A bona fide Christmas post

Book tree at the Artists’ Cafe, Clarens. I am now going to make my own.

I’m thoroughly enjoying reviewing the books I’ve read in the last while, but have decided to interrupt the Twelve Bookish Days of Christmas blogs with some things I’ve often posted on Facebook at this time of year in the past, on How to Survive The Festering Season. And even turn it into a True Season of Peace and Goodwill.

For starters:

Go for a walk. Kiss someone you love. Stroke the cat or dog. Drive with immense caution. Stay away from shops. Eat and drink well, but not so much that you feel ill or get hungover. Read a good book. Take lots of pics of your littlies. Develop temporary deafness, especially at fraught family gatherings. Put your feet up. Give the money you were going to spend on Aunt Ethel’s bath salts to a good cause or a beggar. Count your blessings. Take a nap. Laugh. Walk. Kiss. Rest.

Also good to remember:

This time of year can be very difficult for many — and not just for the poverty-struck for whom the spectacle of the middle classes in a paroxysm of consumerism must be very bitter. Even for those with food in their fridges, something about the myths of family and loved ones — that all will be reconciled because of the conjunction of a magical date, impossible expectations and suffocating social pressure to be happy — can be brutal. I'm thinking especially of those facing a first Christmas without a beloved partner, parent, child, relative, friend or pet. Breathe and endure. It will never be this bad again, and in the meantime, I wish you fortitude and many hugs. And a nice dog to take walking, or a kitten to pull down the decorations.

Now for some practical tips on etiquette for family get-togethers.

Note that courtesy (MUCH needed around the dinner table and braai) is 50% commonsense and 50% kindness. Resolve to practice both. Do not bang on about painful and contentious topics. Do not lecture people on issues of which you have no DIRECT personal experience. Do not treat family and friends as captive audiences for your views on the economy, politics, crime and long-simmering family feuds. Draw up a list of subjects that can only lead to tears, and get everyone to agree not to ruin the hard work of the cooks by discussing these, and thereby wrecking a beautiful meal. Instead, try this party game (it works really well when there is a wide range of political views and ages at the table): ask everyone to go round and describe the most memorable or interesting place they’ve visited; a favourite new recipe or meal they’ve recently discovered; what book/movie/series made the biggest impression on them this year; the cutest thing done by a grandchild or pet that year.

But what to do if you’re alone over the silly season? Here are some very wise ideas from Karabo Kloleng.

* Limit social media. Log off from your emails. ALL of them.
* Stock up on food that requires little to no cooking.
* Stock up on books.
* There are great deals at the cinema right now. To avoid the crowds, attend the late morning or early afternoon screenings.
* Candles because Netflix isn’t a guarantee with loadshedding.
* Take a book to a public pool or beach or nature reserve or park, plug in your earphones. You might even end up swimming.
* Take out your pencils and draw or write something even if you suck at drawing or writing.
* Do one thing that makes you feel alive each day (this should be something you do all year but it’s extra important during this season).
* Remember that this too shall pass, and that being alone beats lousy company, wasting money, or toxic family. YOU are all you need.

Finally, I promised a friend some cheap and cheerful festive recipes, but then ran out of time. However, here are my Luscious Magic Tomatoes. (Magic because you can serve this dish as a salad on its own, as a room-temperature sauce for a dish of rice, roast veggies or legumes, or on cheese sandwiches, or hot as a pasta sauce. It is cheap, vegan, colourful and even healthy.)

Ingredients:
As many baby/roma/cherry tomatoes as your biggest frying pan will comfortably hold.
At least four fat peeled cloves of garlic.
Oil for frying (olive is nicest, but any will do) — at least 2 tablespoons
A tablespoon of balsamic vinegar (or the juice and zest of a small lemon)
Herbs — dried sage and thyme are nice, but the best are large quantities of fresh basil and/or mint, a good handful. Fresh rosemary snipped up fine is excellent.
Optional: rocket leaves, chives, finely chopped spring onion leaves, other veggies you may have in the fridge (mushrooms and courgettes, sliced, are good; also excellent are fresh sweetcorn kernels, chunks of roast butternut, olives, peppadews).

Cut all the tomatoes in half lengthways. Thinly slice each clove of garlic as if it was a doll-sized loaf of bread. That’s the fiddly bits over. Heat the oil in a deepish, heavy-bottomed or non-stick frying pan and when it starts to sizzle, tip in the tomatoes and stir around. Once they start to ooze juice, add the garlic (this would also be when to add mushrooms or courgettes, if desired). Stir gently for a minute. Add the vinegar or lemon juice/zest and the dried herbs, if any, and turn the heat right down. Add the sweetcorn or butternut, but only if you have any. Let the whole thing simmer away for at least half an hour. Keep adding small splashes of water to keep it moist — it should get sticky, but don’t let it catch or turn to toffee. Once it has turned into a deep garnet-coloured sticky squishy porridge (you should still be able to see the indiviudual tomatoes), take off the heat and add the basil or mint, and then the optional rocket leaves, or chives or finely chopped spring onions, or all three. Serve with bread suitable for mopping. You can also crumble in feta or blue cheese, if no one objects to dairy.

Enjoy, stay safe, and deep breaths.