As the local brass band performed the classic carols from the top of the Tramin clocktower, it struck me this was my fourth consecutive Christmas here in South Tyrol. The last two weeks had been so physically and emotionally demanding. I couldn’t do any of the activities I had intended to do with our toddler. Between him being sick with a relentless fever and my insane workload, no cookies were baked nor did we manage a Christmas cake. I did marinate a whole chicken ahead of time, so our lunch was sorted. It was an easy cook requiring only oven time. I boiled potatoes on the side, which I then seasoned and stuck alongside the chicken. 

This meant I had barely three or four dishes to wash post-prep. Anyone who has known me before I moved here would find these facts absolutely shocking. I was never one for minimalist spreads. I inherited my parents’ tendency towards lavishness. At least three kinds of meats, alongside three or four salads, a pulao, fried prawns. Over-abundance has always been our aesthetic. The dining table had to be so replete with a range of culinary achievements, you had to jostle for space to eat. Always enough to feed an army. Always enough so you didn’t need to cook again for days.