I think everyone’s mother has a famous casserole, or mashed potatoes, or some sort of pudding. Everyone’s mother has something she makes better than anyone else on earth.
My mother made incredible roast potatoes. She had a special pan. It looked like a bundt tin with a handle, and was burnt black with the flakes of previous potatoes. I don’t remember now who broke the pan. Perhaps it fell from the shelf, but in any case, the handle fell off, and that was the end of the famous potatoes.
I am nobody’s mother. I have a selection of kids who are in their early twenties and refer to me as ‘Mum’ from time to time. It’s usually when one or all of us is drunk and they start counting on their fingers to confirm that I am, legally, old enough to be their mother. However, if I did have kids, the food they would remember of me would be Greek.
Lamb with tonnes of oregano, lemon, garlic and olive oil, cloud-soft potatoes and salad. I take no credit for the salad. I toss it in a bucket of Paul Newman’s dressing and it’s just the best thing ever.
Greek food is my absolute favourite, and deserves to be on a list of Happy Things.