Feeding the hoards

Food. The only thing that keeps me sane when it comes to feeding the family is the knowledge that I’m not alone in this battle. You’re with me, aren’t you?

I love vegetables, fruit and things such as hummus, couscous, olives and sun dried tomatoes.

(I also love cake and chocolate but just for now I prefer to take the culinary high road; my love affair with sugar can wait for another day.)

The Man will eat meat, potatoes, rice, pasta etc and claims that a genetic trait prevents him from eating his greens. According to him all Scots have this. Not true – I know at least four who know that lettuce is not just to make the plate look pretty. The Girl is now at the stage where she will at least try new things, although she usually says that she doesn’t like them and would happily default to her favourite of cheese, bread and fruit. The Boy is going through a phase (the mother’s mantra: “it’s only a phase, it won’t last forever; it’s only a phase, it won’t last forever.” Let’s talk in ten years) where he looks at his food and says he doesn’t want it. Bribery will usually get him to eat something, but I wouldn’t like to guarantee it. Or discuss what the bribery actually entails.

In order to maintain my sanity I keep a mental list of meals that we’ll all eat and manage a semblance of an enjoyable family mealtime.

Currently that list is:
1) macaroni cheese

It’s only a phase, it won’t last forever; it’s only a phase, it won’t last forever; it’s only a phase, it won’t last forever; it’s only a phase, it won’t last forever; it’s only a phase, it won’t last forever....

The Fickleness of Youth

The other night I made roast chicken for supper…ok, to be honest, the chicken was supposed to be for lunch but I misjudged the time it would take to cook. Result – a lovely lunch of mashed potatoes, carrots and peas. The chicken finally decided to stop being pink and we carved it a mere 6 hours later than intended. The Girl and The Boy loved it! I have never seen them eat so much meat at one time. Between them they must have polished off around one third of the poor defenceless bird. Wonderful! I thought. We have finally achieved getting the kids to eat a decent amount of protein and images of strong, healthy teenagers emerged in my head. I was so proud of them.
So the next day I made chicken sandwiches for lunch. What could go wrong? Bread and butter is always eaten and they practically demolished the chicken last night. I proudly presented my darlings with lovingly made chicken sandwiches, confident in receiving a dual chorus of “thanks, Mum, this is great!” Foolish, foolish Mummy. The Girl scrunched up her nose and The Boy instantly began picking my symbol of love and affection in to teeny tiny pieces. Every flake of the chicken was removed from the bread and left in discarded piles at the side of the plates.
If you’re looking for me I’ll be huddled in the corner, rocking gently.

Things I have learnt to make

I feel blessed to live next door to a farm and have access to fresh meat, bread and milk that would cost a fortune in the UK. I tell myself this on a daily basis that this makes up for the nearest supermarket being three hours away. There is a local shop which provides the essentials such as sugar and toilet paper, but ready meals are definitely a thing of the past.
My culinary repertoire has been stretched well beyond it’s UK limit and out of necessity now includes moussaka, lemon meringue pie, brownies, pizza (with homemade base and sauce from tomatoes I grew myself - yes I'm smug), yoghurt, cream cheese, butter (although admittedly this was accidental – I whipped the cream when it was too cold and stiff), bread rolls, chutney, marmalade, doughnuts, Danish pastries, ice cream and fudge. Obviously I’m concentrating on making some of the essentials in life!
TV chefs have it easy. I too would be able to look fabulous and be ready to join my guests at my beautifully presented, organic, nutritionally balanced dinner party if I didn’t also have to referee World War Three (courtesy of The Boy), negotiate peace treaties that the UN would be proud of (courtesy of The Girl) and deal with the heat being thirty five degrees in the shade. Sometimes the veneer of sanity wears very thin.