Last night, reading stuff about gumbo and jambalaya, I ordered a book, Chef Paul Prudhommes Louisiana Kitchen which was recommended as a source for recipes for gumbo and jambalaya (neither of which I have ever had, but long to try out and see if I can prepare them properly).
[doublepost=1551966873][/doublepost]Food brings back some of the most powerful memories - Proust's account of the searing recall of his memory of madeleines worked because everyone could relate to the powerful force of this sort of memory.
And, it is not always predictable what foods trigger such powerful memories.
For me, it is not roasts, or casseroles, or pasta, or salads (I can prepare perfectly good - and sometimes, excellent - versions of these dishes - possibly better than my mum, if truth be told), but pancakes.
When we were children, my mum used to make wonderful pancakes on Shrove Tuesday.
In latter years, we once seriously splurged: I prepared homemade apple sauce, - and made certain that we had the other ingredients - thus, we had apple sauce and maple syrup, and also sour cream and caviar, and the classic lemon juice and sugar and berries with our pancakes.
My mum made the actual pancakes.
That particular day, - perhaps around a decade ago, or a little over a decade ago - as an indulged adult who sought (ever so fleetingly) to return to the cherished certainties of childhood, I was stuffed, but happily.
Then, within a short space of a depressingly few years, she was claimed by dementia.
And this past Christmas, she passed away.
So, nowadays, if I want pancakes, perforce, I must prepare them for myself; but, it is not quite the same thing - some foods evoke the memory of the comfort blanket of parental love, and, for me, pancakes are one of those.
