What’s your signature dish?

Memories of childhood and how mine differ vastly from those in cookery programmes.

M and I used to watch ‘Masterchef’ (before Wallace was suspended, I hasten to add). Even then, I never knew why we did. A vegetarian and vegan watching people roast, broil, fry slices of flesh and then be either congratulated or berated about it. It struck me as being grotesque that food was elevated to this ridiculous standard when there is still a huge proportion of the global population without enough to eat.

Perhaps the reason why we did was because we found it amusing at times. There was always the inevitable question: “What’s the inspiration behind this dish?”

And the answers were always similar.

“My grandmother taught me to cook from when I was knee-high. I always remember the scent of roasted onions and garlic every Sunday. We all used to gather around the table and carve the chicken. These were the best times of the week. Then, a host of angels appeared from the ceiling and blessed us, every one.”

My ‘signature dish’ would be very different and I suspect there are a lot of people out there who do not have some idyllic family childhood memory to bring to their cooking.

So, if I was ever to go on Masterchef, which I never will, here is what I would cook:

For starters, a pot noodle. My dad used to make my sister and I a pot noodle every Saturday lunchtime when Mum was at work. But it has to be made very carefully and according to the instructions. Like my dad, I would stand there, measuring to the ‘water fill’ level - not a drop under or over. After an initial stir, I would stand watching the clock for two minutes. It is very important not to take your eyes off the clock at this point, for one or two seconds over will ruin the noodles. Then, I would stir again and repeat - eyes fixed on the clock. Finally, carefully add the sachet of sauce. Stir again. Then, unless you are over 11 years old, divide the noodles in half to serve to your two children.

I would suggest beef and tomato but once over the age of 11, you are free to make your own choice.

(Dad’s exacting nature also extended to parking. When returning from a day out, we would have to factor in an extra 30 minutes while he reversed and moved forwards in increments so that the car would be exactly parallel to the curb and ¾ of an inch away.)

For the main course: burnt findus crispy pancakes and lumpy mashed potatoes with grey bits in them. When making this, it is important to bang saucepans and pans around in general frustration.

For dessert: nothing. We don’t do dessert. Dinner is stressful enough.

There are also delicacies I have missed out. For example, when at our grandparents, my sister and I would investigate various tins in the larder. At lunchtime, my grandad would produce some gourmet canned good, like ravioli. My sister and I, used to his frugal-food-hoarding-war-baby ways, would inevitably check the sell-by date.

“Ewww, Grandad, it says use by September 1974!” we’d squeal.

“It’s fine!” he’d huff. “It hasn’t been opened.” Followed by muttering about us not knowing we were born.

He and my grandma would keep at least 8 slabs of butter in the top shelf of their fridge. If it ever got down to around 6 packs, they would go into a panic and ‘Skip’ (Grandad) would have to charge off into town to the shops to ‘stock up’.

Grandma was particularly fond of butter. When buttering toast or bread, she would instruct us never to leave any ‘garden paths’. Every iota of the surface of the bread was to be covered, right up to the edges.

So, that’s my winning formula if I ever enter a cookery contest. I might never win but the memories always make me smile and, oddly enough, I wouldn’t swap them for the idyll.

Menu:

Starter:

Beef and tomato pot noodle with tomato salsa - half portion

Main:

Findus crispy pancake with charcoaled edges

Organic mashed potato with extra texture

or

Historic ravioli

Dessert

Butter and bread (bread is optional)