All of my life I have been very interested in food.
From wondering what was really on my spoon as it dripped into my bowl with a splash, and asking myself if I could feed my dolls with it, as mummy said. My dolls never ate, it dripped down their plastic faces, and I suspected her of lying to me when she said they were alive and ate just what I did.
My sister never ate at all, I’m surprised she didn’t disappear into thin air.
My brother would eat everything, including all my food if I didn’t watch it carefully.
When I was older I fed my youngest brother and sister the same foods I was fed, it still dripped off the spoon into the bowl with a splash and now I lied about their teddies eating it and I made up all sorts of stories to get them to open their mouths.
I loathed school dinners, It is possibly the worst food I have ever eaten in my entire life and I hope never to see it again. Once I was asked to come to the dining hall by a fearsome dinner lady, to see there, my little brother sitting all alone, shoulders stooped, miserably looking at a plate of cold lumpy custard and sour rhubarb. I was expected to make him eat it all up. Whispering like criminals we made a deal, he would eat two spoonful’s and I would ditch the rest for him and take the rap; which I did.
Junk food was next, as a teenager I explored the full gamut of utter rubbish masquerading as food from all the most well advertised multi million junk establishments. ( I still refuse to call them restaurants. ) The only thing I remember liking was the coleslaw which was just a side dish, not the main feature at all, which was greasy deep fried meat, possibly chicken, and definitely not rat, skilfully advertised as the best dish available to all. Please!
Although I had my own wages from my own little jobs, and could buy anything I liked, this rogue eating soon stopped. It really wasn’t worth it, despite the ceaseless blanket bombardment of advertising I wasn’t going to fall for it anymore. I ate so much better at home.
I had already become a good cook by the age of 10. We were all taught to cook as soon as we were big enough to hold a spoon without dropping it. My siblings were and are all exceptional cooks. The youngest famous for her cakes, my brother for his Roasts. We each had our own secret recipes and favourite dishes. We took turns to cook and vied to produce the best dishes ever.
My mother cooked huge meals to feed a large family. Plenty of bright and colourful salads tossed in a huge African bowl which we ate every day as a starter. We ate green stuff of all descriptions, peas sprouts, beans, we always had to eat some, and we did, we loved them, mostly. There was never junk food, processed food or deep fried food on the table. Not only was it all delicious but we learned to eat well too.
Of course we would sneak food to each other under the table, and help ourselves to what was on each others plates without mum obviously noticing. This way we would all end up with clean plates, and we still ate just what we wanted.
Our food preferences were apparent early.
I would eat sprouts, spinach and peas, specially from my younger brother’s plate, he hated peas. My older brother would have the skin of my chicken which I never wanted, I was seriously picky about meat of any kind. He would also take the bones for me and slide his well gnawed ones onto my plate so it looked like I had eaten them. We all helped my sister empty her plate as she ate so little she would never have been able to finish what was piled onto hers. We got good at sleight of hand at the dinner table. We also learned to eat what we didn’t really like and try new things as we couldn’t always get away with it.
However, we all adored baked macaroni which we gorged ourselves on whenever mum cooked it. She stuffed it with healthy chopped vegetables, ham and cheese chunks, and baked it with a cheesy crunchy topping. We all piled in to eat that, there was never a scrap of it left.
Eating what was served was not a problem as what was served was worth eating. We all grew up loving all kinds of food including salads, vegetables and fruit.
When our mother passed away we fought over who would get our mother’s and grandmother’s treasured cook books. My big brother won and got most of those, but we were all allowed to copy out all the recipes we wanted before they disappeared into his kitchen forever.
Adventures in food
All of my life I have been very interested in food.
From wondering what was really on my spoon as it dripped into my bowl with a splash, and asking myself if I could feed my dolls with it, as mummy said. My dolls never ate, it dripped down their plastic faces, and I suspected her of lying to me when she said they were alive and ate just what I did.
My sister never ate at all, I’m surprised she didn’t disappear into thin air.
My brother would eat everything, including all my food if I didn’t watch it carefully.
When I was older I fed my youngest brother and sister the same foods I was fed, it still dripped off the spoon into the bowl with a splash and now I lied about their teddies eating it and I made up all sorts of stories to get them to open their mouths.
I loathed school dinners, It is possibly the worst food I have ever eaten in my entire life and I hope never to see it again. Once I was asked to come to the dining hall by a fearsome dinner lady, to see there, my little brother sitting all alone, shoulders stooped, miserably looking at a plate of cold lumpy custard and sour rhubarb. I was expected to make him eat it all up. Whispering like criminals we made a deal, he would eat two spoonful’s and I would ditch the rest for him and take the rap; which I did.
Junk food was next, as a teenager I explored the full gamut of utter rubbish masquerading as food from all the most well advertised multi million junk establishments. ( I still refuse to call them restaurants. ) The only thing I remember liking was the coleslaw which was just a side dish, not the main feature at all, which was greasy deep fried meat, possibly chicken, and definitely not rat, skilfully advertised as the best dish available to all. Please!
Although I had my own wages from my own little jobs, and could buy anything I liked, this rogue eating soon stopped. It really wasn’t worth it, despite the ceaseless blanket bombardment of advertising I wasn’t going to fall for it anymore. I ate so much better at home.
I had already become a good cook by the age of 10. We were all taught to cook as soon as we were big enough to hold a spoon without dropping it. My siblings were and are all exceptional cooks. The youngest famous for her cakes, my brother for his Roasts. We each had our own secret recipes and favourite dishes. We took turns to cook and vied to produce the best dishes ever.
My mother cooked huge meals to feed a large family. Plenty of bright and colourful salads tossed in a huge African bowl which we ate every day as a starter. We ate green stuff of all descriptions, peas sprouts, beans, we always had to eat some, and we did, we loved them, mostly. There was never junk food, processed food or deep fried food on the table. Not only was it all delicious but we learned to eat well too.
Of course we would sneak food to each other under the table, and help ourselves to what was on each others plates without mum obviously noticing. This way we would all end up with clean plates, and we still ate just what we wanted.
Our food preferences were apparent early.
I would eat sprouts, spinach and peas, specially from my younger brother’s plate, he hated peas. My older brother would have the skin of my chicken which I never wanted, I was seriously picky about meat of any kind. He would also take the bones for me and slide his well gnawed ones onto my plate so it looked like I had eaten them. We all helped my sister empty her plate as she ate so little she would never have been able to finish what was piled onto hers. We got good at sleight of hand at the dinner table. We also learned to eat what we didn’t really like and try new things as we couldn’t always get away with it.
However, we all adored baked macaroni which we gorged ourselves on whenever mum cooked it. She stuffed it with healthy chopped vegetables, ham and cheese chunks, and baked it with a cheesy crunchy topping. We all piled in to eat that, there was never a scrap of it left.
Eating what was served was not a problem as what was served was worth eating. We all grew up loving all kinds of food including salads, vegetables and fruit.
When our mother passed away we fought over who would get our mother’s and grandmother’s treasured cook books. My big brother won and got most of those, but we were all allowed to copy out all the recipes we wanted before they disappeared into his kitchen forever.
How to stop eating cheese 