I seem to talk a lot about my childhood food experiences in this blog. I suppose that’s because so much of what we are and what we eat stems from those formative years and the experiences we had there. For years after I left home I held a sad abhorrence for a simple peanut butter sandwich, simply because I was given one to eat at school almost very nearly every single day. Only recently I rediscovered the pleasure of fresh, soft bread, spread thick with butter, peanut butter and oozing honey. And, true to my nature, I ate them so frequently upon this discovery, that my denims soon began to miraculously shrink in the wash until one day, getting dressed, I asked my Mr P, while staring down at my posterior, ‘do you think I’m putting on weight?’ And in true Mr P candid style, he promptly looked up from his book, ran his eyes up and down me and replied, ‘ yes.’ After which he carried on reading as if nothing more important than whether he wanted muesli or oats for breakfast had been discussed. Which, of course, is why I am so enamoured with this man in the first place.
I remember that peas were a staple in our family. There were always a couple of bags of the frozen variety on hand and they would be chucked unceremoniously into so many one pot meals my mother would cook up. My mom was cook of convenience, speed and nutrition, seeing as how she was juggling family, work and cleaning the dishes after it all. So, somewhere along the line I began thinking of peas with disdain and stopped buying, cooking or even thinking about these simple green globes. And then, a couple of days ago, I walked past a bag of fresh, shelled, organic peas. Tiny, bright green and somehow translucent looking, they caught my eye and for reasons I really can’t explain, I bought them. And there they were. On the counter. What on earth was I going to do with them? I popped one in my mouth. Then another. And suddenly, I was five years old, helping my dear granny in her pride and joy: her veggie patch.
I loved my granny’s veggie patch. There was a big bush of mint that grew under the tap, and patches of pumpkins, marrows and tomatoes. I loved the carrots, their soft green tops and the juicy, sweet roots. But what I loved the most were the peas. We used to get into trouble for picking them all and eating them before Gran could pick them for the kitchen. So sweet! So crunchy! My love affair with peas, I fear, has only just begun.