You Can't Beat Home Made...

Domestic Science is what it was called back in the day. A very useful subject which taught you how to make an apron or bake a cake. 

I made a Christmas cake in secondary school. Not so much as a whisper of a Kenwood mixer in sight : all done with a large wooden spoon. After half an hour of laborious mixing of fruited pebble-dashing, my hand was red and raw. My teacher harrumphed as she fetched me a plaster, "Can't have you bleeding in that!"

Next generation it was called Food Technology and my daughter brought home the definitive Sausage Casserole which has sustained us in the winter months for the following 20 years. My, it was a big one.. 

Then this afternoon, the third generation, our six year old grandson, brought home his offering. On this bleak wet autumn evening he announced,

"No need to cook tonight, Mummy, I've made Coleslaw!"

We raised a faux cheer as he opened  the Tupperware box. He stood on a step in the kitchen to get out four bowls. 

"And which of your friends helped you make this?"asked his mother.

"Ronnie," he replied.

"Oh great, " his mother said, with a tone that suggested that possibly it was not. 

We sat down to eat. 

"I've saved an extra large portion for Daddy," said my daughter.

We all started chomping. Conversation was replaced by extreme concentration, accompanied by noisy industrial-style chomping.

"This is disgusting! " spluttered the young chef, his mouth full of semi-chewed vegetation.

"I can't eat this.."

Everyone put down their knife and fork, with ill-disguised relief, and agreed that Daddy should get an an even larger helping upon his return from work. 

I didn't think it was too bad actually. But everyone else blamed Ronnie.  

The Chef's Dad puts in a damn fine effort...