One of the things that make mummies special is their cooking. They have signature dishes that the whole family loves.
My cooking journey finished in my 20s. Back then I was a vegetarian. Lentils and vegetables were my staples. The only choice was pie or curry. My other culinary skills were making a good boiled egg, decent homemade chips and not so decent chapattis.
My daughter won’t touch curries. She won’t eat salads. I needed to skill up and quickly. Luckily the esoteric knowledge of the kitchen is available on YouTube. Thanks to Jamie Oliver I have managed to produce passable cottage pies, fish pies and plates of spaghetti carbonara.
However, there is the matter of the butternut squash I was given. The hard, large gourd sat on my kitchen surface challenging me, mocking me.
One afternoon I confronted the squash. I narrowly avoided shortening several digits cutting open the squash. I then roasted the squash segments a little too long. Not to be deterred, I continued. I couldn’t find any sage but hey ho press on.
In a moment of divine intervention I was guided to the electric stick thing that turned witches brew into soup. Mine had extra flavour from all the black bits speckled throughout. The video then insisted on sieving. Divine help didn’t strike twice. Surely my daughter wouldn’t mind? She loved mummy’s soups.
After two tentative sips she politely declared she didn’t care for my soup. This daddy still has far to go.
First published in the May edition of The Bewdley Bridge