You’ll always find me in the kitchen at parties. That’s because I’m usually trying to sneak away after a short time, helping the host prepare the canapes so I don’t have to (small) talk to people who I haven’t bothered to see since last Christmas.

The thing is that Christmas brings out the worst in me. I’m usually a sociable sort of fellow, but I hate the weight of expectation that comes with holiday celebrations; the forced bonhomie. I suppose I’m just no fan of those end of year parties where the cheap booze flows and the frustrations of the previous 12 months bob to the surface.

These parties are worse at the office, the lonely tangled dangles of shredded red crepe paper do little to hide the sad blandness of the cube-farm layout, in an age when most people agree sow stalls are inhumane. Office Christmas lunches are even worse, the soggy veg and slices of grey meat failing to hide their splintery dryness under a glistening congealed blob of gravy at the $45 pub carvery lunch.

And don’t get me started on family Christmas meals. They could actually be even worse, for a host of reasons. The meal that has taken someone – possibly even me – hours and hours to make that then gets devoured with little mindfulness and far less time. The stress of getting it on the table all at the same time – some time before 4pm for lunch, or 10pm for dinner. Uncle Terry’s casual racism. All that other decades-old bickering that blooms with the mistletoe, tensions rising over everything from who should have got Mum’s ring after she died to who always brings the cheapest wine.

No wonder they say that misery loves company, this sort of company certainly makes me feel miserable. So what’s wrong about dreaming of a right Christmas; a Christmas enjoyed without compromise, without insincerity, without sharing? A Christmas where you can luxuriate in the pleasure of your own company?

The question is, what to eat for this solo Christmas experience? Obviously we must avoid anything that suggests this is a second-tier version of a traditional Christmas. So, nothing bought by the slice or in individual packs. Best to totally avoid the tedious cliches, like cooking a large bird no one eats at any other time of the year because it is usually too dry, or serving a dark steamed pudding of sugar-sodden dried fruit that has all the attractions of a Dickensian glove factory on a frosty morning.

This is about de-stigmatising Christmas for one. This is about creating a new Christmas tradition. So do all those things that you can’t do when there are others around. Cook lunch in the nude (carefully of course!). Eat it in a fort of pillows, or take your plate of dinner for a walk or a drive to somewhere that, given the day, is unusually quiet (you might want to get dressed first). Oh, and eat it whenever you want to eat it as no clocks and no relentless schedule are other benefits of a solo Christmas.

Personally, if I’m spending Christmas alone then I want something that’s quick and tasty. Hence the recipe here for a rather celebratory cheese toastie that will be perfect with that favourite bottle of scotch I gave myself for Christmas this year. Picking something quick also means I can spend a proper amount of time meditating on those I’ve lost and making silent vows to cherish every moment that I can spend with those that I love in the coming 365 days of the year.