May 3rd 2017
Today I went back home for a Mum-cooked meal. As great a cook as Alice is, there’s never going to be any food as nice as my Mum’s. Although every son says that about their mother’s cooking – it’s kind of just a rule – I can say that it’s true about mine.
We had sticky rice (my fave) with this chicken casserole type thing, and… just… yum. I even enjoyed the soup we had for starter, and I hate soup. I don’t see the point in soup. It’s a drink that people have for dinner. That’s madness to me, but Mum’s soup was nice. Minestrone and pancetta and vegetables and there was parmesan and pasta in it which I don’t really get because I don’t eat soup but it was goooood.
I realise now that I kind of took the food for granted when I lived at home, because it just was there every night. And, again, that’s not a dig at Alice’s cooking, because even she walks away saying ‘Your mum is such a good cook’ every time we go to my Mum and Dad’s house after dinner.
Although, in typical Mum fashion, she’d been cooking for about 6 hours before we arrived. She said it seems silly to slave away in the kitchen all afternoon for the food to be gone within half an hour. Not silly, Mum. Very, very good, and totally worth it.
We might not have too many dinners left in that house. Mum and Dad put it up for sale yesterday. That’s kind of weird to me. That was the house that I was brought back to when I was born, and they’ve been in it my entire childhood, adolescence and whatever-this-new-thing-called-adulthood is. It’s weird to think of them not living there any more, and weirder to think of someone else living there. That’s the only family home I’ve ever known.
And that’s exactly what it is, a family home. Us three kids have all moved out now, so they don’t need a house that size. So they’re looking for a countryside cottage for just the two of them.
Hopefully, one with a big enough dining table that I can still come round for dinner.
Until tomorrow, no one makes dinner like Mum.