Christmas Dinner Quotes

“Soon, things were heating up in the kitchen. The first course was a variation on a French recipe that had been around since Escoffier, Baccala Brandade. Angelina created a silky forcemeat with milk, codfish, olive oil, pepper, and slow-roasted garlic, a drizzle of lemon juice, and a shower of fresh parsley, then served it as a dip with sliced sourdough and warmed pita-bread wedges, paired with glasses of bubbly Prosecco.
The second course had been a favorite of her mother's called Angels on Horseback- freshly shucked oysters, wrapped in thin slices of prosciutto, then broiled on slices of herb-buttered bread. When the oysters cooked, they curled up to resemble tiny angels' wings. Angelina accented the freshness of the oyster with a dab of anchovy paste and wasabi on each hors d'oeuvre. She'd loved the Angels since she was a little girl; they were a heavenly mouthful.
This was followed by a Caesar salad topped with hot, batter-dipped, deep-fried smelts. Angelina's father used to crunch his way through the small, silvery fish like French fries. Tonight, Angelina arranged them artfully around mounds of Caesar salad on each plate and ushered them out the door.
For the fifth course, Angelina had prepared a big pot of her Mediterranean Clam Soup the night before, a lighter version of Manhattan clam chowder. The last two courses were Parmesan-Stuffed Poached Calamari over Linguine in Red Sauce, and the piece de resistance, Broiled Flounder with a Coriander Reduction.”
― Brian O'Reilly, Angelina's Bachelors

“We begin with an onion soup as smoky and fragrant as autumn leaves, with croutons and grated Gruyère and a sprinkle of paprika over the top. She serves and watches me throughout, waiting, perhaps, for me to produce from thin air an even more perfect confection that will cast her effort into the shade.
Instead I eat, and talk, and smile, and compliment the chef, and the chink of crockery goes through her head, and she feels slightly dazed, not quite herself. Well, pulque is a mysterious brew, and the punch is liberally spiked with it, courtesy of Yours Truly, of course, in honor of the joyful occasion. As comfort, perhaps, she serves more punch, and the scent of the cloves is like being buried alive, and the taste is like chilies spiced with fire, and she wonders, Will it ever end?
The second course is sweet foie gras, sliced on thin toast with quinces and figs. It's the snap that gives this dish its charm, like the snap of correctly tempered chocolate, and the foie gras melts so lingeringly in the mouth, as soft as praline truffle, and it is served with a glass of ice-cold Sauternes that Anouk disdains, but which Rosette sips in a tiny glass no larger than a thimble, and she gives her rare and sunny smile, and signs impatiently for more.
The third course is a salmon baked en papillote and served whole, with a béarnaise sauce. Alice complains she is nearly full, but Nico shares his plate with her, feeding her tidbits and laughing at her minuscule appetite.
Then comes the pièce de résistance: the goose, long roasted in a hot oven so that the fat has melted from the skin, leaving it crisp and almost caramelized, and the flesh so tender it slips off the bones like a silk stocking from a lady's leg. Around it there are chestnuts and roast potatoes, all cooked and crackling in the golden fat.”
― Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow

“Peg hummed to herself as she sniffed the concoction; fragrant as muscatel and black as the Earl of Hell's boots. Nan was well on with the savory roasts, the brawn and the Yorkshire Christmas Pie- soon she would have the great turnspits spinning before a roaring fire. Nan and the ugly sisters could see to that death-dealing contraption while she enjoyed herself baking macaroons and gingerbread from Mother Eve's Secrets. Yes, and she mustn't forget the makings of a big inviting Salamagundy salad.”
― Martine Bailey, A Taste for Nightshade

“Turkey is the main course in more Christmas dinners than any other meat or fowl. The high proportion of meat to unusable bone and fat makes it an ideal bird for a feast. Turkeys were domesticated in Mexico long before Spanish explores found them and introduced them into their homeland. From there they spread throughout Europe and gradually replaced most of the native Christmas feast foods.”
― Patricia Del Re, The Christmas Almanack

“Amanda lost count of the various delicacies that were offered to her. There were four kinds of soup, including turtle and lobster, and several roast turkeys dressed with sausages and herbs.
A never-ending parade of servants brought platters of veal in béchamel sauce, capons, sweetbreads, roast quail and hare, venison, swans' eggs, and a dazzling array of vegetable casseroles. Puddings made of exotic fish and game were presented in steaming silver bowls, followed by trays of luxury fruits and salads, and crystal plates laden with truffles in wine. There were even tender stalks of asparagus, well out of season and therefore highly prized at Christmastime.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Suddenly You

“The whole roaring crowd was gathered in the long room to give my boar's head fulsome applause when it was carried aloft on a platter. And my goodness, those old folk's eyes were as round as marbles when they saw the tables piled as high as Balthazar's Feast. Plum pottage, minced pies, roast beef, turkey with sage and red wine sauce- and that were just the first course. I was mostly pleased with the second course, for alongside the tongues, brawn, collared eels, ducks and mutton I'd put some pretty snowballs made of apples iced in white sugar, all taken from a dish in Lady Maria's hand in 'The Cook's Jewel.”
― Martine Bailey, An Appetite for Violets

“So tonight we are just seven. Seven people, and twelve pounds of pork. I pick a piece of the insanely delicious crispy skin and feel it crunch between my teeth. Suddenly the ratio seems perfectly normal. Gene rubbed it with his secret spice mix early this morning, and it's been roasting in a slow oven all day. Andrea's creamy grits are the perfect thing to soak up the thick gravy, Jasmin's parsnips and pears are caramelized and sweet, and everyone praises my chard and chickpeas.”
― Stacey Ballis, Out to Lunch

“Christmas dinner was something of a success; it passed off, at any rate, without bloodshed.”
― Kingsley Amis, Ending Up

“The tables were laid with white cloths and decorated with holly and ivy. There were crackers beside each plate. Two turkeys and four geese were carried in, their skins nicely browned and glistening. Mr Francis and Arthur carved for us while tureens of roast potatoes, chestnut stuffing, sage and onion stuffing, bread sauce, Brussels sprouts, cauliflower with a white sauce, cabbage and gravy were passed around. Claret was poured. We pulled our crackers, put on paper hats, read the silly mottos and riddles and demonstrated our toys and puzzles. Then we said grace and ate until we couldn't stuff in another bite.
There was a blast on a bugle, and the Christmas puddings were carried in, flaming with brandy and with a sprig of holly stuck in them. I had helped to make these on Stir-up Sunday back in November, and most of them had been sent with the cooks to Osborne House. But there were plenty for us, served with the custard and brandy butter I had prepared.”
― Rhys Bowen, Above the Bay of Angels

“Advent Season by Stewart Stafford

A house bedecked in verdant wonderment,
With lights that mirror the starry firmament,
Where the Christmas Star did once shine,
To guide worshippers to the Divine.

The wreath on the door is a welcome portal,
For any passing cheerful mortal,
Wishing to enjoy warm company,
And mountains of gravy-drowned turkey.

Nostrils fill with cooking scents,
That waft through the house with excitement
A feast to consume on the 25th,
After the Man in Red has paid a visit.

Children orchestrate great noise,
And sit and play with gifted toys,
While adults watch and reminisce,
On childhoods past and favourite gifts.

The Wheel of Time turns,
Festivities End,
And the year itself begins again.

In Time's juvenile crawl,
Or adult speed,
Life zips forward, and history repeats.

© Stewart Stafford, 2020. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Season's Bleatings by Stewart Stafford

I'm looking forward to Christmas,
As Nostradamus dreaded prophecy,
In place of war, famine, apocalypse,
I see spending, coveting and family.

Wandering through warm déjà vu,
In new ways with usual-faced folk,
Fat in an absent winter wonderland,
Goodwill to all men as you go broke.

A fever dream or a deep turkey coma?
St. Nicholas dripping presents around?
An eviction notice to vacate sobriety,
Consumerism and consumption unbound.

© Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“If you're having plant-based turkey this Christmas or Thanksgiving, you can grow the leftovers for next year's dinner!”
― Stewart Stafford

“The Reluctant Guest by Stewart Stafford

My hand extended
to an off-the-grid stray;
Yet, still he scowls,
And smacks it away.

Near-gone from the world,
His blindfold horizon quails,
That veteran heart stiffens,
As frozen asphalt exhales.

A ghost at his own funeral,
Thwarting hopes of a life—
Institutionalised in cement,
A fold in warm cardboard strife.

Frontal assault to backdoor pivot:
Dinner in his mother’s memory.
A toothless grin at my tactic,
A bridge to nourishing festivity.

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford