FOSTERING AND FOOD

 Food, as I often say, is SO important to most foster children.

This truth was one of the first things I learned when I began fostering.

The importance of food begins with finding out what's the favourite food of a new child who's on their way to you. If you are able, you cook that meal on day one.

Blue Sky always try to get this information to the carer because they too know what a bridge-builder it can be.

I always keep a bag of dry pasta and a jar of Dolmio on standby, because from time to time I've been asked to take in a child for a night or two, and one time this happened after the shops were shut.

Pasta is a universal favourite. Why? Probably because there are no green bits…

I use lollies and ice cream medicinally; that is to say I raise the possibility of a cornetto at the right moment if a child is working their way out of a bout of sadness. Change the topic to something delightful.

Until this week, my crowning contribution to the world of fostering/food has been to put a bowl of fruit in the child's bedroom and tell them it's theirs. They can eat as much as they want, whenever they want. They OWN it.

But this week saw a new weapon arrive in the ongoing war of the joy of food versus the occassional melancholy of the average looked-after child.

What happened was this;

I'd agreed that the son of a former foster child of mine could come over to us for the whole of a Saturday. The boy is very at home here, he loves our dog, loves the fact that I know his favourite nibbles are Fanta and chocolate buttons, and loves that he can watch movies which the whole family gather for.

Our current eldest foster child is Alicia. Alicia is transing and doing very well, if only the media would leave them to sort; it's their lives, their choice, if they don't interfere with anyone else, end of.

So. I'd explained to Alicia there's be a young guest at our house all day.

She (Alicia identifies as female and that's all I need to know) came down after a think and said;

"I'll cook if you like…"

Words do not fail me but I can't use the ones I used in my head to express to myself my excitement and…joy!

This was a massive step. A bold bid towards adulthood and acceptance.

I didn't make a fuss, merely said "That'd be great. Tell me what you need."

The list was sent to me by phone.

Chicken fillets.

Chicken stock.

Egg noodles.

Free range eggs.

Carrots.

Spring onions.

Garlic.

Dark soy sauce.

Paprika.

Chilli sauce (or powder).

Coriander.

Parsely.

    

Blimey. Game on.

The day arrives. The guest lad had; a) walked the dog, b) chilled on his phone, c) raided the larder for chocolate buttons and d) raided the fridge for Fanta. Most of all he was chilled, which was the idea of the visit. To give him a break, and his mum. 

Around 5.00pm the time-honoured household discussion of which film to watch began, and as it did, so Alicia made her way into her kitchen. HER kitchen.

We settled for Top Gun Maverick, the follow up to Tom Cruise's Top Gun.

"He's 62 and still does his own dangerwork." My other half observed as the opening titles rolled.

"No big deal, so do I." I replied, with one eye on the kitchen and Alicia chopping and slicing using the big knife.

Halfway through the movie Alicia shuffled into the dark room carrying bowls, one for each of us.

Each bowl was beautifully presented, identical. No matter who you were or how old, you got 3 fried chicken pieces and 2 hard boiled egg halves nestling side-by-side. You got noodles, glazed carrot strips and diced spring onion, all swimming in an amazing aromatic broth, topped with chopped fresh herbs.

TV xchef Rick Stein would charge £29.00 per plate, and if he was around, bore you with pontification.

Not Alicia. She took her bowl upstairs.

Then, half and hour later, Alicia came downstairs to "put her bowl in the sink".

Nah sister. I got why she came down. Wanted to know the meal was okay.

Well, she got bombarded with compliments.

Resulting in me shouting over Tom Cruise's mac 3 jets;

"So leave the washing up to me."

And so she did.

As I heard her going upstairs I tried to imagine how she was feeling.

Competent, capable, appreciated. Skilled. Skilled in one of life's key skills, namely cooking. Not merely cooking, but cooking for other people. For guests.

Getting on.

Growing up.