After a long time away from the keyboard I am finally making a comeback. Not just in the blogging sense, I am also making a comeback to the motherland. Oh that great and politically stable (tongue firmly in cheek) nation of mine is calling me. It is time to go back to the UK.
I was shocked and disappointed the other morning when in a haze of sleep I went to apply the wonder that is Marmite to my heavily butter laden crumpet, only to be met with a scarily empty stupid squeezy plastic bottle. Having never made peace with the redesigned Marmite “bottle”, this just compounded the situation. With the old glass jars, you were aware for weeks that you were running out, all that scraping around with a butter knife in the top corners was a firm reminder that you needed to put Marmite on the shopping list. However, with the new design you never know how much you have left and also, crumpets being full of holes don’t like having Marmite squeezed on them as you end up with very uneven Marmite coverage.
Anyway, I don’t want this to become too much of a bitter diatribe against Marmite bottles but it did get me thinking about the foods that we have grown up with and how much they stay with us throughout our lives. Most of my childhood memories are centred around food. I remember standing on a stool in the kitchen with my Nanny and her teaching me to make Jam tarts and I definitely remember showing her how I could fit an entire jam tart in my mouth without breaking it. And yes I do have an abnormally large oral aperture. Memories of my big sister making homemade chips with lots and lots of vinegar. Sneaking handfuls of peanuts from my gym bag in the narrow, rickety corridors of my primary school. Being taught to make the best mashed potatoes in the world by my Granddad. Watching as my Dad tried to make ‘proper’ gravy which involved roasting lots of vegetables and shouting lots of expletives at inanimate objects. And standing by my mother every day after school and watching and helping her cook everything from risotto to curry to stew, the list goes on. She was a thoroughly modern woman, risotto and curry weren’t exactly de rigueur at everyone’s houses in the 80’s.
Anyway, it is time to go home and be with the people who look like me and cook like me, what a pleasure it will be to eat my sisters roast dinner, have my Mum make me grilled tomatoes on toast when I’m feeling tired and vulnerable and have my Dad make me Cornish saffron bread. Oh, the wonders of home.
Tell me your food memories…