My ‘octopus’ alert’s been going off for almost three days, but I’m in no way ready to tackle that slippery, little sucker yet.
So, because most days in our house involve some kind of seafood – and Ted would actually eat fish for every non-breakfast repast, if I allowed him to – I would like to introduce you to my most culinarily-daring dish… Tuna Pasta!
I think it’s foul, but it’s the only menu item still standing from Ted’s early toddler days – a time when he ate the nutritionally-balanced pies, stews, risottos and bakes I once slaved over.
Whack olive oil, onions, crushed garlic and a pinch of herbs into a pan. Add frozen peas and a tin of tuna (in spring water – no pissing about draining the oil). Tip in a carton of passata. Simmer it. Add two teaspoons of balsamic vinegar, half a teaspoon of sugar, some salt and pepper. Gently cook. Take it off the heat while you cook your pasta – that tuna gets bloody hot.
Serve it up, feeling righteous but not knackered, and (if you hate fish, like me) tuck into your own – rather tame by comparison – tomato and basil sauce. But you don’t need me to tell you how to cook that, right?
This recipe was adapted from a meal my least kitchen-oriented friend once cooked for Ted and her son. She says her Mum used to cook something similar for her. My Mum never did so for me – I would have burst into tears at the mention of it.
In fact, I haven’t eaten tuna since 1989, when I forged a mental link between the tinned variety and skinned Alsatian. At the time, I was listening to a ridiculously tall tale about a Chinese takeaway, while eating a tuna sandwich.
Still, the kids go mad for Tuna P and no one under five has rejected it yet.
Have I killed enough time to get away with not cooking that octopus for another week? Next, I will conquer my squeamish, tearful fears and wrestle it into some kind of cooking utensil. Wish me luck!