N.H.S. Soup and other Culinary Delights

After N.H.S. custard, how about N.H.S. soup? Well, no thanks, not surprisingly. When you're suck in a hospital bed and rely on being fed the food they dish up, your appetite isn't up to much, you've just had an operation and you feel like throwing up every half hour or so, what can be worse when you've ordered food form the list they send round each day, you order soup and when it eventually arrives (by which time you may well have completely forgotten what it was you ticked on the menu-form) and soup turns up, and you look at it in it's bowl, it's a thick gloop, thicker than the average sauce you cook your chicken in, one of those ready-made sauces such as Chicken Tonight, this soup doesn't exactly help your appetite. Like the custard I've already mentioned in a previous post, it just doesn't move or if you turn the bowl upside down, it doesn't fall out of the bowl. You could use it to fill in the gaps in your bathroom grouting or down the edge of the bath. Just plain disgusting.

Hey, another thing. If you order omelette, it can come with gravy! If you so wish. But, please, who on earth eats GRAVY with omelette? What sort of culinary genius came up with THAT! I know if I mention such delights as mushy peas I'll no doubt be shot down in flames, but they are so disgusting and unpleasant to the taste, and usually a totally unnatural green-colour (not sure that peas are bright green like that, they must put artificial colour in to give it that awful colour.) Well, what else is on the menu for the next day? I'll have a look this morning when I'm with Carol on the ward and give you an idea. I might even take a photo with my iPhone and post it on here.

Does all this hark back to the dark days of World War 2, when people were on rationing, and food was difficult to come by, what with dried egg, Wilton Pie, shortages of virtually every food staple you could think off, and perhaps all this carried on afterwards and the N.H.S. was set up so the food had to be the same as army or any other service, regulation menus, all manner of nasty things such as lumpy custard and tepid soup, thin watery dinners (such as I had when I was at Rushmoor School) and you weren't allowed to complain. Over-cooked cabbage. Liver that tasted bitter and had the consistency of rubber (not that I've eaten rubber.) Watered-down custard, as well as treacle and jam.  Well, that's a failing of the British, 'make do and mend,' 'put up or shut up' and of course, queuing like it was going out of fashion and DEFINITELY never complaining (but moaning continuously about all these things but not doing anything about it.) Rather in the fashion of characters in an Alan Bennet television play. Why do we put up with poor service and food in motorway service areas, school dinners, tea made with teabags on bits of string that you have to dunk in hot (not boiled) water (a rather cheap importation from America, I fear.) An insult when most British people know how to make a proper brew, always boil fresh water, never reuse water that's already in the kettle and then let the pot stand for a while to 'mash.' And generally very sloppy service.

An update

This lunch time I had to walk all the way to the main entrance to get something for my lunch. I got a baguette from the small shop, which turned out to be only reasonable for taste. The bread was like eating cotton wool, a mouthful of mush which I didn't exactly enjoy, but, hey, why complain? I had to get the wretched Hospicom card topped up and got a £10 note out of the A.T.M. and then went to the shops to try and get it changed into 10 £1 coins (a repetition of a few day's previously, as recorded on here a couple of posts ago.) The Hospital Friends shop in the Out-Patients department couldn't change the note and by now I was getting a bit annoyed. If they insist on having this television service, they could at least make sure the vending machines that you use to top up the cards work properly and most of all take the new notes which have come out recently. In the end I managed to discover that there was another Friends shop near Ward 20, but on the lower level, right next to the hospital restaurant. The lady on the till was reluctant to give me the change, saying that she wasn't supposed to change people's notes as she had done for me, but nevertheless less she did and I was glad she was able to and eventually get the card topped up. All I can say is- what a performance and how many miles did I have to walk to get the confounded card topped up?

By the time I got back to Carol on the ward she had been served her lunch. It had been eaten, but there was a lot of it left. It was supposed to be either chicken or beef pie, but it didn't look in the least like any pie I've ever seen. Just a load of brown mush and the pastry looked almost raw. What ever is it about hospital food? Why does it have to be so awful?

Wet Weather and Cold N.H.S. Custard

It's raining this morning. As it's been dry and sunny for the past few days, it's rather a shock to find rain. Alfie poked his head out of the patio door when he wanted to be let out early this morning and went out but he doesn't really like rain. I can understand because he gets cold easily. 

I've been walking to the hospital each day this week to visit Carol. It's not that far, walking along the Redway and through into the hospital grounds, but if it's raining I think I'll go in the car. I did yesterday late afternoon.

It crazy that the ward is so hot. In Carol's side-room, it's quite claustrophobic and it's TOO warm. I can understand why they have to have it warm if people are ill, but then Carol has to have a window open and they've give her an electric fan to cool it down. It just doesn't make sense somehow.

Poor Carol is having enough trouble with food. She can't have solid food of any kind and is on what they call a 'Low Residue' diet. As a result she can eat such things as yoghurt, jelly and custard. I bought her some Aldi mousses yesterday. They are to die for. Excellent all round for flavour and texture and they're very reasonably priced. I was in yesterday evening at the hospital and they were bringing round the dinner (at around 6 p.m.) Carol was bought a bowl of custard. Well, they said it was custard, but it didn't look much like what I'd term 'custard.' The consistency of something you'd use to cover a wall, that stuff that used to give a rough surface, my mother had it put on the ceilings of the home we lived in when I was a child, which gives a sort of rough texture and these ceilings had sort of swirls in this stuff a bit like plaster. Well, this custard had this sort of resemblance. If you moved the bowl, the custard stayed in the same place. It didn't move or do anything and the colour was pale. It looked ill, intact, that's a good description for N.H.S. custard. Probably made like that deliberately. You could lag a pipe with the stuff or fill in potholes. That would be a good use for it. Carol said it might be because it comes a long way from the kitchens and has to be kept warm. Dear goodness, is it not the easiest thing to make? Just some custard powder and some warm milk, whisked up in a pan??? How on earth difficult is it to make that? Not this pale and inspire and totally unappetising stuff? I thought the idea was that you went to hospital when you're ill, not given this stuff which would make you very, very sick. Lumpy custard, insipid soup (Carol texted me to please get her something NICE to eat, as the soup she was given for lunch was AWFUL! Are we really stuck in the 1950's, when things were bad just after the war? Why can't they make something decent for the patients to eat? I think they put lumps in specifically, a bit like the awful stuff we were supposed to eat when I was a shoddy Rushmoor School. Not just the custard there, which wasn't lumpy, just watered down. Just about stayed on your plate, it was as thin as possible so they could make as much profit as possible out of a very small Bird's custard tin. The gravy there was just as bad. More like something out of the school in some Dicken's novel like Dotheheboy's Hall run by Mr Squeers in Nicholas Nicklby. The whole place should have been condemned by Ofsted years ago and I'm surprised it's still in existence. Do you get the impression I didn't enjoy my period there much? Well, you'd be absolutely right on that score. Strange how I made the link between N.H.S. food and that served up in private education establishments.

This evening (Saturday) Carol was bought her evening meal ON A TRAY  as I sat in the ward with her. It was a plate of pasta with some sort of meat sauce (presumably a sort of bolognaise bake), a slice of cake wrapped in cellophane and another bowl of 'custard.' None of it looked appetising and was just slapped onto a plate without a great deal of effort. I appreciate it's a ward in a hospital, and that the nurses don't have time to present the food better, but it really looked horrible. I think Alfie's dinner looks more appetising, and he's a little dog. Why can't the food look better? I also know they have to work to a very tight budget, but this was just, well, words fail me (no, they don't, otherwise I wouldn't be writing this, and I love words, but you know what I mean.)

Food Favourites (And some not quite so)

I have written extensively about my school days and in particular at Rushmoor School in Bedford. Of the many not quite so pleasant memories of that establishment must surely be the totally disgusting dinner that was served up. More like slopped up. I have absolutely no idea how much my father had to fork out to send me there, but I would have hoped if I had a son and I was paying for their education, I would hope the food that was dished up was a good deal better. I think they could have made more effort to make it, at least, half edible. I think most people when they look back on their school days (which, you keep being reminded are supposed to be 'the happiest of your life.') it's generally the dinners that get mentioned the most frequently if it's for how bad they are, or even, how good. I can remember gristly, chewy meat. What sort it was, I can hardly imagine. I should think beef or pork, but possibly a horse, mule or donkey. More likely road-kill from some country road in and around Bedfordshire. Sorry, I know we've had food scares in the past. But expecting your progeny to eat such disgusting food should come under some form of an act of parliament for child cruelty in this day and age.  I don't know about the time I was at school. You just put up with it and didn't make any sort of fuss. Liver, I seem to recall, looking like and having the consistency of rubber erasers and tasting bitter, and swimming in gravy. No, struggling to survive. Usually watered-down, like the custard. I think they could make a reasonably fine sponge pudding, but then they ruined it with lumpy custard. But tell me, how difficult is it to make the custard, minus the lumps? Shove it through a sieve to remove the lumps and then boil it to death. Similarly, cabbage, which has been boiled to within an inch of its life. And stinking the place out to high heaven. Enough to put anyone off for life, and it probably has. Rice pudding was another staple. Actually, to tell the truth, I do actually like rice pudding. They served it up with watered-down treacle I seem to remember. I've heard of stretching things until it breaks, like a piece of elastic (yes, another metaphor. The liver and meat had the texture of elastic. Chew it until your jaw ached!) Which reminds me that once, at Rushmoor, one dinner time they served up plain boiled rice. I think it might, on reflection, have started out being a good old fashioned rice pud, but someone forgot that it's made with milk. So we were expected to eat it, along with very watered-down treacle. Not nice. Can you imagine being made to sit and eat it until it was all gone? That Mrs Richardson, who presided over the piano-playing for assembly (see my earlier post.) was in control of the ladle and spoon, doling out the dinners, slapping the custard, gravy and other comestibles onto our plates as we queued up, in a similar fashion to the inmates of the workhouse in 'Oliver Twist.' We had liver, as I've said. Pretty disgusting. I expect it put a lot of people off liver- for life. No 'asking for more' as you can imagine. I think even poor old Oliver would have passed on the rubber-consistency of this. I actually rather like liver, as an adult. I don't have a problem with it and know how to cook it, slowly, in a nice rich gravy. It's quite nice, for a change. It's a cheap meal and is good for you. It contains iron, amongst other things. But the thought of eating boiled rice, on it's own, with thin, watered-down treacle, that was just disgusting. 

My mother was a very good cook. She made plain, simple food. As there were seven of us living at home, five of us brothers and my mother and father, what you had put in front of you, you were expected to eat up and not leave anything. No room for finicky eaters. I don't think my mother would have put up with such behaviour, and certainly not my father. We had porridge for breakfast. Actually, even as an adult, I quite like porridge, so long as I'm making it and it's not lumpy. Better for you, and a good deal cheaper, than sugar-filled cereals from a packet.  I don't think we ever had any other cereal such as Rice Krispies, Sugar Puffs or even Corn Flakes until I was perhaps around 12 years old. Also, bacon and eggs. A good old fry-up, because, being a farm, my father and two eldest brothers needed a substantial breakfast each morning as they would have got up early, around 5.30- 6.00, to feed the cattle and other animals and do other early-morning jobs, and then come into the house to have their breakfast at 7-8 o'clock. That was after they left school.

Sunday lunch we'd usually have a roast, such as chicken, beef, pork or lamb. Naturally, if it was beef or pork it might possibly be home-produced. And with the roast, roast potatoes and other vegetables from the garden. My father grew Brussel sprouts on the farm, which were sent off to Smithfield Market, and we had with our meal. A much larger variety than the tiny variety that you'll find in your average supermarket. For pudding, something like sponge pudding and custard (although I don't remember having custard. Probably cream, straight from the cow which was reserved for the house. Something I don't expect would be allowed today, what with the E.U. and all the regulations that go with it. The cattle were tested for T.B. or whatever it was once a year, can't remember what else for, to fit the current regulations. I just know that you wouldn't be able to drink 'raw' untreated milk. I have to say that it tasted a good deal better than pasteurised milk, and the cream was thicker and richer. We also had a lot of fruit from the garden, such as strawberries, raspberries and rhubarb, when in season, and ate it stewed with more cream, or in a sponge pudding of some sort. Also, celery and asparagus, which, looking back, we were very fortunate to have growing in the garden. When you see these things in a supermarket, and the price they charge, I realise more than ever how lucky we were to be able to eat these fruit and vegetables. There was a quite substantial orchard at Malting Farm, with plenty of plum, apple and pear trees in it. Sadly, the last time I went to the farm I saw that it had all been removed and the land used  as animal pens. I suppose the cost of maintaining it all was too much and was better being used for the sheep and other farm animals.

My mother was a good baker and we had ample cakes and other delights for tea. I don't think she ever bought a cake, although I seemed to remember her buying the odd treat from a cake shop in Harrowden Road, on the road going into Bedford. Doughnuts, filled with jam, as well as little cakes in fancy paper trays, I think called Viennese Whirls, made, I think of choux pastry and with a dob of bright red jam on top. Not jam probably, more like a thick gooey substance with a sweet over-flavoured taste. She was a dab-hand at making shortbread, I believe being given the recipe from one of my father's Scottish relatives. There is a certain knack to making this Scottish delicacy, made of real butter and it has to be kneaded carefully. Just delicious, cut into triangles and sprinkled with sugar. Also, scones with cream and jam, Victoria sponges, also filled with jam (I'm quite good at making them.) as well as fruit cakes and her piece-de-resistance, cream slices, which had not jam and cream in them, but confectioner's custard, which is quite difficult to make. Tea was at around 4.00 p.m. and you can see why we had so many visitors to the farm, usually 'reps' from the various companies who did business with the farm. They would not only get an order out of my father, but a decent cup of tea, a piece of cake and a chat, before they got back in their cars and drove back to wherever their company was based, such as Biggleswade or Sandy, which are further up the road going towards the A1.

My grandmother, who lived at Mill Farm, made rock cakes, and she covered them with little seeds I think they were caraway seeds. I didn't particularly like them as a child. If you went to tea you weren't expected to pick and choose. You couldn't be finicky. You ate what was put in front of you. So, if you found yourself eating something you didn't like (such as the aforementioned seeded rock cakes) you put up and shut up. I do remember though, one family (who shall remain nameless) coming to tea with their two children who would have been quite young at the time, and my mother had made her usually delicious teas with plenty of cake (although the rule was generally 'bread before cake' in our household.) and there was a plate full of delicious-looking little cakes (probably filled with jam and cream.) One of these children had an eye for the plate of cakes and was determined to get on. So, in order that one, in particular, was taken for him to consume, he licked a finger and then stuck it in one of the cakes and said 'that one's for me!' meaning that, because he'd shoved his finger into it with a licked finger, no one else would possibly want to eat it! Not a particularly pleasant little boy, I must say, and I'm not entirely sure what my mother made of this strategy to get one of her delicious cakes!

As for some  other of my favourite foods: I like pancakes, and I'm fairly good at making them myself. As it's Shrove Tuesday this week ('Pancake Day') I shall no doubt be making some myself. The knack is being able to make a good batter and leaving it to stand for well over an hour. Whisking the batter is the secret. Also, making batter for Yorkshire pudding, making sure the oven is hot and the pan you cook it in has hot oil in it before you put in the batter. I like mine crisp and crunch with a most or soggy centre.My grandfather liked his Yorkshire pudding soggy and I remember going to lunch with my grandparents and my grandfather deliberately slammed the oven door when we had Yorkshire pudding with our roast beef to make sure they sunk and wouldn't go crunchy! I also like bread and butter pudding, so simple to make, but easy to make. I'm good at making that also.