Food for Thought

My Mother was born on August 10 1904. I think today I am going to write about her and her hospitality. She always put her best foot forward in welcoming people into our home. I remember as a child in wartime Britain the G.I.s who attended Church on Sunday were always sent home with various families and we always had two or three or four come home with us. We were on rations so there was not a lot to go around but whatever we had was shared and these young men were welcomed. I remember my Uncle Harry, her brother, who lived in Essex coming home to Belfast for his holidays and bringing Auntie May, June, Billy and Barbara. My Mother would rearrange all the sleeping arrangements to accommodate them. BUT!!!! the best part was she always made a FRY. Which included bacon, eggs, soda bread and potato bread. Uncle Harry was the returning native son and soda and tady was unheard of in England. We did not have this everyday so it was a treat for us also. Today we call it an Ulster Fry.
This is an Ulster Fry. Similar to what I make except I have not added mushrooms but will take requests. This is such a traditional meal, people outside Ulster do not know what it is. I learned to bake apple pie when I was about 12, and in the Fall we would always go Blackberrying and Mom would make jelly. Another celebration she prepared was the wedding reception of my brother Roy. She sat about 40 people down to a fancy meal in our living room which was NOT big. It was wall to wall tables and chairs. My children probably have stories to tell of my efforts at hosting people in our home, and the ensuing turmoil but hopefully they do have happy memories of the people we entertained. I learned it from my Mother. This being an Olympic year I am reminded that my Mother was a knitter. The Olympics were held in London in 1948 and she knit a sweater for my brother Roy that had the Olympic rings as a pattern. She also knit a sweater for my brother Joe, he visited an aunt who noticed a loose thread and pulled on it to break it off, instead a large piece of the sweater came unravelled. Needless to say my Mother was "upset". My Mother died in March 1953 before reaching her 49th birthday. I think of her often.