The hidden layers of love that support you…

This post has been inspired by a jar of pickled walnuts, or rather, the lack of them…

Boxing Day - Mother’s Lunch

One of my very favourite foodie things about Christmas is Boxing Day “Mother’s Lunch” - a tradition that I inadvertently revived in lockdown, inspired by the Boxing Days of my childhood which involved a lavish spread, laid out in the dining room.

Robbed of our usual beach walk because it was ‘out of county’ for us (harking back here to that slice of lockdown when we weren’t allowed to travel out of our county), and trying to think of an alternative, I suggested that we do a Boxing Day like my mother used to do when I was a child.

A Boxing Day buffet, served at 1pm and then grazed all afternoon, whilst chatting to family and watching films on the TV.

So that’s what we did and it was a big hit with hubby and our University age boys.

The following year, assuming the lunch had been a circumstances driven one-off, I thought that, as usual, we would be off to Burton Bradstock beach for a bracing walk followed by a bacon bap and hot chocolate from the Hive Beach Cafe.

But no, evidently Mother’s Lunch was now a tradition and the thought of not doing it was met with cries of dismay.

Back in the day, my mother would be baking and assembling dishes for days before Christmas, creating a veritable cornucopia of family favourites and Christmas specials.

The buffet spread would be unveiled in full at 1pm (and woe betide the person who dared pick at it before then) and as we piled our plates with food, we would proceed around the table, searching out our particular favourites, exclaiming with delight as we found them.

We’d go and find a perch somewhere to sit and eat - catch-up chats continuing as we spent time with family that we didn’t see everyday.

Seconds were obligatory, then the pudding table was open for business. Again, laden with family favourites, usually with a centrepiece massive Victorian trifle, layers and layers of creation, visible to the world through the clear glass showpiece bowl.

After the heaviness of Christmas Day I loved the freshness of cold meats and various salads, a particular highlight being the combination of home cooked gammon, some salad and a slice of pickled walnut on my fork. It’s one of those tastes that made it into the memory bank.

I remember feeling very grown up selecting the pickled walnut jar, mustard was not yet a thing for me, chutney was a future favourite yet to be discovered, but the acquired taste of walnuts was oddly pleasing to my childish palette.

It was probably also the fact that my Dad had originally introduced me to them, and I being a Daddy’s girl was firmly of the opinion that if Dad ate it, so could I.

This is not an ad, but Opies is my personal favourite brand of pickled walnuts.

Years later, as I revived this tradition for my own family, I planned in their particular favourites and purchased a jar of pickled walnuts for me.

On Boxing Day as I loaded my fork with a slice of our own home-reared gammon, a scoop of coleslaw and a slice of pickled walnut, I was instantly transported back to my childhood.

Past and present suddenly collided in the same moment, Emma the child and Emma the mother somehow standing in the same time frame, memories flooding in at the same time as I was creating new memories…the circle of life oddly connecting through the medium of a pickled walnut.

This year, having sadly lost my mother in June and with our eldest son in New Zealand, it looked like it was going to be a quiet Christmas with just the three of us here, but still the Boxing Day spread was on the agenda.

But the addition of our best friends and their daughter boosted our numbers to six for Boxing Day and as I prepared for Christmas, I listed out what we needed for the festive period, my Boxing Day menu plan obviously being Mother’s lunch, and a jar of pickled walnuts duly noted on the shopping list.

But the early shopping expeditions didn’t yield any pickled walnuts, neither did the big Christmas shop (none available) and the last minute dash at the weekend for “essentials” failed to secure any, leaving it too late to order online.

I have to admit, the circumstances of absent family making me feel more nostalgic than usual, the lack of walnuts was playing on my mind more than it would have done normally. I guess it was like my version of a memory comfort food was missing from the day.

On Christmas Eve, as hubby and I pulled together the last threads of preparation and tidying, we realised that unusually we had no need to venture out in the car at all, a first for many years on Christmas Eve - we had achieved nirvana levels of pre-organisation for once. The list we had been diligently working through for many days, completing little tasks each day, had done its job and landed us on Christmas Eve done and ready.

A bit of a shock for us, normally last-minute supremos, and a real treat after a busy year, a family time day at home.

Then, a look of concern on his face, Mr W turned and said, “do you want me to go out and find you some pickled walnuts?”

He’d obviously picked up on how many times I had been looking for them…

And in that moment, the need for pickled walnuts as an emotional support, dropped away…

His selfless gesture of offering to venture out and brave the Christmas Eve rush to find those pickled walnuts for me completely grounded me and layered me with love.

I thought to myself that sometimes things are so obvious that you miss them…

In this age of consumerism, it’s all too easy for Christmas to seem to be about things rather than thoughts, the epitome of which is a present wrapped and under the tree.

But actually, for many of us, it’s about layers of love…

It’s about a chain of thoughtful gestures, sometimes leading to a present selection, fizzing with excitement to see if your recipient likes it.

It’s about spending time together, whether it be in the same room or over the wires on a call.

It’s about the aching hole of getting through the first Christmas without someone, knowing it won’t be easy but taking heart from knowing that the layers of love will eventually carry you through to a time when the memories become easier.

Those small gestures we offer to others along the way, the memories we collect as we go - they’re the layers we build.

Some years will be tougher than others, but like the rings of a tree, every layer contributes to growing us into the person we are today.

What is done is done, but we have the yet to come to look forward to…new layers to build and new memories to make.

Thank you for reading and thank you for listening.