Tartan Punk
Aug 23, 2017 · 5 min read

Food, a love story

(For me, food and family are intertwined. I decided to start writing down the recipes and stories behind them, the stories that have shaped my life, to pass them on to my daughters. These are for you, girls.)

Alice and Gran Fran, January 2008, NYC

I had this idea a little while ago, girls, one that entered my head and left as quickly as it came, possibly because one or both of you asked me something, or I remembered something else I had to do.

It’s like that a lot around here, as you know. Mum’s always got something to do or we have somewhere to be – school, Irish dancing, swimming. It’s a busy household with just you two and me; we cram a lot in or as Gran Fran would have it: “I’m meeting myself coming back here.”

I spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about you both, questioning the job I’m doing, if I’m enough. I suppose every parent does the same and has done since time immemorial, but I realise that the older I get, the more I miss my own parents.

Over these past few years, I could have used their counsel, their wisdom, their compassion. And, I’ll be honest, I could have used a bowl of Gran Fran’s lentil soup on more than one occasion.

The simplest of ingredients, the best results

It will come as news to neither of you that you come from a long line of food lovers. Not chefs, not gourmands (although we are that, too, when money is no object) but home cooks, well able to rustle up hearty, home-cooked meals, prepped with the best ingredients available and affordable to you.

Food was our common language as far back as I can remember, how we cared for each other and communicated. We all used to say of Dad, your grandpa, that if he wasn’t eating, he was thinking about eating. Or his next meal. Or both. He became a dab hand in the kitchen, too.

So, the idea is this. I want to collate the recipes from my childhood, from my experiences of living in Paris, New York and Lisbon, grab some of Avo’s Portuguese classics and write them all down for you. You already know and love some of them, but I want to share the stories behind them and in that way share the people, too. Some of them are gone, some you never met, but in keeping these recipes alive, I hope you’ll feel their love.

Because that’s how I assuage my concerns for you, brush away my fears and self-doubt – by cooking for you with as much love and attention as I was cooked for. Aunt Fran and I know Gran Fran’s lentil soup recipe inside out, but it never tastes the same as when she made it. I remember you, Alice, perched at Gran’s kitchen table, absolutely stuffing huge hunks of buttered bread into a bowl of her soup, dribbling down your chin and on to your top. You were only a year old and relatively uninterested in food, but there, with Gran, you polished off whatever she put in front of you.

Let’s go on a little journey together then, shall we? A meander through the food memories, sights and sounds, and along the way we can create more of them together. You see, that’s the way of it. You take and you pass on. It’s the best game of pass-the-parcel I’ve ever known.

There’s nowhere else we can start but with Gran Fran’s lentil soup. She learned how to make it from her mum, my Nana, your great gran. With six hungry kids, countless cousins, aunties, uncles and pals passing through the house, she always had a pot of soup on the go.

Gran Fran’s soup feeding Claudia, a grandkid she sadly never got to meet

It tided you over when you tore in from school, starving, served up with buttered bread, everything thick and rich to stick to your ribs. She would make a massive pot on a Saturday so it was perfect for Sunday lunch because home-made soup is always better the next day. Fact.

And don’t put turnip or swede in it, it’ll make the soup spoil quicker. Again, fact.

My mouth is salivating just writing that. Here goes.

N.B. At absolutely no point in this story shall calories, fat content or carbohydrates be mentioned. At times, I will struggle to give exact quantities of ingredients because that will depend on the size of the pot you’re using, and anyway, sometimes a little freestyle riff in the kitchen will take you somewhere unexpectedly tasty. Not cooking with gas, cooking as jazz.

Gran Fran’s lentil soup

Ham ribs or ham hough from the butcher

Split peas and red lentils – a handful of each, depending on the size of pot you’re using

A couple of large carrots, peeled and grated (give the end bit to a lurking child)

A leek, washed thoroughly and chopped

2 large potatoes, peeled and diced

A couple of bay leaves

A ham stock cube

Salt and pepper to taste

Method

Soak the lentils and split peas for at least an hour. Place the ham/ribs and a couple of bay leaves into a large pot of cold water and bring to the boil, skimming off any foam as you go. About an hour should do. You’ll be kept busy prepping the veg and tidying up after yourselves.

Once done, remove the meat and bay leaves and add the lentils and split peas. Bring back to the boil and keep skimming off any foam. Taste. Season with a ham stock cube, salt and pepper. Let it simmer. Taste again and season according to taste. Once the broth is to your liking, add all the vegetables and simmer for an hour, checking and tasting constantly. Remember, you can always add seasoning, but you can’t take it away, so go easy on the salt. A little bit at a time.

Meanwhile, strip the hough or ribs of the meat and roughly chop. Once the vegetables are all cooked, add the ham back into the pot. Grab your bread of choice, butter it to your heart’s content and get yourself a bowl of soup.

You will devour that first bowl, girls, but believe me when I tell you that the bowl you have tomorrow will taste better than this. It’s just the way it is.

)

Tartan Punk

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