London - Let us imagine the scene: the table is resplendent with candles, the best cutlery, the crispest linen. Cooking smells waft from the kitchen. You have all enjoyed nibbling canapés and sipping one of the less ostentatious, but more sophisticated, sparkling winesyou prided yourself on sourcing.
And now, as the organic goose is carved, you select the moderately expensive, elegant claret airing on the sideboard. A sparkling crystal glass in your hand, you take a casual sniff before pouring. Instantly, your benevolent smile freezes. The musty smell and a discreet sip confirm your fears: it's corked, undrinkable. But you don't panic - another bottle is ready. Phew. Until it's knocked over by your daughter as she reaches for red cabbage.
Never mind the mess; your mind is spinning, making frantic, ruthless calculations - you have approximately three-quarters of a bottle for six people. Not enough. Maybe someone will continue with the sparkling wine? No - all gone. What about that leftover half-bottle of supermarket plonk? Nope, most went into the jus. It wasn't that good anyway.
In desperation, your food congealing, you head for your dusty garage-cum-wine-cellar, cursing for thinking two would suffice. Argh. Just one bottle of the decent stuff left; the consequence of a particularly enjoyable eve-of- Christmas Eve. This bottle is also very cold and by the time it has warmed up, you will all be on to the port and Stilton...
Aghast, you remember again: the 20-year-old vintage port was polished off during your most recent dinner party. You forgot to buy any more. Slinking back into your seat - a cobwebby wreck - you witness the last claret being poured into someone else's glass and your father-in-law seeking a refill. Shuddering, you grasp your garage-chilled claret and head for the microwave...
All of this shows that the secret of successful Christmas drinking is military-style planning, because this is no time to leave anything to chance. Ensure, as you hunker down for the season, that you have enough supplies in-house to cater for all eventualities over several days and for meals involving several different types of alcohol - from a half-decent bottle on Christmas Eve, some mid-priced but respectable gluggers for unexpected guests and lunchtime leftovers, to something for suddenly thirsty relatives and all the ingredients for a restorative Bloody Mary - what, no celery salt? And that extra special bottle for a special meal.
Consult a good wine dealer, avoid last-minute, tears-before-bedtime trips to off-licences. Uncork, decant and taste reds and ports well in advance so they are warm, aired and to ascertain that they are precisely what you have paid for. Do not assume that all cheeses need red wines - smelly Vacherin demands a brisk, minerally white to cut through farmyard flavours, while roast beef will overwhelm a light red. Do not over-chill fine whites. Rosé is never a winter drink - unless it sparkles. Use cheap brandy to flame Christmas pudding, not your aged Armagnac.
Shrink from experimentation - do not risk opening that juicy red brought from Croatia in the summer - and shun the Hungarian sparkler on supermarket special offer or the half-drunk bottle of port sitting in the cupboard since last year. The former will rarely deserve its billing - that discount will have a reason - and the latter will have gone off.
So much for the secret of seasonal drinking. What about the secret pleasures? Enough for several pages, undeniably, but here are some: drinking champagne on Christmas morning, surrounded by happy children and wrapping paper mountains; and the many perfect marriages of food and drink - that tingling, briny, mouthful of oyster and Chablis, the sensually satisfying, once-a-year combinations of robust red wines and rich meats, warm mince pies and chilled sherry, Christmas pudding and port...
For me, these are a given. It is the accidental, incidental treats that offer most satisfaction - the guilty pleasure of Buck's Fizz and scrambled eggs in bed, the unexpected mulled wine after a Boxing Day walk, the last glass - always the best - of a really fine red with random lunchtime assemblies of cold meats and pickles. And the joy of sitting, at least once, in front of a late-night fire, in good company, with a bowl of walnuts and a bottle of aged tawny. Assuming you remembered to buy some, of course. -
- The Independent on Sunday