Winter always brings out the best from Mom’s Kitchen. She starts chopping up onions, peeling potatoes. Selecting what cuts are best, while your mouth waters trying desperately to forecast what she’ll make. The Heavens open as she lifts the lid and you discover, Though wrong in your anticipation, she has conjured up the most extraordinary dish. In readiness for your salivating pallet, a stew only your mother could prepare without a care in the world and so perfect, you know her magic can captivate thousands!
I miss my Mom’s bredies and my Dad’s chicken casserole he made years ago while Mom was away on holiday. He insists she came up with the recipe but in truth it is all his.
My Late grandfather’s breyani, is a recipe I’m still dying to perfect, he wrote it on a small piece of paper when I was in my mid twenties, and here 20 years on I get compliments for my own Jennifer’s breyani, but it still isn’t on the button like he’s. Rip Papa, I shall always miss you.