Waste not want not.

Another classic father moment when I was at the Ancestoral over the weekend.

He has decided to repeat his mackerel triumph with some more friends. On phoning the mackerel gooseberry sauce expert he discovered that he was one spoonful short of gooseberry jam. Just as he was about to spiral into a fit of despair he remembered that someone in the village makes the aforementioned jam.

He telephoned the lady in the village who was delighted to offer the whole jar if he wanted.  With the main ingredient of the sauce secured dad went about his business for a couple of days.

When he finally went around with his spoon (he didn’t need the whole jar) to claim his spoon of jam he arrived to discover the lady had thrown it out! Apparently, she said, it had gone mouldy. Dad has always regarded mould as an asset in the culinary department and was quite baffled as to why the jam had been thrown out. Clearly the jam had to be found and his spoonful claimed, so he asked where the compost heap was so he could go and get his spoonful.

It quickly became apparent that it wasn’t on the compost heap - the jam had been thrown into the black bin bags instead. Expecting disaster it wasn’t long before father and the lady were rummaging through the bag for the jam. By some divine providence he found it ‘still in the jar!’

This reminds me of my grandmothers cooking. Deciding that us kids were far too fussy she made what turned out to be an utterly delicious pudding. When she asked whether we wanted to know where she got the fruit from we all were very eager - ‘The compost heap’ she proclaimed.

I think my favourite menu my father has ever told me about was the infamous breakfast treat….Squirrel kidney on toast.

Me: ‘but squirrel kidney is tiny’

Dad: ‘so was the toast’