sunday one

 Today my make is roasting a feck off turkey. Bought reduced from one of the magical supermarket fairies who leave food and loo roll at my door, who have found themselves with a frozen surfeit of unwieldy +6kg Feeds 13 birds because people just didn't get together in those numbers this year. We didn't eat turkey at all this Christmas. Veggie Moo was here (neg tested) so we veggied with her. 

Now it's the two chaps and me filling in for the Feeds 13 I thought it time. But the animals! Really I excuse buying a reduced yet mahoosive high welfare bird because the cats! The dog! Even the cherry shrimp will all go a bit of turkins and, in honest truth and actual fact will fade without it and I can't have that.

My Nanna is with me again when I cook a turkey. Growing up, I'd watch as she wrapped the Sunday chicken  in saved butter papers: an effective everyday frugality I adopt in kitchen essence, but which is tricky to reproduce Feeds 13 turkey-size. Plus, turkeys are celebration, right? My saved butter paper is an entire block of butter slather-smeared across of sheet of baking parchment, and frugality belongs with the pints of turkey stock I'll eventually slide into the freezer.

I lovingly wrap the turkey bird in its butter blanky.

Tuck it up into foil and away we go, for a good couple of hours of warm snooze in the oven before I even have to think about waking it for a baster bath.

Roasties, stuffing, yorkshire pud, veggies, gravy, Radio 4 throughout because Sunday-days are for Radio 4, sneaking in a bit of granny square in the gaps, then leftovers. Oh, the leftovers.