In American slang, gravy, as in the expression “gravy train”, means easy money, a reward for doing very little. Pretty apt, I’d say, when you think about the real thing: you roast a piece of meat, and there in the roasting tin you have been gifted all these wonderful juices; in other words, gravy, in its most fundamental sense. OK, so these days the done thing is to bubble up the juices with a spot of wine, maybe some stock, even a spoonful of redcurrant jelly, or perhaps thicken the juices first with a little flour – but it’s still “easy money”. So why is it that supermarket chiller cabinets are full of ready-made gravies, and their shelves lined with tubs of granules made from a litany of ingredients, including colourings, flavour enhancers, emulsifiers, etc? Richard Sawyer, head chef at that pillar of British food, Rules restaurant in Covent Garden, reckons that it’s simply that 21st-century problem of being time-poor. We just don’t make gravy from scratch all year round, so when it comes to Christmas we don’t have the confidence. “But,” he says, “if you’ve spent a lot of money on a really good bird, on the one day that most people invest a lot of time in the kitchen it’s a terrible shame not to make real gravy.”

How do you make proper Christmas gravy?

Sawyer recommends making full use of the giblets, together with some caramelised vegetables, to give the gravy sweetness and colour. “One of the things people worry about is making enough gravy,” he says, “so you need plenty of stock. Personally I always cook two turkeys, because my favourite thing is Boxing Day cold turkey and gammon, with chutneys and pickles. So when I cook the first one on Christmas Eve, I pour all the juices into a bowl and keep it in the fridge, so the fat solidifies on top and underneath is this wonderful rich jelly, which I can add to my gravy on Christmas Day. Like most chefs, I also always have chicken stock in the freezer, but you can buy very good fresh stock in the supermarket. What I would do is chop up the turkey giblets and either roast or pan-fry them in a little olive oil with some chopped onion, carrot, leek and celery, until everything is well coloured. Then, when you have taken out the bird from the roasting pan, spoon off most of the fat, put the pan on the hob, then de-glaze it by pouring in some red wine and bringing it to boil. Let the wine reduce, then add the browned giblets, vegetables and the stock, and bring up to the boil again. To thicken the gravy, I make a beurre manier, which is equal quantities of butter and flour pounded together, then whisked into the gravy a little at a time. When it is thick enough, just keep the pan bubbling away gently for about 20 minutes, while your bird rests and you prepare everything else, then taste it, season if necessary and pass the gravy through a fine sieve into a jug. It might not look as dark brown as an instant gravy, but it will be full of goodness and rich flavour.”

Readers’ queries

Where can I find good old-fashioned jellies to serve with cold meats, cheese, etc?
I love Christine Huddleston’s fantastic selection (www.mrshuddleston.com; 01296 712005), but if you’re last-minute buying, you can find The Bay Tree’s handmade jellies, such as redcurrant, lavender and rosemary, in Waitrose and good food shops (01749 831300; www.thebaytree.co.uk).

If you have a food query, e-mail food.detective@thetimes.co.uk

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