Foodscape by Carl Warner

My eldest son is being nice to me. I’m getting compliments. He’s even phoning me to give me compliments! This, in itself, is deeply suspicious.

We don’t do things that way…

It is a long-established tradition that we, my sons and I, barter mild insults for vague disparagement instead of being verbally nice to each other. There have been some raised eyebrows in the past by those who have overheard our casually caustic repartee and who, being on the outside of this tacit game, do not understand that while our terms of endearment may be unorthodox, they are nevertheless real. We, especially my eldest son Nick and I, share a delight in words and the creative use of vocabulary has been a game we have played for a very long time. Calling me their hobbit is the gentlest of the various epithets they have bestowed upon me between them, while most of my responses are possibly unprintable.

And he’s phoning me up to be nice???

Mind you, I know what is behind it. Food.

Mine, to be precise.

No, he’s not starving me into submission… on the contrary. He seems intent on feeding me. But there’s a catch.

Foodscape by Carl Warner

“What have you been doing then?” he asks after I have spent an hour melting in the heat while he was in an appointment.

“Nothing much, just getting bored and hunting for shade.”

“Oh well, “ he shrugs as the sun fries the bugs on the windshield, “You can have a fabulous beef stew for dinner… that’s your reward.”

“But I cooked it…”

“But I bought it..”

“But I had to go to the supermarket for the ingredients…”

“And?”

“And I made it and washed up…”

“So now you can share it…” Magnanimous, you see…

Foodscape by Carl Warner

He’s learning to cook, that’s the thing… properly cook, and with his typical aplomb has decided the best way of doing that is to get me to cook all his old favourites while he watches and learns before putting it all into practice. The experimental soup he made was, I have to say, delicious. The smoothie this morning, on the other hand, was perhaps a little heavy on the spinach for my taste… that or he’s trying to kill me… or turn me into Popeye.

My younger son spends time with his brother… oddly enough on the days I’ve been cooking. Tonight they called me to find out what to do if Alex had cut his hand off when sharpening the kitchen knives. Not that easily fooled I simply suggested they pack said hand in the smoothie ice for the trip to the hospital. They like giving me heart failure. I’m fairly convinced of that. But at least they enjoyed dinner. Tuesday it was a hearty winter stew, today it was chilli… and yes, it is the middle of a heatwave here… But then, Nick doesn’t do things by halves.

Which is why, in an effort to get his life back in gear after recent unhappy events and the attack that left him unable to walk a few years ago, he and his brother decided to throw themselves out of an aeroplane. I get to watch.

I may even be proud of them… they are doing the jump for the Make a Wish Foundation, a charity that makes special dreams come true for children facing life threatening conditions. If anyone can help spread their story and help them raise funds, I would be grateful.

Meanwhile, tomorrow the temperature is set to soar and my mission is to demonstrate the various stages of sauce making… “I didn’t realise I’d be learning physics if I learned to cook,” said Nick as I explained the dynamics of expanding gluten. “And have you finished writing that cookbook?”

No… but I will… if I ever get out of the kitchen….

So why are they jumping out of an aeroplane?… Find out by clicking here