Feeding Memory

The sight, smell and taste of a particular food can bring back memories of some of life’s most poignant moments. Everyone has a favourite or, in some cases, a most hated dish with which they can recall moments from their childhood. What food conjures up childhood memories for you?

[feeding-memory-blog]

Sacco da pescheria  (Pescheria bagful)

- Jake Tilson

“I had to check with my mother as I never despised an ingredient as a child, but for as long I can remember I have always been scared of fish - so much so that I wrote a book about my attempts at cooking fish for the first time.”

This recipe is from the chapter on Venice in Jake Tilson’s In at the Deep End, Cooking Fish from Venice to Tokyo, Quadrille Publishing Ltd, 2011: 

Six small bags of assorted seafood from the Pescheria means I can try different cooking methods, frying, baking and boiling. The entire meal will be served on an eat-it-when-it’s-cooked basis, the main purpose is exploration. All this work is helped along with slugs of prosecco spento from our local wine shop, one of the dwindling shops that sell loose wine. Heavy, deep shelves are stacked with large demijohns attached to petrol station nozzles, wine is decanted into recycled 1.5 litre aqua minerale bottles. Local restaurants give it the fancier name of prosecco tranquillo. Perfect for a lunchtime drink that won’t require a long siesta to sleep off.

serves 5

mazzancole (prawns)

calamari (squid)

garusoli (murex)

sarde (sardines)

alici (anchovies)

latterini (sand-smelt)

salad

bread

peperoncino

olive oil

lemons

plain white flour, or fine couscous

A bowlful of salad sits on the table with a long loaf of bread. This will keep everyone happy and fill in any gaps whilst I cook. The fish is served in batches straight out of the pan.

The striped mazzancole (prawns) are seriously succulent, sweet and extremely easy to cook as they helpfully change colour from grey to pink when cooked after a few minutes in the pan. I add a touch of peperoncino to the last few for Dad, he adores chilli.

Next comes the squid. I remove the eyes, intestines, one bone - which is like a transparent quill – and the skin, which peels away easily. I’m left with two wings, tentacles and a large pouch-like sack. Squid requires brief cooking otherwise it feels and tastes like rubber. I slice them into strips and fry for 45 seconds in a touch of olive oil, a quick divine appetiser.

The garusoli (murex) when boiled for 20 minutes remind me rather of whelks or snails.

Sarde e alici (sardines and anchovies), being so small, makes them perfect training for gutting and de-boning, all done with small, sharp knives. I bake the larger sardines, splayed like butterflies, on a bed of chopped tomatoes and sliced garlic for about 15–20 minutes.

The smallest fish are so tiny they can be eaten whole, bones and all. We’re out of flour, so I dust the latterini (sand-smelt) and alici (anchovies) with some extra-fine couscous. It made lousy couscous last night but makes an interesting flour substitute today. I fry until crisp, a few minutes each side, and serve instantly. To eat fish bones is thrilling and empowering to someone who has been paranoid about them for decades, definitely part of a ‘graduated exposure therapy’.

[feeding-memory-blog]

Scrambled eggs

- Paul Levy

“As a child I hated, almost feared, runny eggs, especially under-cooked boiled eggs and scrambled eggs. 

In my (relatively) old age, I relish loosely scrambled egg, and the discovery that you can begin melting a knob of butter over gentle to medium heat in a heavy-bottomed frying pan or omelette pan, break the eggs straight into the butter, whisk them with a fork, add seasonings and turn out rapidly onto toast. Or you can cook them slowly and whisked first in a bowl, adding rich milk or cream, in the more orthodox manner. Seasoning: I’m not averse to chopped green coriander, diced onion, a pinch of minced garlic and half a sliced green chilli; or a few pinches of snipped chives, along with the salt and pepper.”

[feeding-memory-blog]

Stuffed zapallito (baby marrow)

- Elisabeth Luard

Worst memory: dried banana - nasty chewy leathery brown thing that tasted a bit winey and stuck in your teeth and couldn't be got out of the gaps. As a war-baby (I was 3 when the war ended, so this must have been pretty early) I was supposed to be grateful. Yuck.

Favourite childhood recipe: This is a memory from when I was about 7 years old and at school in Uruguay, where my stepfather was posted to the embassy in Montevideo and my mother's cook let me help her in the kitchen. My favourite task was scooping out the little round marrows, zapallitos, for stuffing. She also stuffed potatoes and peppers with the same mix and sometimes used mince instead of pinekernels (never both). In England, I had always hated the big, dark-green, tough-skinned watery vegetable-marrow chunks that came in white sauce, but zapallitos (also called calabacines) had creamy yellow flesh and pale green slightly whiskery skins and were small enough to cradle in your hand when you were scooping out the middle with a sharp teaspoon. I think this must be my earliest memory of useful kitchen-activity: I'd been allowed to cut out biscuits before when we lived in London, but that didn't really count.

Serves 4 as a starter, 2 as a main course

4 round baby marrows (about 1kg) 1 lemon, zest and juice 2-3 tablespoons olive oil 2 tablespoons pine-kernels 2 garlic cloves, peeled and chopped 1 tablespoon crumbled marjoram 250g round rice about 500ml vegetable stock or water Salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 350F/180C/Gas4.

Wipe the marrows and cut off a lid from the stalk end (dice the lid to include in the stuffing). Using a sharp teaspoon, scrape out the soft seedy flesh in middle (dice and add to the lid), leaving a shell about 1cm thick, and arrange in a lightly-oiled baking dish into which they just fit. Trickle the insides with lemon juice and sprinkle with a little salt.

Heat 1 tablespoon oil in a frying pan and fry the pinekernels till they take a little colour, then remove and reserve. Add the rest of the oil and reheat the pan. Fry the garlic to soften it a little, then add the finely-diced marrow flesh, marjoram, lemon zest and rice. Stir over the heat for a minute or two till the grains turn transparent. Add enough stock or water to just cover the rice. Bubble up till the grains have absorbed all the liquid (2-3 minutes). Season.

Use the rice mixture to stuff the marrow-shells - each should be only half full as the rice needs room to swell. Add enough stock or water to come half-way up the marrows. Cover with foil and cook in the oven for 1 – 1 1/4 hours.  Don’t let it dry out (add a spash of boiling water when necessary. Test for doneness by biting into a grain: the rice on top will have to be very soft if the middle is to be properly cooked.  Serve at room-temperature.

[feeding-memory-blog]

Wartime food or the lack of it

- Ann Thorp

My chief memory is the rarity of eggs and the thrill when we saw the grocer's van in the school yard on Tuesdays with its promise of a possible weekly boiled egg (but not every Tuesday).

We had no butter at school but pats of margarine for breakfast and tea; one of the weekly boarders had a mother living in the village who gave her a supply of butter of which she had a square cube every meal which we all coveted and tried, in vain, to steal.

One morning, the porridge was worse than usual - pink in colour and very rough in texture. Being a precocious child, I was complaining out loud in class and the next thing I knew was a hefty slap round the face from our nun-teacher. The kitchen sisters probably had a terrible job keeping us all fed due to rationing, but we were just heedless children, totally self-absorbed.

Sweets.....once a week we visited the local sweet shop in the village to spend our sweet coupons on the two ounces allowed. What to choose? Barley sugar or a tiny bar of chocolate. Needless to say, it was all eaten before we returned to school partly from greed but also expediently as other children wouldn't hesitate to inch others' rations. Children's teeth had never been so healthy and never would again.

I was an inpatient in a children's hospital in early 1944 for three months. The food there was superb with lots of rabbit stews. After school (a hospital school as many children were very long-term patients) the cook used to let me into the kitchen to 'help'. She was my saviour in an otherwise miserable time of only one visitor a month, air raids, loss of all my hair and freezing cold weather.

Back to eggs...one day, going back to boarding school, Mum had to go to work so my father had taken time off to take me back. Mum had left the last egg for me to have for breakfast but I so loved her that I left it for her with a note. I expect she cried. Eggs were just so precious then.

Fast forward six years and my mother died, aged 58 and I, at 15, took over the cooking at home as my big sister was married with children. My poor father and brother...I didn't even know that to make macaroni cheese one had to boil the macaroni before putting it into the oven with the cheese sauce. I learnt fast....

[feeding-memory-blog]

Creamy fish pie

- Sybil Kapoor

I was an extremely fussy child. I hated stews, roasts and most cooked vegetables, but most of all I hated plain boiled potatoes. The very idea of eating a mealy piece of potato made me want to wretch. It wasn’t just vile smelling school tatties, it was any boiled potato. I dreaded being forced to eat these monstrosities.

It has taken me many years and much butter and cream to overcome my dislike, but very slowly I developed a taste for potatoes. Little by little I learnt to love them, first sliced and baked in a gratin, then diced and spiced in a cauliflower curry and steamed and tossed in a salad. I even developed a taste for mashed potato. The following recipe comes from my book Simply Veg: A Modern Guide to Everyday Eating (Pavilion).

A well-made fish pie is a sublime creation. It is a dish that should use the very best ingredients you can lay your hands on, from the flavoursome local potatoes to superb butter.

Serves 4

1kg/2lb 3oz floury potatoes, such as King Edwards 285ml/½ pint double cream 285ml/½ pint whole milk 5 black peppercorns 1 bay leaf 3 sprigs parsley 1kg/2lb 3oz undyed smoked haddock fillets 200g/7oz cooked, peeled North Atlantic prawns a handful of finely chopped parsley 70g/2½ oz unsalted butter 200g/7oz button mushrooms, halved 1 tablespoon lemon juice salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 Peel the potatoes and cut into large chunks. Place in a saucepan and cover with cold unsalted water. Bring up to the boil over a medium heat and boil for 20 minutes, or until the potatoes are tender when pierced with a knife. Drain into a colander, cover with a clean tea towel and leave to steam for 5 minutes.

2 Place the cream, milk, peppercorns, bay leaf and parsley sprigs in a wide non-corrosive saucepan. Arrange a single layer of fish fillets, skin-side down, in the milk. Set over a medium-low heat. Once the liquid begins to tremble, poach the fish for about 5 minutes, or until just cooked. Remove the fish to a plate and repeat the process with the remaining fillets.  

3 Simmer the cooking liquid until it has reduced to the consistency of thick double cream and strain into a jug. Meanwhile, skin the fish and remove any bones. Flake the fish and mix into a bowl with the prawns and some of the chopped parsley.

4 Melt 30g/1oz butter in a frying pan over a medium heat. Add the mushrooms and fry for 2 minutes, or until just cooked. Add the lemon juice and tip into the fish.  

5 Pass the potatoes through a mouli or a ricer, or mash as normal. Beat in 120ml/4fl oz strained cream along with the remaining butter. Season to taste. Add the remaining cream to the flaked fish and season to taste. Tip into a 22 x 22cm/8½ x 8½ in (5cm/2in deep) gratin dish. Cover with an even layer of mashed potato, fluffing it up with a fork. It can be chilled at this point.

6 Preheat the oven to fan 190°C/gas 6. Bake for 50 minutes from cold or 30 minutes from warm. Garnish with the remaining chopped parsley.

[feeding-memory-blog]

Shortbread

- Jane

“My mother was an excellent baker and one of her specialities was shortbread which had a wonderful sensation of crunch and crumble when eaten. I remember helping my mother cut and remove the shortbread from the baking tin and sprinkling the rectangular shapes with castor sugar before serving. Shortbread was usually made for high tea on Sunday and when visitors came, but there were often some left over which were rapidly consumed by us siblings after school.”

[feeding-memory-blog]

Marmite

-  Christina Wood

“When I was around 6 years old I was brushing my teeth one day and was delighted to find my first wobbly tooth. The prospect of the tooth fairy coming to visit me was incredibly exciting so I ran downstairs to tell my Mum who was making my sister’s packed lunch at the time. She asked me to open wide and popped her fingers in to have a wobble of the tooth. I fell back, retching, horrified at the disgusting taste of Marmite that met my mouth. It was my first and only encounter with marmite. I am a firm hater and will never turn to the dark side.”

[feeding-memory-blog]

Bread and Milk for One

© Clare Ferguson 2016

My most hated childhood dish was tripe, simmered with onions then served in a pallid sauce: only this do I recall with disgust. My parents adored this dish, but had the sense not to force it on their daughters.

Few other foods repelled me in our carefree New Zealand childhood. Mostly meals were a joy. Both parents gardened and cooked with excellence, though my geologist father’s repertoire was more limited. He did a superb Sunday lunch: an amiable agnostic he chose not to accompany his wife and three girls to church but made a roast for us to return to – another type of devotion.

My mother, one of seven siblings, grew up on a struggling Methven farm in Canterbury. Though times were tough, the stream, orchard, vegetable garden, herb patch, chicken run and local shooting on the property meant that the food was splendid, seasonal, varied and often glamorous. There were tennis parties and afternoon teas; celebratory birthdays, Easters and Christmases. Politicians, schoolmarms and uncles arrived by pony and trap for meals. Tables groaned.

Sheep shearing, harvest festivals and prizegivings gave reasons for revelry. The necessary preserving, cake making, drying salting and pickling of excess produce meant food treats all round. A cow gave milk, cream and cheese: plums and mushrooms grew wild.

Our Dunedin breakfasts could include brain fritters with plum sauce; kidneys or sweetbreads on toast; liver and bacon; oyster or whitebait fritters. Sometimes we had trout, asparagus or sole in parsley sauce. These after a course of porridge or stewed fruit. No wonder I felt nurtured. No wonder I became a food writer.

One dish my mother loathed but my father loved (memories of harder times) was very simple. He made it for himself alone. Here it is.

Bread and Milk for One

Take about half a bowlful of left over, stale white Vienna loaf. Cut it into half inch (1cm) cubes. Chop a handful of fresh parsley from the garden and scatter it over, adding a sprinkling of sugar or pepper and salt. Pour on hot milk. Eat as the bread turns into a mush.

[feeding-memory-blog]

Banana Sandwiches

- Pamela Scott

“Such was the excitement when bananas became available and affordable that my sister and I invariably had banana sandwiches when we returned from school in the early 1950s.  

Apparently my parents had shared a boiled egg as a meal during the war.”

[feeding-memory-blog]

Spaghetti Cheese

- Sarah

“My mother was a very good cook and I loved most of the food we had as children. The exception was spaghetti cheese which she made at lunchtime on Saturdays. This dish consisted of spaghetti mixed with tinned plum tomatoes and grated cheese. It looked, smelled and tasted horrible. However, all was forgiven on Saturday evenings when we would have cheese on toast with watercress, watching Dixon of Dock Green in front of the fire.”

[feeding-memory-blog]

Pasta Soufflé

- Jacob Kenedy

I had a completely irrational phobia of raw cheese as a child, I think somehow fetishising the fermented nature of cheese (I considered it rotten milk] to the extent it seemed repulsive and vile to me. I equally hated buttons. Of course, as with all irrational fears, I interpreted it to allow myself the things I liked - fresh cheeses (mozzarella & ricotta) were delicious to me, as was any cheese, cooked, except blue which was inherently disgusting. My parents once chased me round the house with a block of Parmesan, before realising that my ‘phobia’, which had started as a childish contrivance, was becoming real to me. Therefore, in later life, and in the Jewish tradition, we all feel guilty - me for contriving so ridiculous a ‘fear’ probably just to seek attention, and they for teasing me for it.

The recipe that follows, for pasta (and Parmesan) soufflé, was one of my childhood favourites. My gran, Ginny, would always make it for me as a treat (and I make it sometimes in loving memory of her). It was a transformational dish - I would look on in horror as she grated repugnant raw Parmesan for the dish (though I could just about bring myself to stir the cheese into the mix with her, so long as I didn’t actually touch it) - but once mixed in to the béchamel could already bring myself to taste the mix, and once baked would swoon with delight at the taste and smell of bubbling cheese.

Serves 4

50g of butter, plus about 25g to butter the dishes 150g finely grated Parmesan 80g capelli d’angelo or Tagliolini, vermicellini 3 tablespoons plain flour A little nutmeg / a bay leaf if you like 200ml milk 4 eggs, separated 

This recipe comes from my grandmother who remembers the dish from Rome in the 1950s. we have had some interesting times cooking it together, since the original recipe went missing a few years ago. Here at last is a new working version, to avoid the dramas of impossibly thick béchamel and collapsed dreams.

You will need four 400ml soufflé ramekins, or one larger one. Butter the dishes generously. Add a handful of Parmesan to one and coat the sides by turning the ramekin in a rolling motion. Tip the remaining cheese into the next, and continue until you return the excess to your heap of grated cheese.

Crush the nests of pasta into boiling, salted water and cook for half the stated time – it should be very al dente. Drain and cool under cold running water.

Melt the 50g butter over a medium heat, then add the flour, quite a few grates of nutmeg, the bay leaf and plenty of pepper. Fry for a minute, then gradually the milk, beating ferociously with a wooden spoon. Patience with the milk will yield a smooth sauce. Season well with salt.

Combine the pasta with the béchamel, egg yolks and remaining cheese in a large bowl. Beat the egg whites with a small pinch of salt until stiff, but not dry/ mix a third of the whites into the pasta mixture to slacken it a little, then very gently fold in the rest with a metal spoon. Divide between the ramekins (it should come about 1cm below the rim) and bake in a preheated oven (200c fan oven, 220c conventional) for 20 minutes or until risen browned and firm. Serve immediately.

A single, larger soufflé will need up to twice as long at a slightly cooler temperature.

This recipe comes from the Geometry of Pasta Cookbook (Boxtree, 2010). Jacob Kenedy is a chef and restauranteur who created and works as chef/patron at Bocca di Lupo, Gelupo and VICO.

[feeding-memory-blog]

Asparagus with crème fraiche and parmesan

- Skye Gyngell

As a child, I hated asparagus.  As an adult, during its short season I like to eat English asparagus whenever I can. This recipe is rich, creamy and light as air – it’s a really nice and simple way to serve asparagus.

Use a mixture of white and green asparagus if possible – the contrasting colours and subtly different flavours are lovely together. Borage is not so easy to find in the shops but if, like me, you grow the herb in your garden, scatter a few flowers over the top just before serving.

Serves 4

About 20 – 30 asparagus spears

1 ½ tbsp. mild-tasting extra virgin olive oil

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

For the sauce

2 organic free-range eggs

150ml crème fraiche

50g parmesan, freshly grated

A scattering of borage flowers (or chervil or chives) to finish.

Start with the sauce. Bring a large pot of water to the boil and add a generous pinch of salt. Break the eggs into a bowl that fits snugly on top of the pan of boiling water, making sure the base is not in contact with the boiling water, and whisk the eggs until smooth. Add the crème fraiche and whisk continuously until the sauce has slightly thickened; it will become thinner at first, then thicken and almost double in volume.

Remove the bowl from the pan. Add the grated Parmesan and season with salt and pepper to taste. Stir well to combine and set aside while you cook the asparagus.

Break off and discard the woody ends from the base of the asparagus stalks. Drop the asparagus spears into the pan of boiling water and cook for about 1 minute or until the asparagus is just tender to the bite. Using tongs, remove the asparagus from the water and drain well, then dress with the olive oil and arrange on warm plates.

Set the bowl of sauce back over the pan and heat for a minute to ensure it is warm, and then spoon generously over the asparagus. Finish with the borage flowers, if you have them, or chervil or chives.

[feeding-memory-blog]

Flapjacks

-  Elizabeth De Rechter

“The smell of golden syrup being gently warmed to make flapjacks is a strong childhood memory. Made by our mum, these crunchy, melting, sweet and salty biscuits regularly appeared in our biscuit tin at home, along with lots of other biscuits and cakes. But somehow, flapjacks were always the most comforting. When I had my daughter, mum brought me a box of flapjacks in hospital. I still make them today, using a recipe from her Good Housekeeping book dating from the 1950s. Flapjacks have now become a favourite of my daughter.”

[feeding-memory-blog]

Bananas & custard

- Ollie Dabbous

“My worst memory of food as a child was bananas and custard at school dinner. Thick, congealed, sickly sweet custard topped with brown oxidized banana. This is a recipe for what I hope people agree is a tastier alternative. Though seen as food for kids or invalids, this is a great dish, especially when homemade with good ingredients and a little TLC.”

Bananas & custard

500g   Milk 125g   Whipping cream 1/2      Tahitian vanilla pod, split & scraped 85g     Sugar 150g   Egg yolks (approx. 8) 4         Bananas, medium sized, ripe

Bring the milk and cream to the boil, remove from the heat, add the vanilla, film over and infuse for 30 mins.

Whisk together the egg yolks and sugar.

Pour 1/2 the hot milk onto the yolks, then pour this back into the pan of milk.

Cook on a low heat, stirring constantly with a spatula until lightly thickened. If you have a temperature probe, this will be 80C.

Pass through a fine sieve.

Peel the bananas and slice 1cm thick.

Place 60g sliced banana in each bowl, then top with 90g custard.

[feeding-memory-blog]

Pink Potato

- Tuz Morrison

“My mother divorced my father when I was 3 years old and life in the early 1950s was hard for a single working parent without an extended family for support. Mum was paid weekly and inevitably the money ran out before Friday so cupboard basics were used to provide a simple though filling supper, neither requiring much in the way of preparation. The first was 'pink potato'- ordinary mashed potato with tomato sauce - and the other, sugar sandwiches. Just that. White bread, butter (or more probably Stork margarine) sprinkled with granulated sugar. The latter could be varied by cutting up the sandwich and adding hot milk so it could be eaten with a spoon. Many other families would have had the same type of meal in this period.”

[feeding-memory-blog]

Inspired by our exhibition Feeding the 400 we’re collecting memories and stories of the foods that remind you of childhood. The sight, smell and taste of a particular food can bring back memories of some of life’s most poignant moments. Everyone has a favourite or, in some cases, a most hated dish with which they can recall moments from their childhood. What food conjures up childhood memories for you? 

This new blog will feature pictures, recipes and stories about the foods that played important roles in our lives when we were growing up. With recipes from leading chefs and food writers to members of the public, we’re creating a community archive of childhood food memories.

Email us a memory, recipe and a photo if you have one, and we’ll feature your story in this blog. We look forward to hearing from you!