Turkey on the wing
Going by the reaction, you would think flying on Christmas Day was tantamount to blasphemy. But its merits are obvious.
After a day spent ingesting one's own body weight in food and drink, the evening is usually spent slumped in front of the television or sleeping off indigestion. Why not do it on a plane? My decision to fly on Christ's birthday was not made through choice. Having won an 'upper-class' ticket in a Virgin competition (the airline, of course), the 25th was the only day I was entitled to fly during the holidays.
Christmas had cleared the roads so the black Mercedes courtesy of Virgin swept us from Quarry Bay to Kai Tak in 15 minutes. The airport was deserted so check-in, passport and security control were hassle-free.
Virgin ground staff looked festive with red bows around their wrists and green mascara-lined lashes but that was where the seasonal spirit ended.
A cheery smile and convivial 'Merry Christmas' in Cantonese was met at passport control by a face that could pickle cucumbers.
On board, the upper-class section was almost empty. Although the cabin wasn't decorated, the ol' Band Aid-Frank Sinatra Christmas stalwarts were being blared out on the PA system.
Virgin's star-embossed red upholstery looked suitably festive as did the stewards in their regulation red uniforms, Santa hats and reindeer antlers.
In an effort to spread some of their Christmas spirit, they threw tinsel over the bemused passengers.
Back in cattle class, more festive efforts had been made.
Paper head-rests had been printed with holly patterns and passengers were given stockings filled with chocolates, streamers, party blowers and vanilla lip balm.
I had been expecting generous booty from Santa Branson but apparently the stewards had run out of the upper-class crackers filled with liqueurs, chocolates and a leather luggage label.
Before take-off, I was offered a rich and slightly creamy glass of Beaumet brut champagne, vintage 89.
Dinner was served soon after take-off. My fold-out tray was laid with a linen tablecloth, white china crockery, heavy silver cutlery and a plane-shaped condiment set with 'pinched from Virgin' printed on the bottom. Naturally, I obliged.
Six wines were on offer to accompany dinner and I opted for a Chrichton Hall Chardonnay 1994, which was peachy, pleasantly mild and had a slightly festive spicy aftertaste.
From a selection of garlic, cheese and poppy-seed breads I chose a mini-baguette, which had too much added salt. It was more like a doughy pretzel, but tasty.
The first course was a faultless mixed leaf salad filled with nutty rocket, tangy artichokes, char-grilled yellow peppers and chunky croutons.
A choice of wasabi balsamic vinaigrette or sun-dried tomato mayonnaise was offered. The latter turned out to be a 90s name for Thousand Island dressing.
There were five main courses, including beef and mushroom pie and salmon with tarragon and creme fraiche but I opted for the Christmas dinner.
The stewardess warned me of the scorching plate and true enough the gravy was starting to congeal around the edges. The gravy tasted the way TV dinner gravy used to taste and for purely nostalgic reasons I relished it.
The turkey was succulent and the spicy herb sausage tasted as healthy as a sausage can. The stuffing, in the form of a bread and water chestnut terrine, was a little too creative for my palate. Surely the point of Christmas dining is tradition; if you have to eat plain roasted meat with boiled vegetables you might as well go the whole hog.
The Brussels sprouts were fine, though a little chewy, but I dare not mention the cardboard potatoes.
Sadly, there was no sign of Christmas pudding so I had an ice-cream sundae instead. The coffee, cookies and cream and to-die-for strawberry ice-cream topped with a pale chocolate sauce and crushed chocolate M & Ms were a capital combination.
I couldn't squeeze in cheese and biscuits so I finished with Earl Grey tea.
I had expected a festive film to finish off Christmas day but the only festive-feeling choice out of eight films was Toy Story, which I'd already seen.
During the night, I could have helped myself to a well-stocked snack bar but because of the complimentary fleece-lined snooze-suit I'd changed into, my near-horizontal seat and my extra-large duvet, I slept for seven hours.
My Boxing Day breakfast began with a peach, papaya and passion fruit salad doused in orange juice, followed by a warm bagel. I couldn't face beef and noodles for breakfast so the scrambled egg-filled crepe was in order.
I had to force myself to swallow after my first bite of flabby crepe but the scrambled egg inside was excellent - moist yet crumbly.
The spicy sausage tasted similar to the one served at dinner but I was pleased to see it again.
The slivers of pink bacon sprinkled on top would have been better burnt to a crisp but that's just personal preference.
And the tomato was perfectly grilled.
Meanwhile in economy, my partner said his meals were the best he'd ever had.
