The joy of old-fashioned gingerbread

Christmas baking should be a source of joy. It should be something we look forward to, a break from the hectic organisation of dozens of presents, reams of wrapping paper, cosy-but-thoughtful decoration, enormous meals, endless Christmas parties, and stressful hosting. But Christmas baking can take on a life of its own: fruit cakes that ‘should’ have been made months ago (that three members of your family will tell you loudly they do not like and will not eat), puddings that need hours on the hob, edible biscuity decorations with boiled sweet centres that will inevitably stale on the tree. It can just become another chore.

Now, I love a Christmas pudding. I even love making one, when I have the time, energy and inclination. I will defend the appeal of these traditional bakes to their (or my) death, but not if they become a source of resentment. When baking becomes an obligation, it becomes near-pointless.