I have decided to embark on a bit of a self indulgent journey, well, OK, a very large self indulgent one as I am not generally known to do "bits". The theme is to be recollections of the first time of doing or experiencing something that is now commonplace and indeed not today worthy of mention because it is the norm in the lives of most of us. Yesterday it was my first glimpse of a Japanese made car. Today ............
We thrived on my Mother's home cooking.
We were a traditional family unit although being one of five children I suppose we were viewed as being of exceptional size in a nuclear world. No, we were in fact Church or England in anticipation of your next question.
I cannot imagine the sacrifices and dedication that it took to eek out the housekeeping and family allowance on keeping us all replete and happy but we had no cause to moan.
We went to bed with a full stomach and happy and contented hearts.
The cupboards were always full with the staple foodstuffs of a young and growing family. The breakfast table was well stocked with cereals such as the Kelloggs Variety Pack, Golden Nuggets or Ready Brek and the bread bin was always full to be spread with Marmite, Lemon Curd or Peanut Butter. We even came home for dinners and returned to school energised and ready for anything that the curriculum could throw at us.
There were snacks waiting when we got home to tide us over until tea time. Packets of crisps, mini mars bars or sandwiches.
At 6pm on the dot we would crowd around on the bench seating and refectory table, Hectors House behind us and indulge in our favourite meals of fish fingers and chips, crispy cod balls, beans on toast, scrambled egg and spaghetti hoops. Everything of course washed down with lashings of diluted orange squash.
At bedtime, with the closing theme tune of The Waltons, The Goodies or The Likely Lads just fading away we would have drinking chocolate and biscuits.
Childhood dreams are made of such things. I was truly fortunate and blessed in this regard.
Weekends were a bit more of a free for all in the household as it was a busy time to do the shopping and a wide range of play based activities and chores. The weekly shop was a time for all to help with pushing the trolley and fetching and carrying in the aisles in Marks and Sparks or Liptons.
If we behaved we would be rewarded with a bag, to share, of sweet popcorn or a bit of a smash and grab in the pick and mix section of Woolworths.
Everything was building up to Sunday Lunch. This would be in the dining room at the front of the house, a very rarely used place apart from when relatives came to stay, at formal times such as Christmas or when taken up by the huge chipboard sheet onto which was nailed the train set.
Mother magicked a full roast with veg and gravy but we would have to wait until Father got back with his pal Howard from the pub to be able to sit down and witness the ceremony of the carving of the chicken or the joint. I aspired to be, one day, the head of my own table and to be responsible for the ritual carving.
This was our sustenance and were well looked after, wanting for nothing.
That was until we were exposed for the first time to Chinese Food.
We lived in a small market town in the mid to late 1970's. "Fast Food" and "Takeaway" were not in our vocabulary and comprehension although we did of course indulge on occasion of fish and chips with scraps from the local shop.
There were, to my recollection no Pizzerias or Burger Bars, Indian, Thai or other ethnic outlets.
We were not a backward settlement, just that there were no such establishments.
It was therefore and understandably a major cultural shock to us when Mother placed into the shopping trolley one day a small, slim rectangular package bearing the title of Vesta Chop Suey.
I have always meant to ask Margaret (Mother) about her decision for introducing the family to this revolutionary influence in our lives, whether it was advertised after the 9pm TV watershed, displayed in her Woman's Own or Woman's Realm magazines, in the pages of Readers Digest or just mentioned at the school gates from other Mums.
Whatever the source it entered our psyche, our being and left a momentous impression.
A whole meal in such a small box smacked of mumbo jumbo, science fiction or just the dark arts. Us offspring witnessed the unpacking in readiness for a school night tea.
The contents consisted of an airtight sealed bag of freeze dried ingredients, another cellophane sheath of dried rice and a mysterious packet of what were described as crispy noodles but resembled strips of clear plastic.
There was a series of instructions on the side of the box and we followed these devoutly as though representing the whole meaning of life.
The pale, powdery and gritty contents of dried substance had to be liberated by mixing with half a pint of cold water. It took quite a bit of vigorous stirring in a Tupperware measuring jug to saturate the light mixture. Strangely, bits of what appeared to be small cubes of carrot and shrunken peas remained floating on the surface of the milky liquid. If Mother was not looking I would scoop these out with a teaspoon and with utter delight crunch them between my teeth. Gradually with the introduction of heat there was a thickening and emulsifying into an acceptable sauce based consistency.
Meanwhile my fellow siblings would be responsible for the cooking of the rice. This could take up to 30 minutes and with close monitoring of liquid levels and regular topping up from the boiled kettle. Frequent taste testing was necessary but rapidly depleted the volume of the rice.
Our industrious and diligent approach to our respective chores was a means of excitement for our young minds but nothing could prepare us for the first time that we saw crispy noodles being cooked.
This involved an entirely separate set of instructions and involving danger and hazard that could only be handled by an adult.
An inch or two of cooking oil had to be heated to a stage when just starting to emit blue smoke on the gas hob. Then the cellophane type strips could be tossed in upon which an amazing transformation took place. From an inert state the material fizzed, spat and then expanded its size by, must have been, a million fold to form a perfect curled form of aerated honeycomb like consistency.
There was matter of milliseconds that determined either a perfect crispy offering or a fatally carbonised, distorted and inedible nugget.
The whole operation took some co-ordination over about an hour but with the ultimate reward of each of us receiving a small ring of crunchy rice filled with a creamy, indistinctly flavoured sauce and a single quaver like topping.
It was a magic moment in the rich heritage of the Thomson children.
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