On tonight’s menu in Mr Mum’s house we have a veritable feast of delightful foodstuffs, all lovingly prepared to cater to the needs of the individual’s requirements. It may be only sandwiches, but no corners have been cut (literally BOOM BOOM!) in the efforts of the Michelin starred chef that has created this bounty of bread-based, bite-sized taste-bombs, that will surely set the tongues of the tasters alight with joy.
Carefully sectioned into quarters, this sumptuous feast features only the (supermarket) freshest ham available, and with all the fatty bits trimmed off and shoved in the bin, there remains only the choicest pieces of ham to ensure the palate is treated to a veritable pork-based party.
Cucumber has been loving rinsed for three seconds and then sliced to make it look slightly posher than it actually is, and the segments have each been painstakingly, and liberally, salted, to avoid cries of ‘SALT! SALT!’ as has happened from time to time.
Fresh (ish) tomatoes have been added for a little variety, and also because there’s nothing better than cleaning the seed explosion from off of the sofa cover (purchased to protect the sofa underneath from seed explosions* (*and other things)) when madam bites into them like some kind of animal.
The whole dish is served up on a dazzlingly blue plate emblazoned with Ella and Elsa, or Sarah and Sue or whatever they are called, from the tragi-comedy that is ‘Frozen‘.
Grunts and chewing noises can be heard and there seems to be a word emitted from the thing on the sofa. Could be ‘Merci‘ or ‘Thanks daddy, I love you‘ or ‘This is delicious, I’m so lucky to have you making this for me‘ but in all likelihood it’s probably ‘Where’s my water?‘.
Eschewing the needless frivolities of cucumbers or tomatoes, this dish is served up in as bare a bones style as possible. This suits the needs of that most exacting of connoisseurs: my son. Who has rigid rules, very much like Fight Club.
These rules basically boil down to:
- I don’t want any fruit
- I don’t want any veg
- I just want ham
- With bread
- Or sometimes pasta
With this in mind the meal for sir has been carefully prepared on seedless brown bread – oh yeah, rule number six, I forgot:
6. I don’t want any seeds in my bread
Again all traces of fat have been removed from the ham to ensure only the best meat passes sir’s lips. The resulting mix of bread and ham and butter has been loving shaped in to what one hopes resembles a face. Six consecutive attempts were made to try to lovingly shape it into this, after the first five were what could lovingly be described as ‘nightmare-inducing‘.
The whole meal is beautifully presented on a random beige plate due to sir’s ‘Marvel’s The Avengers‘ plate being out of commission due to an earlier incident involving chocolate.
‘What’s that?’ (after being told it’s a face) ‘No, it looks weird, it doesn’t look right…where’s my water?’
I compliment you on your intestinal fortitude. In our house it was always – “shut up and eat what I put in front of you”.
My parents grew up during the Depression, and I was born in 1942, just as WWII was getting underway. There was no room for being picky. The one time I tried it, Mum asked me if I really didn’t want what she’d served. No!” Fine, you may be excused.” This is an old expression that means something along the lines of “get out of my sight before I put your ears together”. There’s nothing like going to bed without any hope of eating before breakfast tomorrow to make you a more reasonable person. (At least where food is concerned. I’m still not big on this “reasonable” stuff.)
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I’ve often wanted to use this method, but have always changed my mind at the last minute. Or had it changed by my partner. One tactic I am thinking of using is one favoured by a work colleague – if they don’t eat what they have in front of them he simply serves it back to them the next day for breakfast – and then for dinner, and so on, until it is eaten. I think I will give it a go soon 🙂