The lemon Jelly Experience

For my 100th post, I decided to celebrate by telling a story:

'Nana' Ivy Beryl Morgan

 

Since coming to live in North America and busying myself with the food scene, I have been struck by how many food nostalgia stories are about Grandma. Misty eyed memories of watching Grandma make her own pasta, Grandma's secret recipe passed down through generations, Grandma's house, which always smelt like cookie dough etc. etc. etc. 

Even the more reputable and on the ball food magazines I buy are full of writers reminiscing about cooking with Grandma and Christmas time becomes almost overwhelming with the added dimension of traditions. If you are to believe the magazine features, you would think that every family in North America spends their Christmas meal eating food that they have eaten every year since they can remember with time honoured and beloved recipes from, yes, you've guessed it, Grandma.

Now, don't get me wrong, I understand that traditions can be important and comforting for many people and they want to keep them going as long as possible, as well as the possibility that many of the recipes are actually delicious but really, it's OK to try something new, Grandma wouldn't mind. Let me tell you a story about my memories of food with Grandma.... Now, my Grandma, 'Nana', was a funny, sweet, lovely woman and I loved her and miss her, but, occasionally, not often seen, she could be a little scary....

You know that time as a kid when you really want something and nag to get it, only to end up deeply regretting it? That happened to me. My mum and dad were pretty tolerant when it came to food. they didn't demand I finish everything, they offered choices and understood if I didn't like something. Not so with Nana. I begged for lemon jelly one day until she duly prepared it. Considering the length of time it takes to set, I don't recall if she had some magical jelly setting powers, but suddenly it was there, wobbling, wiggling and waiting for me to devour it. Was there even cream or ice-cream? I don't remember. What I do remember was how disgusting it was. 

Now, I was faced with a dilemma. Did I risk Nana's formidable wrath or keep eating the repulsive stuff,  forcing one more mouthful? Half a bowl later, defeated, I  had no choice but to utter that childish phrase of catastrophe: "I don't like it". I was doomed. 

Nana made me eat the lot. The whole jelly. All of it. That synthetic, overly sweet yet puckering-ly sour taste. I seem to recall crying, but that wouldn't stop Nana, pity wasn't her strong point that day, there were lessons to be learned. And what lessons were learned? Don't ever eat lemon jelly again and don't ever beg Nana for something unless you are sure you can eat it all with a smile on your face. I wonder whether my mum secretly smiled when I told her this story, happy that her mum had the guts to do something that most mums aren't brave enough to: make their kids hate them for a little while!

I could tell you another story about cream crackers, Marmite, margarine and Nana's bear handed destruction, but I'll leave that for another time.. God Bless you Nana.