Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day

I’ve just got home from my son’s candle-lit Carol Ser­vice. The choir sang Tomor­row Shall Be My Dan­cing Day, surely the most gloriously-named Christ­mas carol in the hymn book. The title radi­ates optim­ism and joie de vivre — qual­it­ies which can’t be over-rated but are often under-supplied.

As my Christ­mas present to you all, here is a vir­tual glass of my new Dan­cing Day cock­tail. Thank you for read­ing Eggs On The Roof this year and for com­ment­ing so gen­er­ously and loy­ally. Shar­ing stor­ies, books and food with you has brought me noth­ing but pleasure.

Dan­cing Day Cocktail

2 parts Prosecco

1 part Cointreau

1 part pomegranate juice

Extra pomegranate juice for freez­ing into cubes or whichever geo­met­rical fig­ure takes your fancy. Per­son­ally, I have a slightly soppy affec­tion for hearts.

Fill each glass with the cor­rect pro­por­tions of Pro­secco, Cointr­eau and juice. Add the frozen pomegranate until the liquid reaches the brim.

I’m rais­ing my glass to you and wish­ing you all a happy and con­vivial Christ­mas. I hope that it is punc­tu­ated by laughter and made spec­tac­u­lar by instances of kind­ness. And may tomor­row be your dan­cing day.

Bed Socks, Gold Shoes and Pancetta Salad

If you were to stop by my house at around 6 o’clock each morn­ing, you’d regret it. I’ve per­fec­ted an effi­cient but hideous early-morning out­fit to take my daft span­iel for a walk. Pyja­mas, dress­ing gown, woolly scarf, gloves, bed socks and my teen­age son’s giant-sized school shoes (the only foot­wear large enough to accom­mod­ate the super-thick red socks). They’re the kind of leather mon­stros­it­ies that Pippi Long­stock­ing would have worn — ‘black shoes that were exactly twice the length of her feet.’

Clearly this is an out­fit I try to avoid being seen in. But just in case you’ve ever spot­ted me in those coal-skuttle shoes, can I just point out that these are the shoes I’d rather be known for.….

I had friends to sup­per last night all of whom have, for one reason or another, had a miser­able week. I’m a great believer that in these cir­cum­stances, good food, good com­pany and good shoes can some­times help. We dressed up to the nines and although the food was frugal every­one felt bet­ter by pudding.

We ate pan­cetta and chest­nuts — one of those recipes that looks and tastes as though it took more time and trouble than it did — always a good thing. But it has one spe­cial ingredi­ent that involves a trip to Ikea — often not a good thing at all, unless you’re in the mood.

Pan­cetta and Chest­nuts With Pea Shoots and Herbs

Serves 6

350g cooked chestnuts

250g thinly sliced pancetta

Soft salad leaves such as pea shoots, rocket, lamb’s lettuce and herbs — noth­ing that’s frilly or rasps the throat

2 table­spoons gravlax­sas, the sweet mus­tard and dill sauce that accom­pan­ies gravad­lax and can be bought from Ikea. I know that sounds a little odd, so if you don’t trust me or if you can’t or won’t go to Ikea, you can make it your­self by whisk­ing together 2 table­spoons of Dijon mus­tard, 1 table­spoon caster sugar, 1 table­spoon white wine vin­egar and 1 egg yolk. Drip 150ml of ground­nut oil into the mix­ture to form an emul­sion and then add 1 table­spoon of chopped dill and some seasoning.

4 table­spoons olive oil

2 table­spoons best bal­samic vinegar

Squeeze of lemon juice and a little lemon zest

Season­ing

Break up the chest­nuts and fry them in a little olive oil for a couple of minutes until sizz­ling. Stir in the gravlax­sas and put to one side. Add the pan­cetta to the pan and fry until crisp. Again put to one side. Dress the leaves in olive oil, bal­samic, lemon juice and a little zest. Sea­son the leaves and then tip the pan­cetta and chest­nuts over the top. Serve warm with a loaf of good sour­dough bread.

When I first joined the BBC I was shocked to dis­cover that TV news-readers wore posh jack­ets and ties above the desk but jeans below. In an inver­sion of news-reader style, we ate our pan­cetta and chest­nuts with thick coats above the table (my boiler is up the creek yet again) and, in my case, a frothy net skirt and the divine gold shoes underneath.