<![CDATA[The Big Bite: Big Thoughts]]>https://thebigmansworld.substack.com/s/big-thoughtshttps://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!TbKT!,w_256,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F1231945d-3f41-4fec-94d5-a53c548e97dd_256x256.pngThe Big Bite: Big Thoughtshttps://thebigmansworld.substack.com/s/big-thoughtsSubstackMon, 10 Aug 2026 08:48:32 GMT<![CDATA[In Defence of Christmas Lasagna]]>https://thebigmansworld.substack.com/p/in-defence-of-christmas-lasagnahttps://thebigmansworld.substack.com/p/in-defence-of-christmas-lasagnaSat, 27 Dec 2025 12:45:30 GMTGrowing up in a mixed-ethnic family meant that Christmas never quite looked like the one I saw on TV. There were no strict rules, not many traditions established for the 25th of December, and certainly no expectation that lunch would involve a perfectly bronzed turkey carved at the table.

In fact, it wasn’t until a little later in life that I truly developed a love for a traditional Christmas baked lunch.

It might sound a little crazy, but in the Liew family house, Christmas Eve was always celebrated with lasagna. We don’t really remember when it started. No old photos mark its origin, no story about a Nonna, no borrowed recipe. What we do know is that it stuck. Somehow, without any Italian roots to speak of, lasagna became the thing. It brought us all home. It signalled that Christmas had officially begun. And to this day, it remains one of our most valued traditions, in large part because my mum makes a cracking lasagna.

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