Fraser Mountain - Living the snow life

Chapter Seventeen

Why did I think it was a really good idea to cook Christmas lunch for everyone? My face is a sweaty mess as I brush hair away from my forehead whilst holding the potato peeler in the other hand. A massive saucepan full of potatoes is bubbling away nicely on the hob, but I’m panicking that I haven’t got enough food. I know that Tim eats like a horse, and he’s warned me that he’ll need at least twelve roast spuds to himself. Oh well, I think, throwing the last one in the pan and narrowly avoiding a scalding… he’s just going to have to learn to share. I’ve already spent a small fortune on a massive turkey with all the trimmings. Thank Christ my mum sent me the Jamie Oliver DVD in her last package. If it hadn’t been for our favourite cockney chef chappie and his step-by-step guide to cooking a decent festive roast, I would have been screwed.

‘Knock, knock!’

I spot someone lurking at the back door through the misted-up kitchen windows, and yank it open, praying that the clock isn’t wrong and I’ve buggered up my timings. If everyone starts arriving now, I’ll be in real trouble. Thankfully, it’s an angel in the form of Taz.

‘Thought you might need a hand.’ She says, handing me a clinking plastic bag that weighs a tonne. I look down to see it holds a lot of wine bottles, along with the familiar green VB stubbies she loves so much.

‘Blimey Taz… there’s enough booze here to fell an elephant!’

‘It’s Christmas! Let’s get wasted!’

I gesture at the kitchen behind me, which looks like a bomb just went off. ‘Maybe we can get wasted after I finish cooking lunch? That way, we can eat and drink and then be merry?’

She rolls her sleeves up. ‘Alright, but I’m having a beer while we cook, ‘kay?’

Forty minutes later and everything is totally under control, thanks to an extra pair of hands from Taz.I drain the sprouts and add pancetta to the steaming dish, along with some freshly roasted chestnuts.

‘What the hell are those, love?’ Taz asks, peering at the little cabbages as I put them back in the oven to keep warm.

‘Sprouts? As in Brussels sprouts? You don’t have them back home?’

Taz gives them a suspicious sniff. ‘How many times do we have to go over this, Lex? We usually ‘chuck another shrimp on the Barbie’ at Christmas, so this whole turkey, potatoes, sprouts thing isn’t something I’m too familiar with. And it’s snowing, when I’m used to sunshine and 30 degree heat.’

I’m thrilled there’s a gentle shower of white flakes falling outside, because it makes things feel extra-festive. I can’t imagine a hot Christmas day on a beach – that would just be odd. In the two weeks since the mountain opened, we’ve had snow almost every day. I’ve been out riding every other day and I’m definitely getting fitter. I wake up in the morning with barely a twinge in my muscles and working in the café when Jenn needs me. Because of the holidays, we’ve closed up for the day and I’ve put a few of the tables and chairs together to make enough room for us all to sit down. Jenn and Terry were fine when I asked if I could have some people over, as long as I didn’t wreck the joint.

‘Looks like the Yorkshire’s are rising nicely.’ I say, peering through the glass oven door. I appreciate that Yorkshire Puddings aren’t a traditional addition to Christmas, but I love them and I know the others will too, so I’ve made some using Granny’s secret recipe. She adds two extra yolks to hers, along with four eggs. Apparently, the trick to a good Yorkshire is eggs – loads of ‘em. I can’t believe I’m cooking for loads of people and for the most part enjoying it. Let’s just hope it tastes as good as it smells.

The back door opens again, just as I finish putting the last plate down on the table. I even found a box of crackers in Overwaitea’s much to my surprise, so everyone gets to wear a stupid paper hat and tell seriously lame jokes. I didn’t know Canadians did the whole ‘Christmas Cracker’ thing, but there you go.