food memories...

world food days, photographs & stories

We are almost half way through February, and there have already been a number of ‘world food days’. Each day celebrates a different food and so far this month we have acknowledged the popular pizza, the traditional Yorkshire pudding, and the chocolaty breakfast spread, Nutella, which is likely to be consumed in dollops again today, which of course is Shrove Tuesday, otherwise known as ‘Pancake day’.

I wouldn’t necessarily make a fuss, or certainly write about, any of the above foods if it hadn’t been for the annual instagram challenge set by the Guild of Food Writers, of which I am a member. #GFW29deliciousdays2024 prompts us each day with a ‘foodie’ term that inspires a photograph relating to the word. I love this month long challenge not only as an avid photographer snapping every plate of food put in front of me wherever I am in the world, but mainly as a story teller of food culture and tradition. Each day I scour through my extensive photo gallery looking for an interesting picture that evokes a food memory that I wish to share, placing my own cultural spin on it from a Middle Eastern perspective. It is from there that the ‘spreadable’ prompt on Nutella day had to be a delicious looking plate of hummus, and so you get the picture…

Food memories can evoke a deep sensory nostalgia within us, which good or bad, are powerful reminders of people, places or life events. It is often the simplest of tastes or a specific smell or look of an ingredient, that forms the positive or negative connection to our childhood, a shared meal or trauma, and releases an inseparable feeling. It can be a single foodstuff or a complete dish that is the trigger, and with it, always a memorable story.

I have often been asked what is my earliest food memory, and whether it inspired me to be a caterer and food writer. I can still remember as a young girl having a lovely babysitter called Mrs White. I must have been 9 or possibly 10, and like most children would rather stay up than go to bed. I did not want to watch television, read or even play… I just wanted to bake. And so we spent the evening up to our elbows in flour so that when my parents returned home, a plate of fluffy, golden scones awaited then and a grinning daughter, desperate for their approval… on the rise and of course, the taste!

Although I have never been in doubt as to the first part of the question, whether it was the inspiration for my food career, I cannot be so sure. I believe my inspiration came from working in the kitchens of Kibbutz Amiad at the age of 19, preparing and cooking three meals a day with fresh, seasonal produce. In those days, the entire kibbutz ate together in the communal dining room, and as cooks we prepared all the meals from scratch each day. I can still remember how ripe the tomatoes were, the citrus aroma from the lemons and oranges and the taste of the rich pepper and tomato base for the shakshuka that we made for breakfast. Coming from England, the sauce was a tad too spicy for my Ashkenazi palate, which is probably why I temper my recipes with fragrant spices as opposed to chilli heat.

Another memory of this culinary experience takes me to the preparation of hundreds of chickens, which sadly was not exactly just tearing open the plastic packaging and rinsing under the tap before throwing in a hot pan. A little more work was required which I undertook, but vowed I wouldn’t eat them afterwards, and so my vegetarian days began, much to my mother’s dismay.

As it is Shrove Tuesday, I thought I would indulge you in a bit of legendry culture, a few tips for making your pancakes, and of course a food memory. This is a celebrated religious day in the Christian calendar and marks the last day of feasting before the penitent weeks of Lent, and the abstinence of indulgent foods and beverages, called the Lenten Sacrifice. It was called ‘Pancake Day’ as meals were hastily prepared on this day, using up any rich foods of eggs, butter and milk, for the legendary church pancake race. It was also given the French title of ‘Mardi Gras’ or ‘Fat Tuesday’. Another more fabricated tale of how it became known as ‘Pancake Day’ is that whilst making her stack of pancakes, a woman upon hearing the ‘shriving bell’, ran as fast as she could to the church with her frying pan in hand and still wearing her mucky apron, not wanting to be late for the confessional service.

Pancake batters are best made up in advance and allowed to rest in the fridge until use according to Delia Smith, the doyenne of British cookery, who also adds a tablespoon of melted butter to the mixture for added richness, just before the making of the pancakes. My boys loved pancake day and were always very excited to return from school and for supper to begin early. I prepared the batter in the morning and then it was over to them, taking it in turns to pour small amounts into the crepe pan, bought years ago in France, before tossing the thin pancake as high as they could to see who could flip them over without it landing on the floor. With a little help in their younger years, a perfect pancake was mostly produced, only to be devoured in seconds, smothered in chocolate sauce…

Food memories can be conjured up by a single ingredient, a wafting aroma, a cooking experience or a world food day, of which there appears to be rather a lot. For me the memory is often in the photograph, that sits on my phone for months on end, waiting for right prompt to post and recall its nostalgia. Tomorrow the word is red and I’m already on it!

Enjoy…