for a ham the size of a primary school child, approximately Year Two, and Rikki does not disappoint. e only restriction on the ham is the size of the pan in which to boil it: it needs to be tall as well as wide. No faddish new recipes are tolerated by my family: it has to be baked with brown sugar, orange and cloves.

If I manage to win the turkey/goose debate, I try to ensure that the turkey isn’t tasteless white ab. And I always try to buy local. One year, I went to our local pub (Cann O ce, rightly described as iconic) to pick up a turkey from one of the regulars and during this sociable two-hour process, it snowed heavily. I managed the main road but our lane was impassable. At least the snowbound car was at ideal turkey storage temperature overnight and in the morning, it processed regally up the lane recumbent in a wheelbarrow.

Last year, I ordered a turkey from a neighbour who was selling them dressed, which I always regard as a luxury, having spent, it seems, the best years of my youth ‘feathering’. When she went into labour unexpectedly, my rst thought, of course, was for the welfare of mother and baby but my second thought was turkey-related. So December 23rd dawned with my turkey still alive and gobbling about Llangadfan whilst I was running about Mid Wales and the Marches like the proverbial headless chicken in search of his replacement. It turned into a heart-warming Christmas tale, with a beautiful new daughter for them and a delicious stand-in turkey for us but I won’t be cutting it so ne this year.