My father died in 1998. The day itself was obviously chaotic. The following morning focus returned and I had to make my mother eat. She refused all suggestions, so I remembered the comfort food that we had eaten as a family when my brother and I were small. I forwarded the idea of baked potaoes, she pulled a face and said 'don't mind'.
I prepared proper creamy baked potatoes, chopped crispy bacon, grated Cheddar and a pot of butter. She cut open the potato, slathered it in butter, piled on the bacon and doused it in cheese, the whole lot melting together in the steaming heat of the spud.
Mother finished it all, adding more butter. She disolved into the plate clearing the lot with a satisfied smile as she recounted the happy family weekend suppers of baked potatoes with all the trimmings.
When life is crap, a baked spud and butter solves many problems.
I prepared proper creamy baked potatoes, chopped crispy bacon, grated Cheddar and a pot of butter. She cut open the potato, slathered it in butter, piled on the bacon and doused it in cheese, the whole lot melting together in the steaming heat of the spud.
Mother finished it all, adding more butter. She disolved into the plate clearing the lot with a satisfied smile as she recounted the happy family weekend suppers of baked potatoes with all the trimmings.
When life is crap, a baked spud and butter solves many problems.
