The past weekend saw the annual Christmas party at my sister’s place at 76 TT hence “Christmas at 76”. For the third year now my sister and brother-in-law threw a Christmas party and invited many friends. This year in particular was epic for many reasons: new friends joined the party, many old friends came, the Santa gift exchange (where everyone draws a number in sequence and can exchange/ snatch presents for numbers before their own) was more aggressive (the Robinsons-wrapper gift was the most wanted), that table of Sin (picture above: a table of six types of whisky, three types of wine, four tubs of ice-cream, and five desserts), and I got massively drunk on Whisky. By 10pm, I was safely home and asleep; made possible only by my unimpressed parents.
The party was also memorable for my mum and I, as our Help had gone home for the festive season, and we slaved away in the kitchen from 2pm to 5.30pm preparing five dishes; two salads, a roasted goose fat chorizo sausages, and two desserts. It was the most tedious and back-aching effort suffered by us. I was beyond exhausted when I arrived at the party, and the first thing I got myself was a glass of 18 year old Scottish Whiskey. Yes, even before hitting the food; says a lot for food-obssessed-me. After three glasses, I was as high as Lindsay Lohan on an average day. I have only my parents to thank to ensure I was home safe and in bed where I promptly KO-ed from 10pm to 3am.