sunday roundup

seven core food memories

I am in my prix fixe era. Every fortnight or so, depending on finances, available time, appealing menus, Mercury in retrograde, etc. I take myself out for a solo lunch, usually a set menu - later, this post contains photos of very good things I have eaten recently. Despite how pleasant this sounds, it’s actually extremely educational – I am learning about food culture and behaviour. I am learning how to savour and taste. I am learning about atmosphere and presentation and flow, and how to put things together. I am learning how to cook and I am learning this quite late in life.

Food for enjoyment wasn’t really a thing when I was growing up. I was raised by an Irish mother who cooked like a stereotypical Irish mother of her time – meat, veg and potatoes in various forms. Plus, we were poor and so we ate like poor people; frozen things that could be bought cheaply and stored for a long time; I had free school dinners through most of my school career, and they were not inspiring.

My mother wasn’t a bad cook (her Sunday roasts were pretty great AND we almost always had stuffing and Yorkshire puddings, regardless of the meat, which is a god-tier move, if not a culinarily-accurate one), she just didn’t have the money to be inventive or experimental, and catering to the palate of my step-father was her main focus. My nana showed love through food, but she was the daughter of an Edwardian Scotsman, once married to an Irishman, coming of age during the rationing and aftermath of the Second World War, and living in fear of under-cooking food and accidentally killing someone. So, I didn’t care about food, because why would I? For a really long time, it was just sustenance. It wasn’t something to get excited about. I got excited about chocolate and sweets, I didn’t get excited about food.

Until I did.  

I can root my love of food in seven core memories.  

To begin, fresh pizza.