the one with the christmas dinner, a short story

I’ve been cooking non-stop since 3 p.m.

It’s the 25th of December, and as usual, I’m the one cooking the family’s annual Christmas dinner—my ninth year in a row.

There’s still a quiet sense of loss lingering from a former crush, so the physical and mental distraction feels comforting; something grounding about keeping my hands busy. Although my appetite hasn’t fully returned, I’ve been able to eat a little more regularly, even if only in small portions.

The day began with prepping vegetables and giving the roast potatoes the TLC they deserve. A rack of lamb chops was marinated and grilled, the essential trimmings were prepared, and I made sure there were enough Yorkshire puddings to go around. I also put together a small Li family–style seafood platter: air-fryer prawn tempura, sesame prawn toast, and smoked salmon shaped into delicate roses.

While I plated everything up, my mum and brother set the table—because of course, I still wanted a cute photo moment.

Four hours later, it was finally done. The setting was simple but homey, and thankfully, the food was still hot to the touch. After snapping a few photos, we were ready to dig in.

I started with the roasted Brussels sprouts, tossed in honey and balsamic vinegar. I always look forward to them when they’re in season, even though I never liked them until adulthood. Now, I can’t get enough. The caramelisation, paired with a gentle bitterness, contrasts beautifully with the sweet and tangy glaze—it’s my favourite way to eat them.

There’s something deeply comforting about root vegetables. Sweet, earthy, nutty parsnips; fruity carrots; and the humble potato—mild, starchy, and the ultimate blank canvas. When roasted with a blend of seasonings, they become both nourishing and grounding, feeding not just the body but the soul. They’re an essential presence on the table.

The Li family has always preferred lamb chops over turkey. Seasoned simply with garlic, rosemary, olive oil, salt, and pepper—nothing more, nothing less. Grilled until beautifully charred on the outside yet still pink-ish in the middle, they’re gorgeous.

We often abandon our knives and forks, opting instead for our hands, taking generous bites the way good food deserves to be eaten.

I’ll never understand why stuffing and pigs in blankets are reserved exclusively for Christmas. We obviously don’t make our own, but we do have a soft spot for the M&S pork and chestnut stuffing—deliciously rich and savoury, with a gentle crumbly sweetness from the chestnuts.

And pigs in blankets? Truly the perfect hors d’oeuvres for any day of the year. Let’s be honest—it really doesn’t get better than that.

Then there are the Yorkshire puddings. Divine. Eggy, crisp, and impossibly light—the perfect vessel for soaking up meat juices and gravy.

I made my plate and smiled at what I’d created. I made all of this myself, and I get to share it with the people I love.

I took my first bite and felt reassured. In that moment, I knew I was okay.

As I ate slowly, I couldn’t help but think about friends spending Christmas alone—a day like this can feel especially sharp, whether separated by distance, living in the UK while their families are back home, or feeling emotionally distant from those they love.

I wondered if they were okay. If they’d eaten something delicious, watched a familiar film, or found themselves absorbed with a good book, with a mug of warm drinks of their choice.

And I hoped that, in some optimistic and loving way, they felt held in some small way. That warmth found them, whether through food, a routine they do around this time of year, a fond memory, or the gentle knowing that they were not forgotten.