|[ The Onion IS The
Most days Mum would make meat
and three veggies for the family meal. Occasionally there'd be 'curried'
(I use that word loosely) mince on toast, gorgeous roasts or a chicken
soup that I still crave. This was the basic repertoire with which my mouth
had become accustomed to over the course of my early life. Slightly later
on it would purse itself in anguished surprise when it encountered something
different (I.e. something that had a bit of flavour) but my brain learnt
quickly to perk up and tell my recalcitrant moosh to "just shut the heck
up" (or words to that effect). Because I always understood (intellectually
at least) that, by jimminy, this food in front of me was 'the goods' -
it would be something that I'd remember for the rest of my life.
Prior to working out that flavour
was good, I spent my time on a weird food battle with Mum. If I wasn't
whiningly complaining ("not chops again!", or "not mashed potatoes again!"
or "not beans again!") then I'd be sitting alone in front of the TV picking
out the small pieces of onion from the 'curried' mince (the ONLY real flavour
in the damned stuff, by the way) and chucking them about the room. Mum
would later find these bits of cooked vegetable whilst cleaning - they'd
be stuck to the wall or jammed miraculously into some ridiculous nook or
cranny where it was very hard indeed to extricate. This only happened twice
but it was, obviously, two times too many and I stopped immediately after
my long suffering mother gave me a withering look of hurt incredulity after
picking up more bits of sticky brown stuff that would seem to be humanly
available in a single meal.
Now I massively overcompensate
for this past sin against my dear Mum. Just about every savoury meal that
I make has lots of onions in it - too many, some would say. And I tend
to enjoy meals slightly less than I should if they don't have a member
of this tasty family incorporated into them somehow.
My life is overwhelmingly full
of earthy smells and tasty delights. Thanks Mum!