One of the things I suspect The Mom really enjoys when I come home is to be able to feed me. She knows I can cook and that I do, most days, but she is also convinced that Mom’s cooking is better than anybody’s.
And she’s right. But this year, what with Crazy D and L’il Sis in the house, there is going to be competition for who will feed me.
When I’m on my own in London, I take pretty good care of myself, though I do seem to attract people who want to cook for me. In fact, I just spoke to my boyfriend and have now got him on tap to prepare a lovely roast dinner for us this evening. He’s always offering to cook, so why not take him up on it, i say?
I don’t know why this is, that people are always trying to feed me. Yes, I am tiny, but still, I do eat. People know this. But I think they also suspect that they can do a better job of it than I can.
So when I’m home for Christmas, it’s going to be tricky. Because L’il Sis will want to feed me up full of Things That Are Healthy, however, she’s not terribly well-versed in Cooking For Crohn’s, whever I am in the flare-up stage. One or two really healthy meals from here can in fact, plunge me into a nasty flare. That’s what you get for feeding me lentils and kale. Doens’t end well.
But Crazy D will step in and offer something that has different beans and a bit of meat. This, everyone but me will decide, is exactly what I need. And he will cook and I will eat and probably feel a bit funny after.
And then The Mom will kick everyone out of the kitchen and just make me a plain bowl of soup and serve me a piece of fluffly white bread and everyone but her will moan and whinge about this is why I’m so sickly because this is what I eat, terrible, no nutrition and on and on. I just put it out of my mind and eat the soup.
It’s really only The Mom who is good at feeding me when I don’t feel well.
But there really is nothing like her cooking. And as I am a Foreign Visitor nowadays, she will cater to some of my more ridiculous whims. Last year, in fact, when I arrived she’d already made the fancy onion bread I like that’s a total pain to make and she was defrosting some fruit cake for me (I’m the only one who likes it so she makes one up every couple of years and rations it out).
She’ll even make me breakfast when I’m home, though that’s normally Crazy D’s territory. He likes to make me eggs with salsa which is very nice, but usually a bit much for me. The Mom will poach me one egg and toast me one slice of bread and sit with me and watch me eat it. Crazy D will give me a huge plate of food and sometimes wander off during the course of waiting for me to finish it. That’s also part of the deal, if you feed me you have to sit with me while I eat. We don’t have to talk but you do have to sit there. I’m a slow eater though and not many people have the staying power necessary to get through an entire meal.
And though The Mom’s cooking is excellent and I look forward to gobbling it all up when I’m home, it’s also the little rituals she puts up with that I really like. How she removes the slimy bits from meat or eggs so I don’t have to, how she will peel me an orange or let me pick at hers, or cut me an apple, or do any number of things any reasonable person who refuse to.
But then, that’s why she’s The Mom.