Oh, I long for the traditional Christmas! Start the day with meat pies, bought fresh and steaming from the pie man as he makes his early rounds with seasonal cheer! A penny a pie, or tuppence for prime beef with porter gravy.
We had figs and pomegranates from the Christmas Eve market, picked up by the children on their way home from the factory. I always told them to look for the stallholders packing up early at six of the evening, so they'd get a good price, and to give a farthing to a beggar for good will through the festivities.
There were mince pies after the church service, made by spinsters of the parish in their almshouse. Walking back home in our starched finery, our boots polished like mirrors, the scent of roasted chestnuts mingled in the crisp air with tantalising aromas of roast capons, onion stuffing, golden roast potatoes and parsnips. We filled our basket, most years, for less than half a crown and what a feast we did enjoy!
The big spiced pudding I'd bought earlier in the week would be simmering in the pot on the fire, filling the house with fragrances of India and Ceylon. We fired it with a spoon of rum and served it with clotted cream, squeezing our stomachs full until all was eaten bar the capon's bones and the chestnut skins.
On Boxing Day I simmered those bones with the skins for our penance soup, though I will confess to adding a ha'penny's worth of ham shavings and some bread crusts to give it body.
What's a UPF? And why do you cook for yourselves? If you have a kitchen, surely you also have a cook or at least a maid?