the alfmeister

a figment of reality's imagination

Christmas Fare…this may seem a bit ad hock…(excuse the pun)

Ham sammies…that’s all I want for Xmas this year.

After the debacle of previous meals at the in-laws this year what I want to eat has been ‘approved’…not that I needed anyone to give me any permission, but this time they have accepted that roast potatoes, turkey, and all that other American-guffo bullshit will not be passing my lips under duress.

So is turkey really a tradition here Down Under? I have to say the in-laws are the first Kiwi family I have met that consider it so.

Turkey is the tradition of the Yankee Doodle Dandies and as far as I am concerned the tasteless, stringy meat of the bird with the foreskin hanging off its head is appropriate karma for those who celebrate a date where their only advancement to the natives was the introduction of syphilis.

According to some poll yesterday ham is the most popular meal, followed by turkey, then lamb. Really? I remember many a Xmas day in Auckland where it seemed that McDonald’s or KFC seemed to be the staple diet for a lot of family’s. It seems traditions come and go with the ease of a $2 whore nowadays.

Personally I am not so much a traditionalist as I am a ‘creature of habit’. I don’t like to change the way I do things, nor do I like people expecting me too. I am happy to sample and dabble as I see fit, and welcome those that have some sort of appeal to me…and I think that is why arguments always seem to happen in the festive season. Two (or more) families coming together each thinking their way of doing things is the only way and settled in the way akin to US Foreign Policy does; fight and fight and fight with no eventual outcome other than a bad taste in your mouth like a rim-job after a hot curry.

Back to the ham…why the ham? Growing up on a farm with a dad whose self-sufficiency made Tom and Barbara Good (gee, is it me or is Felicity Kendall really hot?) look like amateur market gardeners part of our rite of passage to manhood was helping him shoot, stick, gut and shave the family pigs for butchering into fine cuts of meat to be thrown into the freezer. Except of course a few hams, one for us, and others for friends who had helped us through the year. And Harris Butchery in Cheviot made the best damned ham (blatant pitch there, not that’ll it help, I have already paid for mine!).

So it should be no surprise that I ordered a 7.5kg ham from them which now sits calmly in my garage fridge ready for Katie to glaze and dress as she sees fit ready for Xmas day, and many meals afterwards until all that is left is a bone for the dogs to fight over.

A mate of mine TXT me yesterday;

“I would like to know if you are a Hot English Mustard connoisseur or a Wholegrain heathen? A brown bread tree hugger or white bread aficionado? A margarine insignificant or a butter purveyor? A ham off the bone true believer or a premium processed pretender? Just interested is all…”

My response was short. “You know, I haven’t ever analysed it quite like that.” Which is true, as eating ham has become almost a reflex motion. But, iJase4, you ask some valid questions.


Hot English Mustard…is there any other?  Wholegrain, Mild, or even worse, that shitty stuff you get on American Hotdogs is fine for your run-of-the-mill metro sexual or transvestite, but real men love a bit of burn.

Bread…well I’m not too fussed either way, but the trick is that it must be fresh. Stale bread is the domain of ducks and the homeless, not for hamming it up. In saying that, ham and Hot English on toast in the morning is a delicacy one can ill-afford to turn up, and stale bread does make good toast. Scraping off a bit of mould here and there can be par for the course, especially as food ‘Use by Dates’ go right out the window in our southern summers! Wholegrain bread is very good for ham on toast.

Butter makes it better was the old catch cry many moons ago as we tried valiantly to sell surplus stock overseas in the 80s. Margarine is for tight-fisted couples and homos attempting anal sex and should never be allowed near a slice of bread.

And when it comes to ham? Off the bone. Period. Just make sure you buy free-range…you buy crated, you’re a cunt.

Merry Xmas to one and all…see you in the New Year if I haven’t been lynched by then.


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