Growing up in my house, it would have been difficult to not love food. My father is the ultimate food lover and I have lots of food memories while under his roof. Some interesting, some fun, and some well, downright not-to-be-encouraged.
It often seemed like family time and conversations for all 7 of us centred around breakfast, lunch or dinner. He was happiest after a well prepared tasty meal and at that point, he would dig deep into his bag of anecdotes and jokes finding the ones most suitable to complement and relish in the atmosphere of the well-eaten meal as we await or prepared the next one.
For someone who loves food so much, it’s amazing how the kitchen was mostly foreign territory to him; I cannot remember a food shopping experience either. Perhaps like many others, he believed in the greatly flawed narrative of (married) men and the cooking not being buddies.
Oh, he but did cook eggs - that was his thing. Weekend breakfast was epic. He’d call it “continental breakfast” with an omelette, sausages and baked beans.