Your company has booked a table at the Ristorante Ripioffi for your Christmas party. There is no escape. At 7pm on Friday night, 18 of you will be sitting down to a pre-booked menu of pumpkin soup with truffle oil, roast turkey with all the trimmings, (vegetarian option: pappardelle with salsa pomodoro di Natale) and to follow, tiramisu with whipped cream, ice cream or seasonally adjusted custard. Yes, the custard has got a sprig of holly embedded in that trampoline of skin on its surface. That's one of the reasons why the Ripioffi can charge your company £35 per head for your paltry Christmas feast. This is not your problem. Go with it, and be grateful for the small portions. However, even if you are feeling peckish, do not eat the holly, or urge colleagues to do same, even the ones who annoy you. The berries are deadly poisonous. Do not complain to the chef about this under any circumstances. He's got an inch of Brussels sprout meat under his fingernails and another 328 turkey dinners to get out between now and his flight back to Warsaw on Christmas Eve. He's on the festive edge, lady. The last thing he needs right now is someone in Topshop sequins complaining about his garnishes. So shut it, just shut it, as a despairing waiter keeps shouting at your boss.
As you are draining your fifth glass of Sauvignon rank, someone you vaguely know from marketing presses his sausagey lips against your ear and whispers: 'I want to make love to you.' Tina the receptionist decides to prove to everyone that she's still got it, and does the splits next to the drooping tree, which has shed more needles than a drug amnesty. Sadly, that ripping sound is her adductor brevis, not her glitter tights. Do you want to kill yourself now, or wait until the thimble of amaretto arrives with your individually wrapped mint crisp before committing hara-kiri with the still-frozen grissini?
Yes, the office restaurant Christmas party is a trial for many of us; not least the couple who are trying to have a quiet dinner in the corner while 40 lawyers from Grabbit & Hugefee do the hokey cokey around the room and a junior clerk urinates in the poinsettia display. He does not know it yet, but he has photocopied his buttocks at the expense of Hugefee for the last time. To avoid this and similar grim scenarios, my first bit of advice is to never, ever book a table in a restaurant during the month of December. Without at least checking to see if they have any large parties that night. Don't go if they do, for it won't be worth the effort or expense. Seek out those restaurants which have a civilised policy of taking no bookings larger than six, which is bearable. Eight is pushing it. Anything bigger, and couples or small groups will be bobbing about in the Ripioffi dining room like a dinghy in the wake of a stricken supertanker. Your food will be an environmental disaster, too; an oil spill of bobbing rubbish as the kitchen concentrates on turning 85 slices of perfectly moist turkey into concrete shards of inedible protein in perfect synchronicity. Most restaurants are simply not geared up for the banqueting service demanded by large parties, where dozens of people get fed the same meal at the same time like seals at the zoo.
Still, it is not in the spirit of the season or your favourite food agony aunt to caution against joining in. If you get invited to an office Christmas party - in a restaurant or otherwise - then go, and go with a good heart. Consider the plus points. Number one, you have a job. Number two, you have not been overlooked. You also have colleagues who will put up with you through three courses and beyond, plus a boss who is willing to stand you drinks and dinner. Frankly, this is much to be grateful for. Despite the traditional drawbacks and your personal misgivings, the office party is an occasion to be embraced rather than endured. Although there are rules, like always. Never, ever criticise the quality or quantity of the fare on offer. Especially when you are still at the table. That is really bad form, even if you did break your front tooth on a Ripioffi roast potato. Observe proper cracker-pulling rules, which state that you must happily snap crackers with all who ask, and pretend that the plastic Smurf keyring within is just what you always wanted. Wear your paper hat with pride. The Wearing Of The Hat in public can be the most difficult moment for many, but the best course of action is to be the first to put it on and the first to take it off. Remember this does not apply to any other item of clothing. Have a lovely time, a merry Christmas and under no circumstances drink the punch. OFM
Three restaurants for avoiding office parties
Sake No Hana 23 St James's Street, London SW1 (020 7925 8988)
This new Japanese restaurant will be a minimalist, festive-free zone. Sink down into the luxurious tatami tables - with heated floors to cosset your Christmas stockings - and order apple Martinis, sushi and stacks of ebi fry. Or opt for a bottle of Krug Clos du Mesnil (1996) champagne for £1,227. (Did I mention this place was owned by a Russian billionaire?)
Le Café Anglais 8 Porchester Gdns, London W2 (020 7221 1415)
A mighty restaurant that's big enough to absorb large parties without disturbing the peace of couples or solos who want to nibble their oeufs en gelée in peace. There is also a private party room where groups can gorge on pre-ordered roast goose or similar. Need an appetiser? Turn to page 66 for Rachel Cooke's interview with chef Rowley Leigh.
Harry's Place 17 High St, Great Gonerby, Lincs (01476 561780)
This is not just the smallest restaurant in the country with a Michelin star; it's one of the smallest restaurants full stop. Situated in the front room of the chef's terraced Georgian home, there are three scrubbed oak tables seating a total of 10 guests. No one screams like Noddy on the chorus of 'Merry Christmas Everybody'; there's just no room to misbehave.
· Read Jan Moir's restaurant reviews on areyoureadytoorder.co.uk. A new review is added every Thursday
