Today canary wharf felt like home. Well if you had your eyes closed it might. Why, because it was quite breezy. People here were complaining about how windy it was and I thought to myself, you don’t know the meaning of the word windy.
I’m working late all this week as my colleague is off, in reality it means that I work an extra half an hour a day. Not too bad really. It does mean that there is a bit of a rush to get away on time and catch the 1845 from Canada Water. Tonight two trains went by from Canary Wharf before I could actually get on, and then it was very very cramped. I don’t mind pushing my way in if it is only for one stop. I did mind the chappie who pushed on after me though, as there was hardly any room for me let alone another person.
One of my favourites for tea tonight. Mmmm, bangers and mash. Nice and easy and very yummy. It got me thinking about my favourite foods.. I think the earliest would have to be lamb stew with barley and dumplings. I’ve never been able to get mine to taste the same as I remember Mum’s. Another dish Mum used to make was onion pudding. OK it does sound a bit odd, but the ‘pudding’ was actually a savoury dish, a mixture like a scone dough was rolled up in a cloth and then was boiled to cook it. Oh how I do miss the lovely doughy oniony taste of that pudding. Yes I have tried to make my own, but it usually resulted in a soggy gooey mess.
I’m on a roll now. Bread pudding was, I think, a wartime dish to use up stale bread. It had to be stale bread, which was soaked in water and then squeezed out as much as possible. To the moist mix was added spices, and dried fruit, and suet and brown sugar. Mum used to make a huge roasting tin of my favourite. Again, I have tried to make it but never got it right. When The Man and I came to Britian for the first time many many years ago my Dad’s sister made me one. I was in heaven.
Next, my most favourite breakfast was bread and milk. The milk had to be boiled though to give it just the right taste. Poured over bread cut into little cubes and while hot sprinkled with sugar. That was an important part because as it cooled enough for me to eat, it would allow the sugar to soak up the milk turning it into a crunchy sweet crust.
I was sick a lot as a child and my most favourite food then was Mum’s blackcurrant jam on fresh buttered bread. You just can’t get any better than that. That blackcurrant jam was, for me, the smell of love. Made from the shiny purple bitter berries that Granddad grew in the back garden. Bowlfuls of them would be topped and tailed by the grown ups, with me helping of course, sitting in the sun on the back porch. Staining our fingers darkly purple with their tart juices. Then like an alchemist Mum would turn them into the yummiest scrummiest tasting jam. The smell of a freshly opened jar brings back such memories as this. Now the absolute second best thing to do with that beautiful rich royal purple jam was to add a spoonful or two to my most favourite pudding, semolina and turn the plain white milky pudding into a lilac one. Pure heaven.
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