I think it is fair to say that TH and I like our food. The last few years as we have reached and exceeded middle age our weight and girth has 'exceeded' too. We both try to keep it under control with exercise, sensible eating, etc but all it seems to do is slow down the inevitable. We both like to eat!
Food during this lockdown has taken on a greater significance. I do like cooking and, unlike all other household duties, I don't find it a chore. I have never really found it a problem to decide what to cook then put it on a plate and serve it. I have often been slightly confused when I hear friends saying that they are fed up with thinking about what to cook and that they are running out of ideas, but to be fair, I don't have kids and neither TH nor I are picky eaters. I can't be doing with picky eaters. My mum did not 'do' picky eaters either. The deal in our house while I was growing up was, 'I cook it, you eat it'. There was no room for negotiation. I could see why. My mum did not really like cooking. She worked all day and it was always a rush to get home and get dad and I fed.
And my mum was not a good cook. Once she retired and had more time to prepare things she got much better, but as a child I do not have many good memories of mum's cooking. I can remember dad saying things like, 'your mum's tried a new recipe, you WILL like it' but even her pancake flat jam roly-poly tested my dad's intense loyalty to my mum's culinary efforts. Dad loved my mum's cooking. He loved her steamed meat puddings, stews, liver and onions - all of which made my stomach heave. I could tell we had liver for dinner the minute I reached the garden gate when I came home from school. That iron filings smell leached through the front door. I still can't eat any kind of offal.
Dad was a good cook. Generally, he was an extremely impatient man (unfortunately so am I) but there were a few things he would demonstrate the greatest patience and cooking was one of them. He would spend ages preparing a meal, chopping things up to the right size - the way mum and I peeled potatoes would make him wince - stirring things and he would put a lot of effort in arranging things on a plate. My dad's salads were works of art. In later years, after my mum died and TH and I had returned to the UK, my dad would come over for Sunday lunch. He would sit on the small bench by the kitchen work surface and watch me cook. Ollie would jump up beside him and be fussed. Both were perfectly happy, :-).
I tend to think of my parents a lot when I am cooking. I kept a lot of dad's cooking pots and pans so there is an instant memory every time I steam the veg. During this lockdown I have made a lot of pies for the freezer. TH does not cook. His repertoire consists of:
. Beans on toast
. Marmite on toast
. Beans on marmite on toast
. Omelette - he does a really good omelette, :-)
So the thought of me succumbing to Covid-19, in lockdown, surviving on beans is not an attractive proposition so I have cooked a lot of things that, once defrosted, can be warmed up in the oven. Hence a lot of pies. I learned to make pastry by watching my mum. One of the many things my much hated about cooking was the mess. For a woman who was intrinsically very neat and tidy, she was a horrendously messy cook. Conversely, given how untidy she always thought I was, I am a very clean and tidy cook. She could never understand that, lol. When mum made pastry, often the kitchen would need redecorating. I remember standing next to mum in the kitchen as she weighed out the flour and lard. Eight ounces of flour, four ounces of lard or twelve ounces of flour, six ounces of lard, depending on the size of the dish. Not too much water (I still get this wrong) and flour for rolling out. Don't handle the dough too much or it makes it hard. I loved my mum's apple pies. I make them in exactly the same way; heavy on the apple. I often put eight to ten apples in a pie or crumble. My mum reckoned the secret was to stew the apples first. My gran, her mother-in-law, sliced the apples into the pie raw and them put it in the oven. It was never as good as mum's.
During this lockdown, I find myself giving a lot more thought about what to put on the table. I have started going to our local butcher for meat as there is less choice in the supermarket and quite honestly, I feel safer. It is more expensive, but the quality is excellent. On Thursday I bought some pork chops. Neither TH nor I are big fans of pork however living in Denmark, where pork is practically a national obsession, I have come round to thinking that if we could get some good pieces it is worth giving a go. I have found a simple recipe with apples that looks good so I will be thrying that next week.
Food during this lockdown has taken on a greater significance. I do like cooking and, unlike all other household duties, I don't find it a chore. I have never really found it a problem to decide what to cook then put it on a plate and serve it. I have often been slightly confused when I hear friends saying that they are fed up with thinking about what to cook and that they are running out of ideas, but to be fair, I don't have kids and neither TH nor I are picky eaters. I can't be doing with picky eaters. My mum did not 'do' picky eaters either. The deal in our house while I was growing up was, 'I cook it, you eat it'. There was no room for negotiation. I could see why. My mum did not really like cooking. She worked all day and it was always a rush to get home and get dad and I fed.
And my mum was not a good cook. Once she retired and had more time to prepare things she got much better, but as a child I do not have many good memories of mum's cooking. I can remember dad saying things like, 'your mum's tried a new recipe, you WILL like it' but even her pancake flat jam roly-poly tested my dad's intense loyalty to my mum's culinary efforts. Dad loved my mum's cooking. He loved her steamed meat puddings, stews, liver and onions - all of which made my stomach heave. I could tell we had liver for dinner the minute I reached the garden gate when I came home from school. That iron filings smell leached through the front door. I still can't eat any kind of offal.
Dad was a good cook. Generally, he was an extremely impatient man (unfortunately so am I) but there were a few things he would demonstrate the greatest patience and cooking was one of them. He would spend ages preparing a meal, chopping things up to the right size - the way mum and I peeled potatoes would make him wince - stirring things and he would put a lot of effort in arranging things on a plate. My dad's salads were works of art. In later years, after my mum died and TH and I had returned to the UK, my dad would come over for Sunday lunch. He would sit on the small bench by the kitchen work surface and watch me cook. Ollie would jump up beside him and be fussed. Both were perfectly happy, :-).
I tend to think of my parents a lot when I am cooking. I kept a lot of dad's cooking pots and pans so there is an instant memory every time I steam the veg. During this lockdown I have made a lot of pies for the freezer. TH does not cook. His repertoire consists of:
. Beans on toast
. Marmite on toast
. Beans on marmite on toast
. Omelette - he does a really good omelette, :-)
So the thought of me succumbing to Covid-19, in lockdown, surviving on beans is not an attractive proposition so I have cooked a lot of things that, once defrosted, can be warmed up in the oven. Hence a lot of pies. I learned to make pastry by watching my mum. One of the many things my much hated about cooking was the mess. For a woman who was intrinsically very neat and tidy, she was a horrendously messy cook. Conversely, given how untidy she always thought I was, I am a very clean and tidy cook. She could never understand that, lol. When mum made pastry, often the kitchen would need redecorating. I remember standing next to mum in the kitchen as she weighed out the flour and lard. Eight ounces of flour, four ounces of lard or twelve ounces of flour, six ounces of lard, depending on the size of the dish. Not too much water (I still get this wrong) and flour for rolling out. Don't handle the dough too much or it makes it hard. I loved my mum's apple pies. I make them in exactly the same way; heavy on the apple. I often put eight to ten apples in a pie or crumble. My mum reckoned the secret was to stew the apples first. My gran, her mother-in-law, sliced the apples into the pie raw and them put it in the oven. It was never as good as mum's.
During this lockdown, I find myself giving a lot more thought about what to put on the table. I have started going to our local butcher for meat as there is less choice in the supermarket and quite honestly, I feel safer. It is more expensive, but the quality is excellent. On Thursday I bought some pork chops. Neither TH nor I are big fans of pork however living in Denmark, where pork is practically a national obsession, I have come round to thinking that if we could get some good pieces it is worth giving a go. I have found a simple recipe with apples that looks good so I will be thrying that next week.
We will be having roast chicken today and while I love a cold chicken salad, I have been looking at ways of making the left over chicken a bit more interesting so tomorrow's leftover chicken dish will include a cheat's satay sauce. I don't think either of these dishes will get me a Michelin star but they will make a change, :-)
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