Oats

Today

In Tesco yesterday Paul looked longingly at the tins of condensed and evaporated milk. "When we start having porridge again, I'd really like some with condensed milk", he said "Or do I mean evaporated milk? What's the difference?" I replied that I thought that condensed contained sugar and evaporated didn't, but added that we could have porridge whenever he wanted. A quick glance at the labels on the tins proved me right and some evaporated milk was bought.

"So long as you don't do a Pooh Bear who, when asked if he wanted condensed milk or honey with his bread, said "both" and added "but don't bother about the bread" so as not to seem greedy," I joked "You'll be fine."

We've just had our porridge, which I make with skimmed milk in a porringer, and Paul enjoyed his with the evaporated milk and honey.

In My Day

Porridge was very much a winter breakfast when I was a child. Both Mamma and Daddy made it but Daddy was the recognised expert. It too was made in a porringer or "double saucepan" as Mamma called it. This pan wasn't used for anything else as far as I remember. It was aluminium and the bottom section was encrusted inside with lime deposits from the water and never seemed to be washed up. There's a picture of Beatrice, aged about two, pulling this pot off the trolley to finish up the congealing contents.

The porridge was made with water and a pinch of salt. It was essential to stir it or the starch grains didn't break and turn the porridge thick. Instead the result would be something the Daddy called "skillie" - a milky liquid with oatmeal floating around and quite uneatable. Mamma was quite adept at this version.

We always ate the porridge with milk and golden syrup. I liked to watch the syrup make golden curls and swirls on the top of the porridge. I never added much milk and used to mix it up thoroughly as the combination of hot & cold always seemed a bit strange. Mamma, on the other hand, used to pour the milk carefully around the sides and take a spoonful of milk and porridge with them still quite separate.

Daddy insisted that the only oats to buy were Scotts Porage Oats. All others were inferior, apparently. The packets showed a caber throwing, kilted Scotsman, to prove to you just how strong and tough the consumption of this cereal would make you. The porridge (why did we spell it that way, when the packet said something different?) was very different from gruel, a food item only encountered in story books and clearly very nasty.

I've been told that proper porridge should be thick enough to walk on, sprinkled with salt and cut into slices when needed. I expect it's a Scottish urban myth and reinforces the idea that Scottish cuisine is vile.