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Watching a cookery program a few days ago and they were cooking corned beef, in an instant, I was transported back to the mid 1970s, and being a young kid and the smell and taste of my Mums corned beef with mashed potatoes and butter beans.
I could literally taste that freshly cooked, hot corned beef and the creamy (made with butter and cream) mashed potatoes, and it brought back such strong memories of saturday night roast, and the way the house smelt and my Mum cooking in the kitchen, and the quick sure way that she knew just when everything was cooked to perfection, and the little touches to the food that made it so much more than just your bog standard roast.
The saturday ritual of cooking the roast, or the corned beef, would start around 4pm, when Mum would go into the kitchen, and start peeling the spuds or the other vegies she wanted, the oven or pot would go on, Mum would look at the meat and estimate, usually within 10 mins, how long it would need to cook, the fat would be put to melt in the baking dish on the stove top, the smell of that would go through the house and your mouth would water.
The meat would go into the oven, and Mum would ask the usual questions, what vegies did we want, my answer as always, butter beans, cauliflower, carrots and peas please, roast taties, and pumpkin, but never ever turnips or swede, or heaven help, brussel sprouts.
Gravy or Mint sauce, 'both please', then it was time to set the table while Mum made her homemade gravy and mint sauce, looking at the clock, seeing the hands tick over to almost 6.30.. tea time, and the house smelling divinely.
Knock on the door, the paper boy with the SEM (Saturday evening Mercury), a ritual, like the horse racing results on the news, almost to the minute of Mum shouting 'teas ready' the three of us sitting down to eat, hoping and praying that we'd be finished before dad got home, so we didn't have to watch him slather his food with tomato sauce, or ask 'does it need salt'
After tea, same thing, another ritual, washing up, put dads tea in the oven on a plate, wipe down the benches and the table, sink, dry up, put away, lingering smells of whatever yummy thing Mum had cooked, with any luck, there would be leftovers, lamb, dead set certainty for shepherds pie for sunday night dinner, beef or pork, soup and sandwiches for sunday tea.
Maybe doubly lucky, possibly an apple pie or some icecream, then Mum would sit down and watch the Don Lane show, another saturday night ritual, never missed Don and Bert, or the wheel, when Don finished, it was bed time, or if we were lucky, we could watch the movie, but usually bed.
I remember all of that, and I miss the rituals, those things that brought us all close together, nowdays i'm lucky if i can get my two to eat tea with me, and it's hardly ever at the kitchen table, always sitting in the lounge with the TV on. A lot of the time one or other will eat in their bedroom, and they're always busy doing stuff.
Rituals are important for a family, we used to play games, haven't done that for a long while, i miss the rituals, the givens, i guess this means i'm getting old, and I miss my Mum, my connection to the rituals, to a place that no longer exists, to a time thats long gone, with people loved and lost, just living in my memories.
I could literally taste that freshly cooked, hot corned beef and the creamy (made with butter and cream) mashed potatoes, and it brought back such strong memories of saturday night roast, and the way the house smelt and my Mum cooking in the kitchen, and the quick sure way that she knew just when everything was cooked to perfection, and the little touches to the food that made it so much more than just your bog standard roast.
The saturday ritual of cooking the roast, or the corned beef, would start around 4pm, when Mum would go into the kitchen, and start peeling the spuds or the other vegies she wanted, the oven or pot would go on, Mum would look at the meat and estimate, usually within 10 mins, how long it would need to cook, the fat would be put to melt in the baking dish on the stove top, the smell of that would go through the house and your mouth would water.
The meat would go into the oven, and Mum would ask the usual questions, what vegies did we want, my answer as always, butter beans, cauliflower, carrots and peas please, roast taties, and pumpkin, but never ever turnips or swede, or heaven help, brussel sprouts.
Gravy or Mint sauce, 'both please', then it was time to set the table while Mum made her homemade gravy and mint sauce, looking at the clock, seeing the hands tick over to almost 6.30.. tea time, and the house smelling divinely.
Knock on the door, the paper boy with the SEM (Saturday evening Mercury), a ritual, like the horse racing results on the news, almost to the minute of Mum shouting 'teas ready' the three of us sitting down to eat, hoping and praying that we'd be finished before dad got home, so we didn't have to watch him slather his food with tomato sauce, or ask 'does it need salt'
After tea, same thing, another ritual, washing up, put dads tea in the oven on a plate, wipe down the benches and the table, sink, dry up, put away, lingering smells of whatever yummy thing Mum had cooked, with any luck, there would be leftovers, lamb, dead set certainty for shepherds pie for sunday night dinner, beef or pork, soup and sandwiches for sunday tea.
Maybe doubly lucky, possibly an apple pie or some icecream, then Mum would sit down and watch the Don Lane show, another saturday night ritual, never missed Don and Bert, or the wheel, when Don finished, it was bed time, or if we were lucky, we could watch the movie, but usually bed.
I remember all of that, and I miss the rituals, those things that brought us all close together, nowdays i'm lucky if i can get my two to eat tea with me, and it's hardly ever at the kitchen table, always sitting in the lounge with the TV on. A lot of the time one or other will eat in their bedroom, and they're always busy doing stuff.
Rituals are important for a family, we used to play games, haven't done that for a long while, i miss the rituals, the givens, i guess this means i'm getting old, and I miss my Mum, my connection to the rituals, to a place that no longer exists, to a time thats long gone, with people loved and lost, just living in my memories.
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