I might be a Mum, but I still need MY Mum.
Partly because she turns up at my door with homemade cottage pie, freshly pulled cabbage from her garden and rhubarb crumble.
Why did I move out again?!
But it’s on days like these when the world is in turmoil and my days are currently spent bent over trying to help Maggie walk and dodging (actually loving underneath it all) puréed broccoli kisses, where I really just bloody appreciate my wonderful family and the simplicity of it all.
You don’t need a lot to be ok with life.
You just need a bit of tenderness, love and the odd crumble.
Mum’s crumble (kind of…)
I say ‘kind of’ because Mum has only gone and done a Grandma on me!
It goes like this:
“Mum (or Grandma when it’s one of her recipes) how do you make this?”
“Oh this? Just a bit of flour, pour in some milk, a bit of sugar and rub in some butter.”
Me: “Yeah but I need…measurements?”
“Oh I don’t use measurements…”
Me: “ERM I WRITE A FOOD BLOG. I NEED NUMBERS!”
Blank expressions meet my requests.
But I guess that’s the beauty of how people used to do it. The knowledge of how to cook basic yet delicious dishes was just instilled in you because you grew up with it.
So at a push, here is what Mother responded with:
The butter needs to be in cubes as you rub the ingredients together until a crumble consistency is formed.
The rhubarb from Mum’s garden was cooked down until soft in brown sugar (sprinkle to cover) and cooked for 20 minutes at 180 degrees (electric fan).
You could use sliced apples or pears or any fruit really.
And that’s it.
One day I’ll do that for Maggie when she’s having a moment because food makes you feel better.
And so does knowing the measurements!
But then again, you can’t measure love…