I grew up in a family that considered sitting at a meal together the most important thing we could do.
When I was 12, we moved to the far end of Cornwall, to a little hamlet ending in coconut scented gorse moorlands. We had a big, square farmhouse table, where we spent hours at a time laughing, chatting, creating, squabbling and eating fine things. That table is still there and still the centre of everything, but my favourite eating corner of the garden has sadly gone the way of all things old….
Our very artistic mother, always ahead of her time, would give us Cordon Bleu suppers, homemade breads, cordials and cakes. She ALWAYS laid out spoons ‘in case she thought of something’ and rather disappointingly, usually hadn’t. But when she did, it was desserts of Cornish clotted cream ice creams or a fragrant gooseberry and walnut tart or sharp blackcurrant and mint tart. Best of all for our Father – ‘chocolate mould’ (with clotted cream of course)…
Then there were the smokiest of smokey potatoes wrapped in foil and cooked on the rocks at our nearest beach or the ‘twists’ cooked over the firewood speared onto hazel sticks…or the special ‘torpedo’ bread fillings….Then there was the Christmas food, some of the recipes carried on from older generations, and the incredibly individual Birthday cakes…
I could go on.
Enough to say, I will continue to travel the world, meet others who love to cook, meet others who love to take photographs, some that just enjoy the food and photography and some that love to do it all.
It’s already happening.