This post is proudly sponsored by The Kitchen Place
My strongest childhood memories come from the kitchen
I remember jumping off the school bus and running down the hill, keen to see if my mother was home from work. We would come crashing through the door and if we were lucky, Mum would be at the kitchen bench, dropping dobs of butter onto a hot fry pan, a bowl of pikelet batter at hand. We would eat them as fast as she brought them out, dripping with butter and jam.
I remember my mother making roast dinners. She would turn the vegetables in the fry pan, always grumbling and swearing that they weren’t like her mothers. We would sit down and say grace before she would inevitably apologise for the meal she placed before us. We would protest “No!” and my father would say “every mouthful is a taste sensation!“.
I remember standing on a chair next to my mother while she made scones. We would hang around like seagulls hoping to be handed a fluffy off-cut. I remember eating too much and having a tummy ache I would never admit to.
I remember my mother taking out her frustration on a ball of pastry. It was thrown across the room, where it hit the wall and slid into the unsuspecting heater below. She still hates making pastry.
I remember my father cooking meals while my mother worked. He rotated between lamb chops or sausages and vegetables, sausage and onion gravy and tomato savoury. Dad had his repertoire down to a fine art.
I also remember my father making his own special muesli. He would bring out the large silver soup pot and fill it with toasted muesli, bran, sultanas and a range of other ‘secret’ ingredients. He would mix it using his big hands, his whole arm would sink into the pot. I’m not sure if he made it because he liked it or if it was a good way to save money feeding a family of seven. Either way, I liked it.
I remember sitting down to breakfast. I would sit at the left hand of my father and watch in awe as he ate THREE wheat biscuits – THREE! And in the evening he would point at the wall and say in surprise, “What’s that?” I would look and while my back was turned he would slip one of his brussell sprouts onto my plate, “No, Dad!”
I remember being allowed to cook. I would make bolognese like a witches brew, adding odd combinations of herbs and shaking out empty sauce bottles, any sauce would do. I would cook enough salty, clumpy spaghetti to feed an army but no one seemed to complain.
I remember using the dining table to do craft and play games while Mum cooked. I remember turning it into a tent and running around it at 100 mile an hour to get away from my sister who was going to thump me.
Now I’m making my own family memories in the kitchen. My baby sits in a bouncer on the bench and watches me cook. My little boy peels carrots, chops beans with a butter knife, mashes banana for banana bread and buzzes around like a blowfly looking for a beater to lick.
The Kitchen Place recognises that your kitchen is the heart of your home, the place where friends and family gather to create meals and memories just like these. For over 35 years the team of kitchen designers, craftsman and tradesman have delivered quality Australian made kitchens, bathrooms and laundries to new homes and old. The Kitchen Place care about what you want and take pride in guiding you through the process of designing and building your dream kitchen. To learn more visit http://www.thekitchenplace.com.au.
Linking up With Some Grace for #FYBF.