PRESS UPDATE : THE TELEGRAPH .. MY MOST MEMORABLE CHRISTMAS .. DECEMBER 24TH 2022 .

ME, PERCY AND THE TEMPERAMENTAL TURKEY

The Dynasty actress was excited for her first Christmas with her new husband in their New York apartment… but it didn’t quite go to plan

There’s nothing quite like Christmas in New York. The city has the most enduring association with Christmas – Miracle on 34th Street, the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, chestnuts roasting on open fires... (Not even The Godfather is immune from the New York Christmas spirit - Al Pacino’s character finds out his father has been shot after watching The Bells of St Mary’s.)

So, my first Christmas in New York with my husband Percy was filled with the anticipation of fairytale moments. My two daughters were flying in from London with the grandchildren, and my son and his family were already in the city so, in preparation, we thought it wise to test run cooking a turkey as we hadn’t touched the kitchen since moving into our apartment a month earlier. 

New York kitchens are traditionally the size of postage stamps. None of the apartments that Percy and I viewed had a kitchen fit to do more than boil an egg. All the mod cons were there but crammed into such minuscule spaces that Houdini would have struggled to prepare a meal. 

It’s mainly because New York is packed with great restaurants, so there is no need, nor inclination, to prepare anything more complicated than a martini. A fridge is where you keep your olives. Which is why we thought a rehearsal would be prudent. We had to test the size of the turkey to make sure it was small enough to fit into the oven but big enough to feed the numbers we expected. Plus we had to ensure we had space to roast the potatoes, boil the brussels sprouts, uncan the cranberries… 

We invited enough family and friends to the Thanksgiving rehearsal to match the Christmas Day numbers, and we went to Zabar’s for the turkey - it was far from where we lived but felt suitably ‘New Yorkey’. And it’s where Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan buy their groceries in the film You’ve Got Mail.   

Back at home we felt supremely confident and on Thanksgiving morning, with the air tingling anticipatorily of a white Christmas, Percy and I set about preparing it all. The oven was preheated, the potatoes peeled, Brussels sprouts shelled, the corn was creamed. Around noon, in went the turkey with the expectation that four hours later it would come out golden brown and the apartment would be filled with a cosy aroma. We settled down to watch Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, a highlight of this American holiday. Only the turkey had different ideas…  

As Percy was basting it, he noticed it cooking faster than anticipated - the internal temperature was rapidly reaching its zenith. We phoned around frantically, asking guests to come over as fast as they could manage. Dutifully they arrived, in various levels of déshabillé. The table was set with furious speed and the turkey carved. Despite the rush, it was a complete triumph and everyone had a jolly time. 

Congratulating ourselves for having the foresight to have a rehearsal, we went back to Zabars and chose everything to the same specifications, planning to replicate it all. On Christmas Day we set about trimming the turkey, boiling the Brussels, you get the idea.  
 
But… once again, the turkey had other ideas. As Percy was basting it, he noticed things were not progressing as quickly as the last time.  

‘Not to worry,’ I said optimistically, ‘I’m sure it’s a matter of an hour. All will be well.’  

Soon the family arrived. We began opening presents, drinking mulled wine, then we settled down to wait for the turkey. Yes, we waited. And waited. And waited.   

By the time the cocktail sausages had been eaten, the last drop of mulled wine finished, the turkey still refused to make its appearance. By now the potatoes were desiccated husks, the Brussels sprouts decidedly un-spritely, and as for the yams...   

In the end we sat down rather desultorily to a turkey-less dinner. Like a petulant diva on opening night, it had refused to come out of its dressing room.  

Only when Percy went to check the Christmas pudding did the meat thermometer finally pop – too late. We carved it anyway ready for the Boxing Day leftovers. 

We never did solve the mystery. Did the butcher miscalculate the weight? Did we accidentally change the cooking temperature? Or was it simply Murphy’s law? But it did not matter. The wonderful thing about Christmas is that nothing can ruin the goodwill and joy of being surrounded by loved ones - not even a temperamental turkey.