The nostalgia of mundane meals

"Mundane nostalgia refers to the sentimental longing for ordinary, everyday aspects of the past." Google AI

The title of this particular post is an AI suggestion, so how apt that the only almost appropriate quote for a header that I found came from AI as well. They are both sort of creepy but at the same time, almost philosophical/poetic - not quite - but also tantalisingly correct. With a weird kind of personality behind them - almost human.

The title, however, doesn't quite sound human does it? Or quite right. And yet it does make me think. I have just come back from a walk, trying to decide what it is that is non-human, and also how perhaps a human would put it. I guess the basic question is it the meal that is mundane or is it really nostalgia that is mundane with, of course, always that ever-present topic of food and nostalgia, and, of course, nostalgia is so often associated with home - whatever that might mean - and youth - or at least years gone by. Anyway it provoked me into writing - always a good thing. And even though the Google quote can't really be questioned it still, somehow, sounds inhuman to me. But also very correct.

As you can tell I was out of inspiration after almost a week of no blogging, so I turned to my little notebook of ideas of various kinds, and specifically the list of AI sugggestions that I used to get from Wix. They don't appear anymore by default. I have to click a button. I almost miss them, because they were all so, sort of odd. Sometimes they made me smile. Sometimes they made me think and look at the world of food in a different way.

I chose this particular one because it sort of enlightened me as to how I felt about the results of my dinner party meal - at the time marginally disappointed for reasons I could not quite put my finger on. I was sort of coming round to a more cheerful assessment, and seeing that AI suggestion confirmed and expanded my reflections.

I wrote about the decision making process earlier this week, although my final menu differed slightly from those considerations. In the end I made Felicity Cloake's Pithiviers, Poulet au vinaigre (shown above) from Henry Harris on the BBC website, with Nigella's Petits pois Françaises, and followed by Guilllaume Brahimi's Poires Belle Hélène. If you remember the choice was supposedly based on the food of the Orléanais and Paris, where I passed several lengthy stays each year with two French families. And so, although I never ate any of those foods in their houses - well maybe the petits pois, there was already a rather large component of nostalgia in the choice - if not for the foods themselves, than for the memories in my head of the Loire valley countryside, and Paris streets as I searched for suitable dishes to reflect them. Also perhaps nostalgia for my early cooking adventures as a young wife.

It wasn't just the choice of the food, however. It was also the choice of the guests - our very oldest Australian friends, the ones with whom we shared the trials of early childhood, and burgeoning careers, and who have always been there, although seen much less today than back then. Apart from two, who live nearer, we had not seen the others for a long time, and so it was a joy to bring them all together again, reminisce, and recount how our lives have changed and where our children and grandchildren are now, as well as the sadness of remembering those who have since died, changing the lives of some forever. But yes there was joy in remembering good times, and also in finding that fundamentally none of us has changed very much - in spirit anyway - over the years. I should have taken a photograph of us all, but I was too busy enjoying the moment.

And what about the meal? Why the mild dissatisfaction?

This is my Pithiviers. It was the only photograph I took, because even though I knew I would be writing about this somehow, I enjoyed the occasion so much that I completely forgot to record it - except now in this post, and also, in new memories in my brain to recall now and then.

The Pithiviers was spectacular in appearance, with oohs and ahs at its appearance on the table. And yet I was mildly disappointed with the taste. Although I'm not sure why - after all, it was fundamentally just leeks, potatoes, and cheese with a touch of cheese. A comfort food kind of taste which, now that I reflect upon it, is perhaps the very best taste of all. Nothing leaps out of you to say 'wow' and yet it is sort of perfect. So give it a go when you want to impress someone - it was easy to make and to assemble, and I do think that the Carême puff pastry that I splurged on, did indeed taste better than the Pampas butter puff pastry.

Here I insert a kind of postscript, because although I wrote most of this yesterday, I didn't quite finish. We took the leftovers - about half of the pie - to my son's house last night, for the family was gathering there and I had provided the food, because of the current stressful lives of our hosts - my younger son and wife. The Pithiviers was reheated, and much appreciated by all - in fact, to my mind, it tasted even better on reheating.

Nigella's Petit pois Françaises - are just perfect. You really must try this sometime. At the time I think I felt that they were the best part of the meal. I shredded the lettuce more finely than in this photograph, and no they are not an amazingly beautiful side dish, but so tasty and just perfect as a side for the chicken. We have leftovers which I am going to combine with some carrots and the remainders of the sauce for the chicken, in a soup, sometime later this week.

And what of the chicken? (thanks to Craig for the photo.) Well, today I think it was gorgeous. Yesterday I was not so impressed, but that is because it was so very, very, French in the way that a braised French chicken dish with lashings of creamy sauce is. The chicken was beautifully tender - free-range, not organic - there was no organic chicken on offer that day in the supermarket. It's a dish that was so similar to many dishes I made as a young wife from recipes from my old gurus, and that I have also consumed on countless more recent holidays in France. In French restaurants too. It was so very, very French. Therefore familiar - mundane even, but so nostalgic too. A perfect example of my AI friend's attempt at describing what were really complex feelings.

I should also mention here that I had decided to serve bread rather than potatoes to mop up the juices. It's what the French do after all. If they serve potatoes they are a dish in themselves, to be enjoyed as a separate course. In France I learnt to use bread to mop up every last shred of the juices and sauces that were left on the plate - a habit I still sometimes turn to. And yesterday the bread was perfect - a mix of supermarket baguette and David's bread formed into baguette shape and semi-steamed in my wonderful oven. Thank you David - it was delicious.

The dessert? My Poires belle Hélène were nowhere near as beautiful looking as Guillaume Brahimi's and the icecream was not so perfectly formed. This was the dish I struggled with the most because I decided to core the pears, from below as it were. Tricky, tricky, tricky. I should also have shaved off a little from the bottom, because all of my pears did not stand up straight. My chocolate sauce was runnier, and it took ages to poach the pears because they were still rock hard, even after several days supposedly ripening in the almost warmth of our home. Nostalgic? Not so much. More nostalgic and the je ne sais quoi of the perfection of French desserts, than of an actual experience. A nostalgia for French restaurants perhaps. Maybe a trip to Paris Go is a good place to go to celebrate my upcoming birthday. They did taste good though - and there is chocolate sauce left over. Postscript again - now donated to my son.

Having now almost finished this piece, I see that Wix AI somehow got 'mundane' in the wrong place. Saturday's meal was in no way mundane, either in the food, or the occasion itself. Although - perhaps it was right - because of all the nostalgic components I have talked about, and the fact that that nostaligia is inextricably entangled with the mundanity of everyday lives. Although yet again - the kind of food on offer was probably mundane to the French - ordinary anyway, although never to me - not then, not in the years in between and not now, and yet today those dishes are not at all exotic. The foodie world has moved on far beyond France since then. So maybe it was a mundane meal? It was certainly not innovative. And maybe one day it will be a nostalgic memory.

Google AI's quote "Mundane nostalgia refers to the sentimental longing for ordinary, everyday aspects of the past." continues thus:

"It's the appreciation of seemingly insignificant moments, routines, and experiences that, in retrospect, hold special meaning. This type of nostalgia isn't necessarily tied to grand events or major life milestones, but rather to the everyday details that make up a life." Google AI

Which, alas, probably says it all so much better than I.

YEARS GONE BY

June 17

2024 - Reclaiming the magical 'herstory' of food - a website

2023 - The small print of Woolworths

2022 - Is there anything you can't stuff?

2021 - Those savoury prunes

2020 - Deleted

2019 - Little bits of brie

2018 - Boiled beef and carrots

2017 - Nothing