Before Elfie and Hux came along I didn’t have a dishwasher. In the series of small London flats I lived in there didn’t seem the need – or space – for such a large piece of kitchen equipment. But having moved to the big city from a house up north with plenty of space for the godliest of appliances it was a really big adjustment.
Elfie is the epitome of a little darling these days. She’s sweet to adults, kind to her brother and friends, has wonderful manners and the loveliest sense of humour. If someone had asked me when I was pregnant to describe what sort of daughter I wished for I would have described 4 year old Elfie to a tee.
I try to get my kids to eat as much multicultural food as possible. They both adore curries (especially poppadoms for breakfast the day after a takeaway… #supermum), we recently had a proper American feast of pulled pork and cornbread and traditional carbonara is one of their favoruites.
Last week we did our supermarket shopping a little bit differently; thanks to the lovely ladies at BritMums I was sent £80 to be a #MorrisonsMum and do my weekly shop at my local Morrisons. Morrisons have recently cut the prices on thousands of their products, they say not temporary reductions but new everyday low prices on things we buy every week.
I might be cheating a bit here with the title of this dish. This recipe has nothing to do with an Italian Mama, but rather it was the very first recipe my own Mum taught me about 12 years ago.
As much as I really don’t approve of using food as an emotional crutch there is nothing that will give you a hug from the inside quite like a jacket potato, preferably with cheese and baked beans.
One thing I struggle hugely with out here in the middle of nowhere is the lack of a decent burger. I’ve tried EVERYWHERE within a 10 mile radius, and none of them compare to the delights you get in London. Our local pub’s offering is passable, especially since they gave up doing those massive huge chips that were basically roast potatoes and went with slimmer chips.
Living in London our weekends were mostly spent eating, drinking or hungover. I dread to think how many days I wasted sleeping away my fuzzy head, but at the time we had no other pressures or worries and the biggest decision to be made was which pub we’d eat lunch in that day. I could take as much time relaxing as needed, as long as my brain was half way engaged on Monday mornings.