Every December, like clockwork, the insults roll in. Pathetic. Sad. Embarrassing. Weirdo.
All aimed at me for committing what some consider the ultimate festive crime: eating exactly what I want on Christmas Day.
The outrage usually starts online, where strangers feel deeply invested in what’s on my plate.
Two years ago, nearly seven million people watched in horror as I posted a photo of my Christmas dinner.
The reaction was so dramatic you’d think I’d cancelled Christmas altogether.
The offending caption? “Merry Christmas from me and my Tesco curry.”
The Sound That Starts My Christmas Morning
While most households mark December 25 with the ceremonial carving of a turkey, my day begins with something far more soothing: the gentle ping of a microwave.
That sound means my Tesco Chicken Tikka Masala Meal For One is ready.
Around the table sit my mum, dad, four siblings, various in-laws and an ever-growing crowd of children, all tucking into a traditional roast.
I, meanwhile, carefully tip my curry into a silver bowl and serve it alongside buttered white bread and oven chips.
A can of room-temperature Diet Coke completes the scene.
It may horrify the purists, but I couldn’t be more content.
Why I’ve Always Hated Roast Dinners
This isn’t a mild dislike. I don’t merely prefer something else.
I despise roast dinners with a passion that borders on instinctive, and I know exactly where it started.
Primary school Christmas lunches.
Weeks of build-up from teachers whispering about “a treat” awaited us, only for me to be confronted with grey turkey, vegetables boiled beyond recognition, and gravy that was both lumpy and watery.
One year, the potatoes weren’t just overdone — they were black.
In my 23 years, nothing has ever topped those meals for sheer culinary misery. Not dodgy student takeaways.
Not even the time I accidentally drank milk three days past its sell-by date.
A Home That Didn’t Heal the Trauma
At home, we weren’t a big roast-on-Sunday family.
My mum is a fantastic cook, but with four kids and busy weekends, elaborate lunches just weren’t practical.
Except at Christmas.
Every year, she’d emerge from the kitchen with turkey — or sometimes beef or lamb — but always something that reminded me of those school dinners.
For years, no one noticed how little I ate.
I became an expert at pushing food around my plate, hiding vegetables under potatoes and waiting for pudding, which I also hated but felt less controversial to endure.
Finding the Courage to Ask for What I Wanted
By the time I was 13, I’d had enough. And luckily, by then, I already knew exactly what I wanted instead.
Tesco chicken curry.
There’s photographic evidence of me eating it at six years old, long before I knew it would become my festive signature dish.
It’s comforting, predictable, gently spiced and blissfully unpretentious.
It’s also cheap — often two for a fiver, which feels like a Christmas miracle in itself.
So I asked. And that was that. If my mum was annoyed, I don’t remember it.
I suspect she was relieved to have one less plate to stress about, even if it meant carefully timing my seven-minute microwave slot.
How a Ready Meal Became a Public Scandal
Since 2021, I’ve posted photos of my Christmas curry online, and every year the reaction is louder.
As a centre-Right political commentator, I’m used to criticism, but nothing prepared me for the fury a ready meal could provoke.
People genuinely seemed offended. Personally wounded.
One year, I was even invited onto GB News to explain myself, as if my curry required a national reckoning.
Naturally, I leaned in. If people were going to be upset anyway, I might as well make it an annual tradition.
Realising I’m Not the Only Turkey Refusenik
Over time, something surprising happened. Supporters emerged.
Quietly at first, then proudly. It turns out I’m far from alone.
A recent YouGov survey found that around 7 per cent of Britons plan to skip turkey this Christmas, opting for curries, alternative meats or takeaways instead.
Frankly, I think it’s about time.
And while we’re questioning tradition, let’s be honest about Christmas pudding, Christmas cake and mince pies too.
These desserts survive largely out of fear and obligation, not genuine love.
A Promise for Every Christmas to Come
I’m still in my early twenties, so I haven’t yet faced the challenge of Christmas away from home.
But wherever I end up — with a boyfriend, in-laws, or some awkward festive compromise — my Tesco curry will be coming with me.
For now, I’ll be at home with my family, doing exactly what I always do.
A quick trip to the ready-meal aisle. A pierced plastic film. A familiar ping.
And while the turkey gets carved and the gravy poured, I’ll be quietly enjoying the most comforting Christmas tradition I know.
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