Regular port-swillers will probably have figured out by now my strong Anglophilic streak.   What some might not understand is what that term means – at least to me.  It certainly doesn’t mean a love for what G.B. actually is now – a crumpled, defeated, Socialist state on the verge of being absorbed into a caliphate.   Rayther, it’s a love of a particular set of idealized values associated with her history and culture.  Unrealistic? Perhaps.  But critical to keeping alive the flame of Western Civilization?  I certainly think so.

Well anyway, I bring all this up mostly to point out that there is one British tradition with which I will have no truck whatever, namely Christmas turkey.  As I believe I mentioned last month some time, I don’t really like turkey that much, thus making Thanksgiving dinner a fairly meh meal for me.  But celebrating the birth of our Lord and Savior with anything other than a big, rare roast of beef, Yorkshire pudding and all their proper attendant goodies?

As Vizzini would say, “Inconceivable!”

This year the Port-swiller household is remaining at home for the holidays, with no extended family coming in from out of town.  As it turns out, some close friends of ours find themselves in the same situation.  When we discovered our mutual situation, they immediately invited us to come join them for Christmas dinner, which we plan to do.  Fortunately, they have exactly the same idea about the proper menu for the day.

UPDATE:  I suppose I have to confess that I did once enjoy a turkey dinner on Christmas.  I was eight years old at the time and it was a wild bird, not a store-bought domestic one.  Perhaps what made it particularly tasty in my memory was the fact that I had shot it myself.   (Can you imagine that nowadays?)  Pride is an excellent garnish, indeed.

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