A tale of Macaroni, a tinned pie, my dad and me.
It is strange that things you remember from your childhood; never seem the same if you revisit them later in life, especially where food is concerned.
When I was growing up, my sister used to put a slapdash dish together consisting of macaroni, baked beans, and tomato soup, all heated up together and sprinkled with grated cheese, I loved it.
When she left to live in America, and on the evenings when my dad was out, I would cook this meal for myself (Macaroni was alien to my father), and I made a valuable discovery.
This dish could last for two days, and (the faint-hearted should look away) I could eat it straight out of the saucepan. Well, it saved on the washing up!
Years later I asked my wife to make the dish, under my instructions. It was tasteless and boring.
As my dad’s skills at cooking were on par with my skills as a fighter pilot, something had to change. Our Saviour came in a certain meat company’s “Steak and Kidney pie “that came in a tin.
By now I had learned to peel and mash potatoes (well one of us had to) and heat tinned peas, and with the tinned pie and Oxo gravy, my dad and I had something approaching a proper Sunday lunch.
Years later I tried the pie again, let us just say, memory plays tricks on you.
Still, the outcome of these culinary experiences means the kitchen holds no fear for me. Cordon bleu I am not. But I will never starve.
Not while there’s some macaroni about.
Some more of my articles.
When I Started to Hate Bullfighting.
Do you think I should be ashamed of what I did?