“I love potatoes – they’re the best bit.” “Everything’s the best bit according to you,” goes one of Mark and Jez’s underrated exchanges from the iconic Peep Show Christmas episode.

Declaring our opinions on what aspects of Christmas consumption we love and what we can’t get behind is a hallmark of the season. Favoured topics of discussion include songs in the charts (‘Fairytale of New York’ or ‘Last Christmas’?), festive films (Home Alone, Love Actually, or “they’re all crap”), and the date on which wheeling these out for another year becomes acceptable (November, December or the morning of the 25th). 

Among these is what excites me most about Christmas Day: the food. There are a rich array of candidate ‘best-bits’ to choose from. In light of these options, I have made a list, checked it twice, and tried to find out who’s wrong and who’s right. I’ve considered two clinically precise criteria in my ratings: enjoyability and Christmassiness.

Turkey, 6/10

The busty fowl leads a very weird sort of double life in food terms. Existing throughout the year as a kind of ‘diet chicken’ due to its leanness and high protein, it finds itself on the plate of indulgence for one day only. Turkey is a high risk, medium-reward kind of meat. If sufficiently pampered pre-oven and probed fastidiously with a thermometer while cooking, it can be really enjoyable. If overcooked even slightly, it will remind you why it is renowned as a dry meat. Its ‘Christmassiness’ is right at the top of the pile, however.

Gammon, 7/10

Gammon slightly leads turkey in the enjoyability stakes, for me, though lags behind in its Christmassiness. The smoky, saltiness of a ham joint is perfectly lathered by a sweet, slightly spicy glaze, like the classic honey-mustard. It’s not on everyone’s table, but it more than earns its oven space if treated correctly.

Gravy, 8/10

Gravy is one that can truly make or break a Christmas dinner. Always playing bass while the solid ingredients pile up on the fork, gravy is the oasis from which all moisture on the plate arises. It might not win all the plaudits, but it is irreplaceable, whether you go Bisto or full roasted bones and slow cook.

Stuffing, 6/10

One of the most variable components on the plate, stuffing has a very unique, aromatic and fruity flavour that adds to the ultra-savoury palette. I would wager it is one of the most commonly outsourced dishes on the table, usually to Chef Paxo. A solid, if understated, player on its day, with moderate Christmas spirit.

Roast potatoes, 9/10

Roasties, spuds, tatties, totties. Whatever you call them, the sight of these crispy golden globes sets my pulse racing like nothing else on my Christmas plate. When executed well, the contrast between the crunchy, oil/butter/goose fat soaked exterior and the fluffy light interior is extraordinary. I would like for all the world to give 10, but there is not enough Christmas exceptionalism for the roast spud to justify it.

Brussels sprouts, 6/10

Once-a-year delicacies like Brussels sprouts are usually eaten so rarely for two reasons: they are either too indulgent to justify outside of special occasions (like pigs-in-blankets), or they just aren’t that good. Though I’m pretty sure I am not genetically biased against them, let’s face it: the smears against the sprout are not entirely libellous. Though they can be elevated significantly with a good dose of fat (like pancetta, butter or oil), their ceiling is pretty modest. Their score is dragged up by the unmistakable Christmas connotations, however.

Carrots and parsnips, 7/10

These are strong contenders for most enjoyable. Their natural sweetness, when amplified by roasting and some kind of honey glaze, is a divine complement to the glut of salt across the rest of the plate. As parts of a normal roast, however, they don’t exactly scream Christmas.

Red Cabbage, 5/10

Supposedly adds tanginess and crunch to a plate heavy in salt and softness. A serviceable part of the dinner, but not one I lie awake thinking about on Christmas Eve.

Pigs-in-Blankets, 10/10

A pig wrapped in a blanket of more pig sounds more like a satirical critique of the gratuitous indulgence of the modern consumerist Christmas. They push the limits of excess to bursting point, as they do our waistbands. Regardless of your moral position on this, however, the sausage wrapped in bacon was an idea of singular genius. Right at the top of both marking criteria, it seems fitting that the torchbearer for the culinary debauchery of Christmas gets a 10.

Of course, this is all subjective and utterly trivial. Jez is right; the ‘best-bit’ of a Christmas dinner is everything. But who cares? If we can’t declare, as if for the first time, that we should eat pigs-in-blankets all year round, then is it even Christmas?