If it was a hungry man who, whilst working the waste conveyor of an ancient abattoir, decided to pocket the passing ox tail for a good night’s meal, then it must have been a ravenous man indeed who grabbed the ox tongue with excited thoughts of a hearty meal. For me? I have never been that hungry, yet my mum would serve up these European foreign delicacies in the hope that hunger would eventually conquer brains. Speaking of brains, I also remember having fried lamb’s brains dished up much to the mental anguish of all us 6 kids. Our dinner table, in heartland Australia, was often adorned with delicacies that were considered the staples of British gastronomic consumption. There was “Haddock in white sauce” which was a fish with a rather strange orange rusting skin. There was also mum’s famous “traditional pea and ham soup” where the peas were soaked over night whilst simmering in genuine long fleshy pink pig bones – much like some Macbeth witches cauldron. Finally, there was that English appetizing dish called Toad in the Hole” well, I know the pastry as a very recognizable taste but the toad bit remains a mystery, even to this day. Now I tell you folks there was never a food so aptly named as to express your palettes reaction, than that of the chocco. No matter which way mum served it “chocco” was always the knee-jerk throat reaction. Oh yes, she would smother it in some fancy named cream sauce or bake it, fry it or even steam it. Still, there was no escaping that convulsing reaction when fork met mouth. What a surprise for me to learn in later years, when truth in labeling was applied by law, that this vegetable made up 90% of my long time favourite accompaniment tomato sauce. Rhubarb pie was another out-there dish, but mum did seem to have a good clearance rate on this one. My mum was never to know that this clearance was achieved by simply swapping your full dish with the empty one sitting in front of dad well it was his favourite dish! (all six serves of it). Now I must confess I did have a childhood problem with mum’s apple pie. I hated it and it hated me. Many a night was spent staring at that green mushy monster wishing it would disappear with a simple “I Dream of Jennie” nose twitch but it didn’t. I would have to sit there alone at the table, whilst my brothers and sisters watched some enjoyable TV show and painfully swallow those little pieces of razor blades. Still I can’t be too upset at mum’s attempted introduction of European culinary delights. Because, my mum did make the best porridge – the best potato cakes, the best Sunday roast and bubble n squeak. But of all her signature dishes she will be remembered most fondly by all her kids, for that heart warming smile and a cup of tea & toast most every wakening morning.
