hot cross buns.

I have been asked to include feelings in this final blog. Feelings about my mother not cooking and about the relationship between mothers and food in general. Now those of you who know me are aware that I am emotionally dead so this is no easy task.
Food memoirs such as Nigel Slater's Toast tell his story and convey his relationships with his family through his memories of food. Television programmes such as The Mary Berry Story do a similar thing, and Mary reminisces about her mother's cooking, even recreating some of her recipes for the show.

I thought I would use these as inspiration in an attempt to convey my own feelings (if I could muster any up) about my mother's lack of cooking.
Although my mother never cooked, I never went without food. Both of my parents worked so I was looked after by my wonderful nan and grandad.

I would have 'home dinners' at school rather than a packed lunch or school dinner (lunch time is for eating, not socialising) at which time my nan would prepare a home cooked meal. Well, home cooked to an extent, pies and such were always pre prepared but she would cook vegetables and potatoes to go with them. This meant that when my mother got home from work she could make me a simple sandwich or my brother could do a little bit of pasta for us, nothing fancy, just a quick tea. Nigel Slater describes a similar situation in Toast. "[Mother] found it all a bit of an ordeal, and wished she could have left the cooking, like the washing, ironing and dusting, to Mrs P., her 'woman what does'" (2). Nan was my mum's Mrs P but she did the cooking too. I never really had any feelings about this, it was just the way it was and I didn't know any different. Slater, seems to sympathise with his mother not enjoying cooking too, describing it as an "ordeal" for her, which it was for my mother too. Only she just opted not to do it. I quite enjoyed my lunchtime trips home. I'd eat a nice lunch, watch Bob Monkhouse host Wipeout, wash my face and clean my teeth (probably the only child in the school who did this) and return to school feeling full and satisfied. I remember being disappointed when I started senior school that I was no longer allowed to go for 'home dinners' and was forced to stay at school with a packed lunch, prepared by my mother and often including mouldy sandwiches. Many times I would be halfway through a roll or sandwich (filled with what seemed like an entire packet of ham) and someone would point out the green fur growing on the other side of the roll that I had not noticed. "Oh well" I'd say, picking it off. My mother had taught me well.

Evenings were made up of the 'every man for himself' rule. By this time my brother was away at university so did not need to be fed. My mother would want her dinner the moment she came in the door from work and my dad would be home fairly late (not that late, about 8 o clock but that was a ludicrous time to eat according to my mother) so we would all prepare our own ready meals and eat by ourselves with the company of the television or the newspaper. On a Saturday evening dad cooked dinner and periodically we would receive a Sunday roast cooked by my mother (but this was a rare occasion as she would become very stressed during the preparation of it). Again, I never really felt anything about this arrangement. I fact, I quite liked being left to my own devices.
Slater's mother seems to feel the same about Sunday lunch: "the scullery is hot enough to melt lead. though to be fair most of the heat is being given off by my mother, who finds Sunday lunch a meal too many. Her hatred of it is pure and unhidden. She starts to twitch about it on Saturday afternoon." (50). Although my mother didn't even give it enough thought to "twitch" about it the day before, her hatred of it was most definitely "pure and unhidden."

The smile is fake. She hated every minute. 

Nikki told me that when her mum didn't cook, both her and her sister cooked instead, turning it into a competition. I had no such desire. Well, that isn't strictly true. I wasn't really allowed. This was for two main reasons. The first, being that I am rather clumsy. If it can be walked into / tripped over / broken, I will walk into / trip over / or break it. Mum doesn't like me being in the kitchen by myself because she thinks I will "burn the house down". (Just to let you know, so far when I have cooked, only minor injuries have occurred and no trips to hospital have been necessary, just a few plasters and bandages). She still doesn't like me cooking. Last week there was a burger in the fridge which I was going to cook. However, mum asked that I didn't do it until she got home, the grill pan is dangerous you know. Whole house could go up in flames! Being the rebellious seed that I am I chose to ignore her and cooked the burger to perfection.
The second reason that she doesn't like people cooking is the clearing up involved. One residing memory of childhood food was when mum was going to be late one evening so my brother and I cooked chicken and pasta. This involved using both the grill AND the hob, something which seemed an insane move to my mother. I remember her returning home and being absolutely livid. "WHY HAVE YOU USED THE GRILL PAN AND A SAUCEPAN? YOU DON'T NEED BOTH!" Yes, how foolish of us to use more than one cooking appliance at a time. We laugh about this now but she hasn't changed.

She does however cook more now she has retired. After watching The Great British Bake Off Easter Masterclass, she was even inspired to make her own hot cross buns. We did the together and at each stage mum would actually show enthusiasm and ask to shape the buns or glaze one row.

Us actually cooking TOGETHER!

However, at each stage she would also rant about the washing up and what a palava it is. When we had finished (they were delicious and smelt amazing by the way) mum said 'I still think it would have been easier to go to M&S and get two packs for £2." Some things never change.

The finished buns.

When I was younger, I would bake with my nan. Usually during the holidays when mum had to go into work and my other nan and grandad were busy, or sometimes if I had an INSET day at school. Mum would drop me off at nan's house and we would spend the day baking fairy cakes. I never rally remember making anything else. Nan also used to make people's birthday cakes. A lot of effort would go into the decoration, a briefcase for my dad, a football pitch for my brother, but sadly, nan made these cakes quite in advance. So they were dry. Very dry. Nice flavour but you needed a drink with it. Nan did however make wonderful madeleines, although not the shell shaped variety. Nan's Madeleine's were almost come shaped cakes which she covered in jam and rolled in coconut. My mum loved them and used to be a bit miffed that she "never made many madeleines and they were the best ones! Loads of the other ones though!" My overriding memories of these baking days were not the madeleines. I instead remember eating inordinate amounts of raw cake mix and having to go next door to ask Marge for some salad cream to go in my tuna for my sandwich. I never did understand how people can eat tuna dry, straight from the can.

Nan with a rather dense looking cake.

So really, I don't feel I missed out at all in childhood by having a mother that didn't cook. I was always well fed. I helped with the shopping. I even had a go at baking. All be it none of this happened with my mum, but we'd do other things together instead. When I was younger we'd always watch Coronation Street in bed together (the only thing I was allowed to stay up for) and my mum would always read a story with me before I went to bed without fail. I do not remember a single night where we didn't read together. As I got older, we would sit at the table together, her doing her work for school and me doing mine. We had mother daughter time, just not in the kitchen. Yes, sometimes it would have been nice to have home cooked meal, but M&S ready meals are pretty good! And you were never waiting around for hours for dinner to be cooked, it was always there, ready whenever you wanted it in three minutes flat (we never bought the oven cook ones - only the microwave. The disappointment on mum's face if she bought an oven only one by mistake was indescribable).
And now, finally, mum is actually starting to cook more. Both my dad and myself are utterly bewildered by it. She has continued to buy herbs, but she actually uses them before they meet the same fate as basil from my earlier blog, AND she uses them in the food rather than to fragrance the kitchen. She has willingly(ish) cooked for people coming round for dinner and we now have a collection of recipe books actually in the kitchen rather than on an unreachable shelf in the study. In Toast, Slater's description of how his mother kept her cookbooks reminded me of my own: "the spineless Aga Cookbook that lived for the rest of the year in the bowl of the mixer" (3). However, our cookbooks weren't spineless, in fact, their spines were perfectly intact.

Mum's new collection of cookbooks

We even cook together now, such as the hot cross buns and my birthday cake. It took twenty one years but I am finally cooking with my mother. The thing is, I sort of prefer cooking by myself and always tend to get a little bit ratty with mum when we cook together. Mum is very pernickety and has to do everything exactly by the book. She has to thoroughly wipe down every surface before we put anything on it (even though its already sparkling clean - those of you who know me are aware that my house is like a show home, people question whether we actually live there it's so clean). She also makes a big fuss about cleaning up afterwards. I prefer to just get on with the cooking. Near enough the amount suggested is fine. I'm happy to wash everything up rather than fill up the dishwasher.
I'm not too worried though. I shouldn't think she'll keep this cooking lark up for long.