I have never been able to remember meals - the food and what I ate. I remember the people I ate with, though, and the ambience. I was maybe ten, when I first noticed that I did actually enjoy the food I ate - the taste of that first meal - delicious. My mother had cooked the meal and my father and all my sisters were there. It was evening, winter, and we were sitting in our kitchen around the red table that was too small for all of us, all children fresh out from the bath in our nightdresses. I remember asking for a second helping - just because of the taste and the consistancy of the food. It was a happy, friendly night and I have forgotten what we had for dinner.