My summer working in the family business on Corfu

Food and chinese pork balls

on September 18, 2012

I’m so sick of my mother in law’s cooking. Ungrateful me.

(Read – old horse meats of leather beaten and flattened to within an inch of their life defined as “steak” doused in oil and oregano – (a dutch friend did once describe the steaks here as “old shoes”), sorry, I’m getting on a rant)… I’m so sick of the food that I am actually starting to crave those “bounce off the walls” sweet and sour pork balls that get soaked in a luminous pink sauce from any dodgy chinese takeaway.

Oh yeah, Greek cooking, they say… the Mediterranean diet. Please don’t get me wrong, the food can be great. OOOh, I’m longing for some tzatziki, and moussaka, and that meze business they do… “Have you heard of fasolatha? I hear it’s just to die for…! (bean soup)”.

Well trust me, I have an old saying – “Too much of any one thing will drive you mental” (I am, yes it’s true, a literary genius). That can mean weather, in laws, partners, children, work, and in my current rant, food…

I am hanging for some good old fish and chips and mushy peas. What am I saying? I never even liked fish and chips and mushy peas. I always, after some wonderful pub crawl in my twenties, always took a batter in sausage or a steak and kidney pie. It doesn’t matter. I would have it all right now. (A friend actually posted a picture of fish and chips on facebook the otherday, I thought “You Bastard”, are you trying to kill me here?”). Or, what about a Sunday roast? OOh, my step Mum makes the BEST. Sorry I’m salivating. That cauliflower cheese….

Simple fact is, not only does the “simple fare” tempt me, I would also murder any food from any other country than my mother in law’s kitchen right now. Give me Thai, Vietnamese, fricking sawdust from Mexico. Let alone anything more sophisticated… Oysters in soho with champagne (Khalid, you know who you are).

We are eating so much of my mother in law’s food because we have no choice. “Cook yourself!” I hear you say, “ungrateful!” I hear you holler, “disrespectful!” I hear you think under your blog receptive breaths…

We have no choice because this is where we are at. No one has any choice, within euros, but to return to the family for food, help, and shelter. This is the dictation of these economic times. I cannot cook because we cannot buy food for the cupboards. We have to eat from the restaurant, or… we don’t eat.

So leather shoes it is…

(Get out those violins, I know it could be worse, africa bla bla, don’t beat me up)…

Jamie Oliver, as irritating as he can be, appears on telly here. It looks really good.

I’ll be back in England soon. I’ll be happily grabbing me a sausage roll or five (tight budget) from Gregg’s bakers. I might even kiss the girl behind the counter as I tuck in.


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