Planting The Seed

Growing up, we didn’t have a lot. Clothes were home made, food home cooked, holidays rare. Money was short and tensions were high. Ours was not the home where friends could just stay for dinner, impromptu. There wasn’t enough to go around. In my teens, in the midst of her marriage breaking down, my mother declared she was no longer cooking for us as no one was ever home at the same time. She was a good cook. I was sad.

At this time, I started dating. My boyfriend’s home was the polar opposite to mine. Wealthy, big house, open pantry. Bundles of boys just rocked up at dinner time and expected to be fed. And they were. With warmth - great food served with love and welcome. The mum was always experimenting with new recipes discovered in cook books or magazines. We were willing guinea pigs. Conversations over dinner were rumbustious, noisy, raucous, combative. I loved those dinner times. No one left the table quickly, it was a ready made party every meal time.

This was when the seed was planted. This was how I wanted my home to be.