Mum and I got onto the topic of food again.

‘How do you mean, ‘lesbian cuisine?’ She slurped. ‘I don’t know love….what do you think lesbians like to eat?’

‘Well these are definitely lesbian biscuits for a start Mum.’

‘Don’t be daft, here do you want a plate?’ She nudged, dusting the crumbs heavy handedly off the arm of my chair, like I was five again.

‘No I’m making this frangipane my last one thanks, so I’m just putting it out there…. Babies like rusks, Grannies like shortbread, Truck Drivers like Yorkie Bars, Police Officers like donuts and Teachers like Quality Street. 

What do lesbians like?’

‘I like a Waggon Wheel, does that make me a lesbian?’

‘Possibly.’ I crunched.

‘Well your Dad liked Waggon wheels and he was definitely not a lesbian.’

‘All I’m asking is do you think lesbians prefer certain foods? I like spicy Spanish Meats presented on boards, olives, anchovies, tiger prawns and Russian salad.’

‘You’ve never liked salad.’ She crunched.

‘Well yes, not English salad.’

She was right, I’ve always thought an English salad was more of a garnish, a bit of colour, a token gesture, 9 times out of 10 I would leave it on my plate.

‘You couldn’t climb a mountain on an iceberg lettuce’ Mum crunched. ‘Where would 2 cherry tomatoes and a hand full of croutons get you? Not very far, that’s where! I’ve always liked Chicken Kiev or a Pot Noodle.’

‘Do you think lesbians like Pot Noodles Mum?’

Sometimes there are no definitive answers to the questions I bombard my mother with, I just off load my inner thoughts and brain dump my wonderment.

‘I wouldn’t know that love.’

‘Do you remember the time you dropped your Chicken Kiev behind the cooker in 9 Nansen and pretended you’d already eaten it when we all came to sit down to eat.’

‘I do love, you never seem to let me forget.’

‘We all shared a bit of ours didn’t we?’

‘I know, I’d have been alright with just the potatoes and peas you know.’

There was no way, we were all going to let my Mum go hungry that night.

‘I don’t think a Chicken Kiev down the back of the cooker would have seen me starve love.’

‘You’re such a martyr Mum, I wonder if it’s still there?’

‘What the Kiev? Doubtful.’

Our conversation over tea and lesbian biscuits provided inconclusive evidence that afternoon. 

Do lesbians have a special palette? 

Do they lean more towards savoury than sweet? Would they too love to devour a Bombay Badboy? 

I suppose the bigger questions are these…

Could my Dad have been a lesbian and is that Kiev still behind the cooker?

25/11/2020