That’s me and BabyMac. She’s a fucking legend so get over to her part of the Interweb and well, yes that is her life, don’t hate her for it. When she runs sometimes wee comes out. I figure that’s payment enough.
This photo was taken when we were in Melbourne back in March. Beth took on the role of Benefactor and basically paid for my entire trip. That’s right. Airfares, accomodation and sneaky ciggies. I haven’t smoked since uni and even then it was only after dark and when I was very very drunk. Fast forward 20 years and here we were, peeing our pants over stupid mum jokes and smoking out a tiny gap in the window in the hotel room. As I said up there. Klass.ee.Lay.deez.
ANYWAY, somewhere over the course of that weekend we were talking about the gross foodstuffs we adore and childhood family favourites or at least classics.
I informed her of our standard Sunday night fare (as lunch was always a lamb roast): tinned spaghetti on toast, or (tinned) creamed corn on toast, or some weird GOREmay (tinned) mushrooms in sauce … on toast. all offered up with some fried devon.
Shut the door hold the phone shut the fuck up FRIED DEVON.
Oh sure, my sweets up there was all across Devon rollos – a slice of devon, a line of tomato sauce down the middle and then rolled up and shoved down your gullet fast enough the sauce wouldn’t escape – but totally in the dark about the world that is FRIED DEVON.
Seriously, when I hear the universe wailing about what our kids eat these days my reaction is, REALLY? REALLY???
So the fried caper was a whole new ballgame for blondie.
I promised her I would blog about it and I think keeping her waiting for two months is a nice way of showing my appreciation for her absolute pure generosity of heart, spirit, bank account and fags. So darling girl, here it is, in all its tasty transfat, lips and arses, hooves and beaks glory.
Take a slice of this tasty processed meat
Make a small cut into each side, even though a circle doesn’t have a side. So at 12, 3, 6 and 9 o’clock. Imagining the devon was a clock. Which clearly it isn’t. Oh nevermind.
Lightly oil (in hindsight there was a disappointing lack of fat in this devon, should have used more oil in the pan. I have vague recollections that when mum made this for us as kids it was FRIED IN BUTTER. Tasty tasty butter. In her defence I think at that stage you could still only buy olive oil in the chemist for treating cradle cap so cooking with it would have been really gross.
In hindsight I left this one a bit too long, but I was getting a bit distracted by taking photos of the whole process and generally finding myself hilarious.
What is not to love about that people, what is NOT.TO.LOVE.
So I figure I’ll open it up to the floor – what is your childhood food memory which either scarred you for life or is now a complete guilty pleasure. Don’t be shy, you’re among friends, we’ll only laugh a lot. Here’s some to get you started:
It HAS to be sandwich bread, none of this fancy sourdough shit. Then butter, both sides, devon, tomato sauce. Perfection. What about this beauty:
My boys were introduced to this by my MIL and ADORE it. ADORE. Remember when it was the ONLY parmesan you could buy? Ahh, the gold ‘ole days. (Confession, I had some on my spag bol the other week. It was so good. *hangs head in shame*)