gail schimmel

The blog of writer Gail Schimmel: A bit of writing, a bit of parenting, a bit of thinking and some book reviews

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at my mother's knee

The thing that I haven’t told you about yet is the terrible, crippling impediment that my mother had in her cooking life: my father.

My father was “allergic” to foods so numerous that to list them would take hours. Some were genuine allergies (like cucumbers. . . although I suspect this may have been the only genuine one), some were the results of the war (eating raw potatoes in the war put him off potato skins for life, although not the inside of potatoes), some were really irritating (tomato – whether raw or cooked), and some ruled out whole nations of cuisine (curry and chilli). There were many more. In the spirit of transparency, I must admit that I didn’t help my mother much either – three of the vegetables that my father WOULD eat, I wouldn’t – mushroom (genuine allergy), broccoli and cauliflower (Just really don’t like them).


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