Domestic Daddy

My fabulous father took to the kitchen yesterday evening, proving to us ladies of the house that he is more than just a handsome face. No sooner had he finished being up a ladder, painting windowsills, than he set about kneading dough (see above), frying minced lamb and mashing potatoes. The finished products: a stella batch of bread and a proper Shepherd's Pie. His culinary capacity didn't quite stretch to making a pudding on top of this, though, so I put together some mini pear crumbles to shove in the oven whilst the bread finished baking. Very tasty the pie was, too, and we ate his wholemeal rolls with jam and a big jug of coffee for breakfast this morning. I wouldn't go so far as to deem my father to be a domestic god, but he's certainly proved that something good can come of his being in the kitchen!

Un petit cours in French home dining

I have very recently spent a week living with a family just outside of Paris, and so have had a taste of eating habits in a French household. One thing I have learned and now pass on as a minor word of warning to any feeble-stomached, travelling Englishman: home-cooked meals are always three courses long, at lunchtime as in the evening.

More than once, in the early days of getting used to this new regime, I made the fatal error of serving myself a hefty portion of what I supposed was the meal in its entirety, when it was in fact the lighter of two savoury courses (if not three, should a cheese platter be included before dessert). Being the grateful guest that I was, I didn't dream of refusing the following dishes, nor of explaining that, in my normal English existence, three-course meals are reserved from restaurant dining and Christmas time. I don't know of any British household that serves three courses at lunch and dinner (that is to say that, if such as household does exist, I have never eaten at it).

I soon learned the way to enjoy three-course meals twice a day without rendering myself fit to burst: I did my best to pass on the bread basket during the starter (although butter-laden baguette is one of life's simple pleasures), instead savouring the natural flavours of an exquisitely presented salad using fresh, local vegetables and leaves. Likewise with the main course, a little of the roast meat and cooked vegetables with enough substance (usually rice or potatoes) to soak up the accompanying sauce sufficed; following that would be no more than a small bowl of ice cream or fresh fruit, the latter so tasty that nobody missed anything stodgier or sweeter.

As I learned, I began to favour this French way of dining at home. Having eaten at such an idle pace with relatively little bulk to what was served back home, I consumed slightly more yet finished feeling less full. Another benefit was that enjoying each course and waiting for the next gave greater time to sit, talk and relax; dinnertime was a family occasion in itself.
Sadly, I haven't much faith that three-course, home-cooked meals could become a tendency in many British households, simply because I don't believe we (generalised) care enough about dining to make such an effort. Yet, the giving of time to enjoying good food and beloved company is a French aspect of dining that I have hope we can see more of in this country, particularly in the daily lives of English families.