Food memories

They say that smell is the most evocative sense and, as taste is so closely entwined with smell, it obviously follows that food carries a wealth of memories and associations with it. I’m not going to talk about Proust and Madeleines; mainly because I’ve never read any Proust, (plus I really don’t think that anyone wants to hear about how the first taste of a pickled onion flavoured Monster Munch reminds me of being violently sick). But, as I was standing at the stove yesterday, waiting an interminable amount of time for some onions to caramelise, it made me think about how evocative cooking could be.

I’m hardly Mary Berry and I don’t do a vast amount of 'real' cooking but there are a few things in my culinary repertoire and I acknowledge that, if you put a bit of time and effort into cooking, it tastes better than processed food. And perhaps, for me, it is the act of making something, rather than the taste of it, that brings forth the volley of emotions.

So yesterday I trying to caramelise onions to make onion gravy and I have to admit that the only reason I was doing this was because we’d run out of gravy granules! As I stirred the onions and they stubbornly refused to resembled caramel, I remembered who it was who had taught me how to make onion gravy, a lovely lady called Val.

My first real job was working in public libraries and the manager of one of these libraries was a gloriously scatty, bohemian and generous-hearted woman called Val. It could be a little stressful sometimes, working with Val, because, lovely and gregarious as she was, she would often disappear for ages, leaving you to manage by yourself. But she was a real character and enormously hospitable. When we had events at the library; book groups, Christmas parties etc, instead of opening a packet of biscuits/crisps/mince pies, Val would produce a feast of epic proportions. There would be exotic salads, homemade quiches, a cheese board, pâté, French bread and grapes. The sherry and wine would flow and a good time would be had by all. Val was a fan of ‘real food’; of smelly cheese and fresh fruit and veg. It was she who suggested what I serve as a starter for my first dinner party (Pear with stilton and watercress on sourdough bread) and it was she who told me how to make onion gravy:

• Saute a chopped onion in butter or oil for fricking ages, until it’s lightly browned/caramelised (or you get bored out of your tiny mind and decide that as long as onions are see-through, they’ll do).
• Sprinkle a tablespoon of plain flour over the onion and cook for a minute.
• Add around a pint of stock (Val used beef stock, I use vegetable bouillon).
• Bring it to the boil then simmer until the whole thing thickens.

Note: if you use vegetable stock, as I do, your gravy won’t be brown - don’t worry about it.

Also, a nice little splosh of sherry or wine adds something special to the mix.

As many memories are often tinged with sadness, this one is too. Sadly, I learned that Val passed away this year. I hadn’t seen her for years but we always sent each other Christmas cards and she always remembered my birthday. The last card she sent me had a painting of two little girls on it and she said it made her think of me with my daughters.

So, Val, thanks for the recipes! I’m going to raise a glass of wine to you tonight.