Day eleven - Wednesday 11th Feb

Posh, faffy and celebrity chefs the world over talk about food memories. They talk about food's ability to remind you about moments in the past. Childhood memories that you thought were long forgotten are dredged up from the deepest, darkest depths of your subconscious to replay in you're mind as you chew on a strawberry blancmange, or a Wham! bar. The truth is, that this is true of any sensory experience that meant enough to you. A particular song playing on a particular night of a hormonally engulfed summer, the specific way someone held your hand or the smell of a jacket you found in the back of a wardrobe can all bring back memories you hadn't thought of in years. Different people are drawn to different senses more strongly and I, like those celebrity/faffy/posh chefs that assault our telly and distract us from watching the high brow and culturally stimulating programming that we should be watching like Eight out of Ten Cats does Countdown, have an affinity with the sense of taste.

I remember clearly my mum serving up liver and kidney casserole and beef tongue with boiled greens. I can recall with terrifying accuracy the taste of my dad's pea curry with crushed ready salted crisps 'for texture'. Memories that survive and serve as a warning to all to experience them. These are the exception however, as most of my childhood tastes are filled with the rose tinted pleasure that can never be re-created no matter how hard we try.

Such is the case with my mums lasagne. My mums lasagne circa 1995 was the bombdiggy. It was so good, I didn't ask for cake when my birthday rolled around. I wanted the silky pasta, the deep tomato and beef smothered with creamy cheesy sauce, then all covered with a crispy top of more almost-burnt-but-not-quite cheese. OK, perhaps a small chocolate orange drizzle cake with a candle on for afters but really the lasagne was where it was at. That taste memory defined what my opinion of lasagne should be and I have since eaten a lot of lasagne, in London, Paris and Rome to name-drop a few, but I've always been chasing  the ghost of that memory. I'm sure everyone has a couple of those experiences and I've always considered myself to be particularly lucky to have had such a huge variety of tastes and gained so many memories. Thanks mum. Dad, are have so many positive qualities but that pea curry was as rank as a swamp donkey's turd basket - but thanks for the flavour adventure anyway.

So, after finishing off the soup for lunch, guess what? I made a lasagne!! On Sunday, I prepared what might even become a future memory for The Child, although if she ever learns to appreciate anything we ever do for her I'd consider it a win. Cooked, then chilled in the fridge for a couple of days makes it even better as the flavours really have time to develop and mingle. That makes it a super easy mid-week dinner too as it just needs banging back in the oven to warm up. Microwave ready meals can do one, this will smash it!

Don't forget to add all those secret veg to the sauce. You can get away with almost anything in here; peppers, peas, sweetcorn or even the dreaded mushrooms. The kids will never know, or they'll have certainly eaten enough of it before they notice so win-win. Also, any left over tomato sauce you've got from previous dinners can go in, a basic tomato sauce will only benefit from such pre-cooked and thickened additions. Plus, that way there's no waste! 

When cooking a lot of things at the same time, I do prefer to put the ingredients in separate bowls - it encourages you to be efficient, but it does increase the washing up!

The roux for the white sauce - melted butter, thickened with flour until you get the above. Then add milk, a bay leaf and stir like a crazy man until it thickens. I don't really understand why some people get lumps, just whisk harder and quit whining! 

Mrs P insists there is a layer pattern that must be followed: meat, pasta, cheesy sauce. Meat, pasta, cheesy sauce. I don't argue because however the layers are constructed, they end up being delicious. Was it as good as my mums? I don't think it will ever be that good, but I'll continue to strive for perfection.