Christmas 2015: Lazy gourmand Christopher Hirst plots a day-long menu

Can't face the endless peeling, chopping, stirring, basting and carving? Neither can Christopher Hirst. So pour a large one and relax...

Christopher's shopping bag contains everything the lazy gourmand needs to conjure up a satisfactory, memorable feast (Natasha Pszenicki)

There's nothing compulsory about the sweaty, protracted grind involved in the Christmas feast. Regretting that Cromwell hadn't managed to suppress the whole "grisly orgy", Elizabeth David insisted, "If I had my way – and I shan't – my Christmas Day eating and drinking would consist of an omelette and cold ham and a nice bottle of wine at lunchtime, and a smoked-salmon sandwich with a glass of champagne on a tray in bed in the evening."

That word "shan't" conveys an almost tragic resignation. But the midwinter celebration that long preceded the birth of Christ should be a pleasurable marker of lengthening days, not an exhausting endurance test. Some love it, but there's no obligation to beat yourself up with a relentless itinerary of peeling, chopping, stirring, stuffing, basting, steaming and carving.

The culinary generalissimos may not approve – after all, they have books and TV shows to sell – but it is possible, I'd say strongly advisable, to take a few short cuts on Christmas Day. Combined with a certain amount of cooking in advance, this will allow the lazy gourmand to conjure up a satisfactory, indeed memorable feast, while still having time to have a reviving walk, pop to the pub, join Sherlock Holmes in The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle, re-wrap presents before returning them to the shop…

Breakfast

Cheat's Eggs Benedict

Though a delight, the Full English is a trifle ordinaire for Christmas, so how about the American variant, eggs Benedict? A dish of mysterious origins (several chefs claim to have made it for several different Benedicts), it is a simple affair comprising half a toasted muffin topped by a slice of ham or a couple of rashers of back bacon or even ox tongue. Then comes a poached egg, which in turn is enrobed by hollandaise sauce. At this point, the keen-eyed reader will doubtless be saying, "Simple? Hollandaise? Come off it, squire," or words to that effect.

A good point, but not insurmountable, as the palaver of making hollandaise can be circumvented with a sachet or two of ready-made (M&S does a good one). Though even with this short cut, a bit of care is required; unless you caress the hollandaise with the lowest heat, this delicate emulsion will disappointingly split; a heat diffuser on the hob is recommended.

The sauce should be enriched by an eruption of yolk when you cut into your egg. Mopping up the luxurious swirl with a chunk of muffin and cured meat is one of the great culinary treats.

To complement the eggs, you should have another Stateside favourite: either squeeze your own orange juice or buy unpasteurised OJ from M&S or Waitrose; tart and complex, it's miles better than the dreary, one-dimensional pasteurised stuff that other supermarkets foist on us.

Elevenses

Quo Vadis Aperitivo

Having shown superhuman restraint in eschewing Buck's Fizz for breakfast, it's high time for the first shot through the rigging. In other words, a snifter. The compound I recently took on board at Hambleton Hall in Rutland is Buck's Fizz with a college education. Devised at London's Quo Vadis, this citric sharpener consists of 25ml Campari and 25ml freshly squeezed orange juice. Mix in a champagne glass and top with prosecco. Somewhat less potent than customary champagne concoctions, it is sufficiently forgiving to permit the bonus of a second glass.

The Quo Vadis aperitivo is equal parts Campari and orange juice topped with prosecco – and sufficiently forgiving to permit a second glass (Natasha Pszenicki)

Afternoon meal

Starter: Oysters and sausages

Some will go "Urgh!" but I can't imagine a more exciting starter than Edouard de Pomiane's suggestion of raw oysters with chipolata sausages from his classic 1930 work Cooking in 10 Minutes. Here's the recipe: "Fry some chipolata sausages. Serve them very hot on a dish and on a second dish a dozen oysters. Alternate the sensations. Burn your mouth with a crackling sausage. Soothe your burns with a cool oyster. Continue until all the sausages and oysters have disappeared."

Those benighted souls repelled by the glorious bivalve will have to settle for more conventional starters of smoked salmon, gravadlax, little Orkney crabs… Pleasant, but scarcely as transporting as the glorious oyster. Don't forget an enlivening squeeze of lemon or splat of tabasco.

'I can't imagine a more exciting starter than Edouard de Pomiane's 1930 suggestion of raw oysters with chipolatas' (Natasha Pszenicki)

Main: Roast partridge

Without wanting to sound too much like Scrooge, may I suggest a modestly priced centrepiece for the Christmas feast? Costing around £6 per brace from M&S, Waitrose or Lidl, a pile of k roast partridges (one or two per guest depending on appetite) will look as impressive as a goose or turkey. Stuff each with half a lemon, wrap in a rasher of smoked back bacon and roast for 40 minutes at 230C.

If you can't find partridge, present a platter of roast pheasant or guinea fowl. Trimmings can be purchased ready-made at most supermarkets. Some of the best I've found, including crunchy parsnips in a Parmesan crust, thick, glistening slow-cooked gravy, and a most characterful bread sauce ("I want to eat gallons of it," said my wife), come from Cook, the frozen-meal chain. Open a jar of Cumberland sauce and spend four minutes boiling some of the newfangled flower sprouts (a hybrid of sprouts and kale) to make everyone think you're classy not lazy.

Pud: A grown-up jelly

Absolutely the last thing you want after even a moderately hefty meal is a wodge of raisin-packed pud – so how about a jelly? Banish all thought of childish fluorescence; this is a very grown-up jelly, dark and boozy. It should, of course, be made a day or two in advance. You need two saucepans. In one of them, bring 300ml port, 450ml red wine and 3 tbsp brandy to the boil, then simmer for 10 minutes. At the same time, use the other saucepan to heat 450ml water plus 225g caster sugar, 2 bay leaves, 6 juniper berries, 12 peppercorns and ½ cinnamon stick. Bring to boil then simmer for 10 minutes. Add 30g powdered gelatine to the hot wine and stir. Pour the contents of both pans through a sieve into a large bowl (the total liquid will be 1,200 ml) and cool for 15 minutes. Decant into a jelly mould or six wine glasses. Chill in the fridge when cool. Serve with double cream or, better still, nothing at all. This is quite probably the best jelly you'll ever have.

Cheese

A huge lump of farmhouse cheddar (I go for Montgomery) is far more impressive than a plateful of little wedges, oozy slivers and teensy pyramids. OK, maybe one more cheese: Christmas isn't Christmas without a heroic chunk of Stilton. There's not much better than Colston Bassett.

Supper

Vitello Tonnato

To round off your restorative 25th, the easiest option is Elizabeth David's smoked-salmon sandwich, but if you fancy a snack with a difference, might I thrust you in the direction of the 1970s trattoria stalwart vitello tonnato? This should be made with a cold slice of veal topped with a tuna-and-mayonnaise sauce. An unlikely combination but it works surprisingly well. (A few years ago, a London chef came up with tonnato vitello – slices of tuna in a veal sauce – though it failed to gain traction.)

It is just possible that you may not have a cold leg of veal in the fridge. In which case, the kitchen cheat suggests that you substitute sliced turkey breast (smoked is better still), available from any decent supermarket deli. Ignore any sniffy comments you might overhear about Christmas cheapskates. The tuna sauce is a doddle and can be made in advance. Buy a tin of tuna in olive oil and whiz up in the food processor (include the oil) with a tablespoon of mayonnaise. A squirt of lemon juice, et voilà! Put two or three slices of turkey on each plate and spread the tuna sauce on top; sprinkling capers over is imperative.

Nightcap

Eggnog (It's better than you think)

Ever since we first tried it a few Christmases ago, the American treat of eggnog has been a much-anticipated feature of our festivities. On this side of the Atlantic, the drink causes puzzlement and a degree of disdain. "You mean advocaat?" No, I do not mean advocaat but a yuletide gargle that was obligatory in those decades of the 20th century when America still enjoyed a stiff drink.

Sociable, sustaining and more than somewhat alcoholic, eggnog makes Christmas worth waiting for. First beat three egg yolks with 50g sugar until they turn pale. Stir in 300ml full milk, 200ml double cream plus 80ml bourbon and 80ml golden rum (brandy also works well). In a separate bowl, beat the egg whites with 20ml sugar until stiff. Gently fold whites into yolks and chill. Ladle into glass beakers and grate fresh nutmeg over. Consumed with appropriate music (Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Songbook), it's the perfect end to Christmas Day.