Experience: I’ve been eating the same batch of mince pies for 20 years
Every year on 1 December, I’ll open the freezer and know that Christmas has finally come. Hidden away in a large Tupperware box are mince pies that were handmade by my mother.
For the past 20 years, I have been slowly making my way through them by eating one on 1 December every year. With their rough, thick pastry cases and delicious handmade whisky-soaked mincemeat, each pie fills me with joy and nostalgia, as I reminisce about past Christmases with my mum.
In 2003, my mum passed away just days after my dad. It was just before Christmas: we’d been planning his funeral and she had a heart attack. They were buried together on 23 December. The family was devastated. I could never have predicted that I’d be an orphan by 32.
My mum’s house at the time was like Santa’s grotto. The day before her death, she was up all night wrapping presents and writing cards for us all. I’d stayed with her in the days after my dad’s death, but she told me to go home as she was putting on a brave face and wanted to cry without me there. Sometimes I wonder whether she had a feeling something might happen to her and wanted to make sure everything was ready, just in case.
I still have two unwrapped presents from her from that year. I think it’s a pen and a calendar, as she used to get me that every year. I haven’t opened them as I love thinking about the effort she must have put into wrapping them.
I found the Tupperware of mince pies in her freezer when we were clearing the house in the new year. My mum was famous for making them, and everyone she knew got a box: the butcher, the postman, the hairdresser and all of her neighbours. We moved from Banbury to Yorkshire when I was 10, but wherever we were, each person got a dozen. Sometimes she’d bake hundreds. She also used to make ornaments for people to show her appreciation for them. She was very well loved.
The fact that the pies have lasted this long feels like my mum’s own bit of festive magic
My sister, sons and I heated up a couple of pies to enjoy that year. I left them out to defrost and popped them in the oven. I put the rest in the freezer, wondering if they might keep until the following year. They did. There is something so comforting about having a taste of her homemade cooking after all these years.
I cannot bake. I tried doing it with my mum a couple of times, but the skill definitely wasn’t passed down to me. Mum was from a generation that would make everything, from bread to gifts. For years I said that I’d get her to teach me to do these things too, but I didn’t realise we would have such a short time left together.
Twenty-one years on, I admit they don’t quite taste like they used to. The pastry is still delicious but the mince is showing its age. My family won’t touch them now. They don’t feel brave enough to eat them, but it hasn’t done me any damage so far. My mum would laugh at me if she found out I was still eating them. “Don’t be so stupid!” she’d say. But she never used to throw food away herself. She’d have jars in her cupboard that were 20 years old and would never admit they were out of date.
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Eating these mince pies each year transports me back to my youth. I remember the big white bowl that my mum always used to use when making the mincemeat. When I first spoke about my tradition on social media, I never expected it would get so much interest. I received thousands of likes and comments from people all over the world talking about how lovely it was. It did spark a lot of debate about how long we should keep frozen food – but not much can make me part with my mum’s mince pies.
The fact that the pies have lasted this long feels like my mum’s own bit of festive magic. The joy and the laughter that her frozen mince pies have brought me and my family all these years is something I want to last for ever. There are 22 pies left now and it’s a strange thought to know that one day they’ll be finished. But for as long as I’ve got them, you can count on me defrosting one come 1 December. Here’s to the next two decades.
• As told to Elizabeth McCafferty
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