It was the Christmas of 1973, Síle and I had been married since the previous July when I decided to cook my first Christmas dinner.
We were living in some style (but for a rent of £65 a month) in a large flat which we shared with three or four others in Ailsbury Park in Dublin. This had a large enough dining room so we got the notion that we would invite Síle’s entire family in for the dinner.
It was no secret in the Ronayne family that the Mammy fairly loathed cooking for Christmas so was more than happy to hand over the apron.
As this would include Auntie Emer as well as Síle’s brothers, sisters and parents we would be about ten sitting down, no bother I thought, I had after all been working in Snaffles in Dublin for the previous eighteen months. How could it possibly be difficult to cater for ten when one was cooking nightly for forty or more in Dublin’s most exclusive eatery?

The advent of the mouse should have warned us of oncoming disaster.
Síle’s sister Úna, a very talented cook and a teacher of Home Economics made and almond iced a Christmas cake for the occasion.

We came into the kitchen on the morning of Christmas Eve to discover that the mouse, who had steadfastly been ignoring the trap when baited with cheese or bacon, found his hearts desire in almond icing and had scoffed great holes in the cake.
While Úna set to re-icing I am glad to report that we easily trapped the mouse by rebaiting the trap but this time with almond icing, the, by now addicted, mouse was caught in seconds!
It was decided that we should have the totally traditional meal.
Turkey, Ham, Sprouts, Celery, Bread Sauce, Cranberry Sauce, Gravey,Roast and Mash Potatoes, Plum Pudding, Brandy Butter, Whiskey Sauce (a Ronayne family tradition) as well as the crackers, the repaired cake, drinks and nibbles.

This all worked beautifully in the planning stage.
It was a little more difficult on the night.
The cooker was one of those blue and white 1950’s specials which was all electric and where the grill became a hob depending on where you placed an asbestos plate.
At the back of the top were two rings one of which decided that this was all too much for it and passed away with a bang on Christmas morning.
The oven which took up just a small area of the whole cooker looked a little like a school locker and barely fitted the turkey.

I honestly cannot remember how we managed.
I do remember that the mashed potatoes were very good all of the rest of the meal has been supressed.
I do remember being more stressed than I had ever been in a commercial kitchen.

One tradition we did establish then was that whenever it was possible Síle’s parents had their Christmas dinner with us.
Many years later we managed to feed the same, but now much extended , family from the restaurant in Waterford.
The number around the table was about 27 that Christmas but producing this from the restaurant kitchen was simplicity itself compared to the horrors of the first dinner in Dublin.

One of my roles, being a Chef on the radio over Christmas, is allaying the fears of all the panicking cooks as they ring with their disasters which, for most cooks, is the most challenging cooking job of the year.
I am always sympathy itself, I know just how hard Christmas dinner to produce from a domestic kitchen.

My advice is always the same, don’t try and do it all, leave out some of the trimmings, delegate help from the entire family and don’t forget the consolante.
This is the traditional drink which the French reserve for the cook and is always kept topped up by his or her elbow.