Pathetic. Sad. Weirdo. Embarrassing. Those are just some of the names I have been called in recent years on social media for the crime of enjoying my beloved Christmas dinner.
The comments range from disbelief and outrage to contempt and, on occasions, genuine pity.
Two years ago, nearly seven million people on X saw the picture I posted of my favourite festive plate. Some acted as if I had killed their dog.
And why? Well perhaps the caption that accompanied the image – ‘Merry Christmas from me and my Tesco curry’ – gives a clue.
Yes, you read that right.
In my mind, December 25 begins not with the carving of a big juicy turkey but with the gentle, reassuring ‘ping’ of the microwave in my family’s kitchen, signalling that my Tesco Chicken Tikka Masala Meal For One is ready.
The rest of the Corcoran clan – my mum and dad, four siblings, assorted in-laws and a steadily increasing number of children – sit down to a traditional roast dinner on Christmas Day.
Meanwhile, I happily decant my piping hot, industrially processed readymeal – it has to be from Tesco as I’ve found the offerings from other supermarkets are simply not up to scratch – into a special silver bowl alongside my favourite trimmings: buttered sliced white bread and oven chips, all washed down with a can of room temperature Diet Coke.
Two years ago, nearly seven million people on X saw the picture Sophie Corcoran posted of her favourite festive feast. Some acted as if she had killed their dog
Sophie’s meal was a piping hot Tesco ready meal, which she served in a special silver bowl alongside her favourite trimmings: buttered white bread and oven chips, all washed down with a can of room temperature Diet Coke
And I couldn’t be happier.
Because while it has taken me a while to say this out loud without flinching, I loathe roast dinners and always have.
I don’t dislike them in a mild way. I detest them deeply and instinctively and the culprit was my annual primary school Christmas lunch.
For weeks beforehand, the teachers would speak of it in hushed tones, as though what lay ahead was a Michelin-starred feast.
And in fairness, for some children, it was genuinely the highlight of the year. But even at the tender age of six, I can remember the abject horror I felt when confronted with a plate that looked, to me at least, like pigswill.
There was greying turkey, vegetables boiled into submission, gravy that managed to be simultaneously lumpy and runny and, one particularly traumatic year, potatoes that were not just overcooked but actually black.
It is no exaggeration to say that, in all my 23 years on Earth, those school Christmas dinners remain the worst thing I’ve ever had the misfortune to consume.
Worse, even, than any questionable student takeaway or the time I accidentally drank a half pint of milk that was three days past its sell-by date.
Sophie, aged ten, catches up with the news while eating her favourite curry and naan bread
Small wonder that a successive collection of Christmas dinners has left me with a lifelong mistrust of roast potatoes and roasted meat.
It probably didn’t help that, at home, we didn’t really do family roast dinners to offset the trauma.
My mum is a great cook but with four children and a busy, ever-revolving Sunday timetable, the traditional lunchtime roast was simply never part of our routine.
Except, of course, at Christmas.
Year after year, my mum would emerge from the kitchen brandishing the offerings.
Not always turkey, sometimes it was beef or lamb (my family were early to recognise that turkey is overrated), but manifestly part of the same cuisine that had caused me such horror in the school dining hall.
For a long time, no one seemed to notice that I barely ate it. I perfected the art of pushing the food around my plate, strategically concealing green vegetables beneath the spuds to create the illusion of consumption while waiting for pudding – which I also secretly hated but felt was easier to tolerate. By the time I reached my teenage years, however, I’d had enough, and at about 13, plucked up the courage to advocate for myself.
By then, I was already a devoted fan of Tesco’s chicken curry.
In the family photo album there’s evidence of me tucking into one at the tender age of six, long before I realised it would become my Christmas Day staple.
It is, to me, the perfect meal: comforting, predictable, gently spiced and entirely unpretentious – not to mention cheap, given I can often get two of them for a fiver.
So I plucked up the courage to ask if I could have that instead.
If there was outrage at home, I don’t remember it. I suspect my mum saw it as one less mouth to worry about, even if it did mean factoring in the precise seven-minute microwave timing to ensure my curry was ready at the same time as everyone else’s plates.
Either way, since then my now infamous Tesco chicken curry has become a non-negotiable part of Christmas Day.
If anything, I like to think of myself as a trendsetter. I first started posting the pictures of my curry in 2021 – to the immediate horror of the online world.
As a punchy centre-Right young commentator, I am no stranger to online abuse and vitriol.
But even I was slightly taken aback by the barrage of hatred that my innocuous culinary preferences sparked.
Needless to say, since then I have made it an annual tradition to rile up my critics by reminding them of my Christmas menu. In 2022, I was even invited on GB News to explain myself to the nation.
But slowly supporters came forward and, while I may have been rejecting turkey for as long as I can remember, it turns out I am far from alone.
A recent YouGov survey found that at least 7 per cent of Britons plan to ditch the traditional turkey this Christmas, opting instead for curries, alternative meats or even takeaways. Good for them, I say.
And while we’re at it, let’s get rid of Christmas pudding, Christmas cake and mince pies as well – other culinary monstrosities that persist largely through tradition and fear rather than as a result of genuine enjoyment.
So long live the turkey deniers, wherever we dwell and whatever our Christmas plans.
Given that I’m still in my early 20s, I have yet to spend Christmas Day away from home, but I am happy to pledge that wherever I find myself in the future – with a boyfriend, with in-laws, or in some awkward festive compromise location – I’ll be bringing my Tesco curry.
For now, though, it’s Christmas with family and, as ever, I’ll be there, fresh from the ready meal aisle at my local superstore, piercing the plastic film, listening for the ping and quietly enjoying the most comforting Christmas tradition I know.
- Sophie Corcoran is a political commentator
