Tell us about your favorite childhood meal — the one that was always a treat, that meant “celebration,” or that comforted you and has deep roots in your memory.

I don’t remember any particular food standing out as celebratory or comfort food during my childhood. The food I remember was the first meal I learnt to cook. It was cheap, easy and fulfilling. Growing up in the 1970’s all of these were important.

My sister and I both had a version of this meal, although I cannot tell you if one or both of us invented it. My meal itself was a mix of frankfurts, baked beans and canned pineapple. By today’s standards an interesting mix of textures and flavours—although I don’t think Masterchief will be lining up for the recipe. I think it was the simplicity and mix of sweet and sour I liked. If unexpected guests dropped by it could be quickly extended by cooking pasta and serving my meal on top.

Cooking this dish for my family gave me confidence in my cooking skills. Overtime, it allowed me to realise the importance of being able to provide for yourself. Cooking is a life skill that many people don’t have. The younger you learn to cook even simple meals like mine, the easier and cheaper feeding yourself will be.

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A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene, telling it from all three perspectives.

It was a crisp autumn morning on Sydney Harbour. Sue and Max were catching up with each others lives as they took their Saturday morning walk. It was a ritual they had done for the last 10 years.

As they walked, Max was telling Sue about a phone call he had received from his brother earlier in the week. During the conversation, his brother had mentioned that their father had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Dementia. They continued to talk and walk, discussing what this diagnosis may mean. Around the corner, Max spotted a little old lady sitting on the park bench, knitting a red jumper. The sight of her was too much for his emotions to cope with. He burst into tears. The old woman resembled his favourite aunt—his father’s sister. The red jumper she was knitting had a white stripe in it—the colours of the Canadian flag—his national flag. He knew this was significant and the situation needed more consideration than his brother was letting on.

***

Max beginning to cry didn’t surprise Sue. He was not afraid to show his emotions. This was one of many things she was proud of him for. She squeezed his hand tightly to let him know that she was there for him, while she made plans in her head for them to return to Canada as quickly as possible. This was one way she knew she could support him as he unraveled truth. Max was a family man. Sue knew he wouldn’t settle until he had done everything he could to support his family. After which he could return to their life—thousands of kilometres away in Sydney.

***

On seeing the man crying rather than the woman, the little old lady was impressed. She wasn’t a sticky beak or busy body, so she had no interest in what was disturbing him. His wife looked like she had that in hand. However, being a witch she had magical powers. She decided that the ability to express one’s feelings was important to be a strong, confident and successful man and she wanted this for her grandson. Silently as she watched Max walk off crying, hand-in-hand with his wife, she cast a spell into the jumper she was making for him with love.

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