“Please Granny,” implores Jim Pollitt of Wahroonga. “I have serious indigestion.” And with that, the mock food (C8) discussion (or “gastronomic deceptions” as Jim puts it) approaches its conclusion, but not before we hear from Robyn Dalleywater of St Georges Basin, who says “a favourite in our household was my husband’s recipe for ‘poor man’s duck’, a marrow hollowed out and stuffed with mince, onion and tomato, smothered in a cheese sauce. Nothing like duck at all, but perhaps from the point of view of a Yorkshireman born in 1928, the height of luxury!”
Robert Hosking of Paddington writes: “In the ’50s, my mother made ‘mock turtle’. I’ve no idea what was in it, but it was served as the horses’ douvers on Jatz at her soirées.” Jennifer Blake of Ballina remembers taking ‘mock egg’ sandwiches to school. “My salt and pepper sandwiches were very tasty.”
“As a newly arrived 10-pound Pom in 1959, my mother sent me to the cake shop in Concord West,” recalls Ruth Ansoul of Tanunda (SA). “I was to ask whether the cake had ‘fresh cream or mock’ (C8). My Liverpool accent made it sound like ‘fresh cream or muck?’. One unhappy Koala Cake Shop owner.”
Christo Curtis of Beaconsfield happily assures Cathy Rood, “that after the ‘little furry things from the fridge’ incident (C8), my mother joined the ANU Wives Club International Cooking Classes and became an excellent and enthusiastic cook, much to our relief.” That’s a wrap.
“Ooh, where can I get my hands on an ‘I’m silently correcting your grammar’ badge?” (C8), asks Dorothy Gliksman of Cedar Brush Creek. “I’d wear it with pride as it would confirm to others what they already think!”
“Growing up as a vegetarian (C8) in the ’60s was most unusual,” claims Janita Rankin of North Dandalup (WA). “Restaurants rarely catered to herbivores and people saw vegetarianism as some sort of cult. On a sleep-over, the mother of my friend was gobsmacked when told I didn’t eat meat, asking, ‘what do you eat then?’ I said I was fine with vegetables, but throughout dinner I was constantly asked, ‘are you sure you don’t want a chop?’ At breakfast, I declined the sausages, politely reminding the hostess I wasn’t a meat eater and that ‘baked beans on toast would be lovely’. When I was presented with the plate, there was a rasher of bacon on the side.”
Column8@smh.com.au
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