. . . . on cooking for the family
AN APPARENTLY INNOCUOUS decision made in our house recently caused a rise in parental stress levels. The children's 5pm "nursery tea" — a plummy phrase handed down by my English-born mother — was jettisoned in favour of a family meal around the table where, in theory, the joys and challenges of the day would be shared over a nutritious, delicious meal served at 6pm on the dot. So far, so Good Housekeeping.
The reality has been less civilised. The task of planning and providing hot meals five days a week when both parents are working is not for the faint-hearted. Speaking as the chef-in-chief in my house (the cleaner-in-chief job was already taken, sadly), by the time I get home there is half an hour in which to whip up something that will satisfy everyone/assuage the fear that the children are going to develop rickets or some other nutritionally related ailment Jamie Oliver will haunt my dreams about. As I am the disorganised type, I crumbled under the pressure and the first few weeks of the new regime featured jazzed-up beans on toast, under-cooked fish fingers and that legendary fallback spaghetti à la something.
More impressively, there was the chorizo stew I can make in my sleep, which went down well, and a throw-everything-in-the-pan stir-fry which, without going into the nature of the faces pulled around the table, did not.
As challenges go, the family dinner has proved gruelling. Still, only the 20-odd years of evening meals to go.
Speaking of parental ineptitude, there's a book out called Bad Mother: A Chronicle of Maternal Crimes, Minor Calamities and Occasional Moments of Grace. Because there just aren't enough comedy books about bad mothering being written are there? I searched for Bad Father: A Chronicle of Paternal Crimes, Minor Calamities and Occasional Moments of Graceand imagine my complete lack of surprise when I couldn't find that book or anything like it. On the other hand, men were officially deemed responsible for wars and conflicts of every kind recently. So that kind of evens things up.
There’s no money in bad or even average fathers. Us “bad mothers” are perfect saps. We love reading about ourselves and I’m as much of a sucker for such books as the next self-flagellating Mammy. Watch us in action. Giggle along as we make the same version of tomato sauce with pasta two nights in a row and accidentally add too many chilli flakes. Observe our ensuing angst.
A friend with slightly older children says pretty much everything she puts on the table these days is greeted with a cheery “that’s disgusting” so there’s that to look forward to further along the road.
It had got to the point where I was thinking of bribing my mother to come round every other night with a pot of something hearty and acceptable to almost-three-year-olds. Her reward? More quality time with the grandchildren of course. Then, before she could laugh in my face, I came across SiansPlan.com.
Serendipity doo da, as I’m overly fond of saying when things seem to fall into place. Sian Breslin is a Welsh- born woman who moved to Donegal 30 years ago where she taught Home Economics before opening a guesthouse and cookery school. She found that people attending the school were anxious about planning their family meals, wanting to reduce waste and spend less, so the mother-of-three set up a system to help them. This involved trawling through her vast library of cookbooks, drawing up lists, creating various spreadsheets, until one day, Sian, who claims she is a disorganised type herself, thought: “There must be an easier way”.
When the recession hit and bookings for the guest house fell, she realised she needed to diversify. She spent three years fine tuning Sian’s Plan, her internet meal planner business, which launched in the Michelin-starred splendour of L’Écrivain earlier this week.
Sian’s is not the only meal planner on the internet but as far as I know it’s the only comprehensively foolproof Irish one. I can confirm it’s far less likely to make your head spin than others that are out there.
What happens now is I plan meals a week ahead using my own recipes and ones available on the website. (A one-week meal planner is free, if you want more plans it costs from €4.95 a month.) My shopping list is automatically created on another part of the site and, Mr Oliver take note, Sian’s Plan includes technology which calculates the nutritional value of every meal.
Her plan has become my plan. I spend less, waste less and my bad mother guilt levels have been reduced.
Yes, yes, 18-year-old-me is laughing her head off at my current reality wherein I am colour coding my family meals. Red for cooking from scratch, green for eating leftovers, blue for a day of batch cooking and white for take-away night. But then, all that eejit cares about is where the next bottle of cider is coming from, so what does she know? Being able to recite the entire lyric of Paul Simon's Call Me Alis hardly comparable to my newfound ability to plan family meals with minimum stress.
Of course, even with all this zen at mealtimes, I'm still a "bad mother". As the book points out there's no other kind these days. See siansplan.com
In other news . . . Join me in counting down the hours until this real-life, reality show-style experience I call ‘Extreme January Survival Get Me Out Of Here’ is over. Aaaaand breathe.