One Pot of Hummus and a Guilty Mother

Trying not to look guilty!

One Pot of Hummus and a Guilty Mother.

I have a confession to make. I’m Greek (well British Greek) and up until recently I’d never given my child hummus. I know, you better sit down and sip on some brandy. It’s pretty shocking stuff.

This is how the story unfolds:

I collected my first born prince, (heir to the throne and my extensive dvd collection) from nursery and as usual, one of his diligent teachers read out his daily record,

“Oliver had a forty minute nap, baked flapjacks, played on the climbing frame, pinched Amelia and had hummus on a jacket potato for lunch…”

“WHAT? He did WHAT you say?” I anxiously enquired.

“I know, Amelia was quite upset. We put Oliver straight on the naughty step and he did apologise…”

“No, I mean, great, well not great, that was absolutely not great-but you said he ate HUMMUS, the Mediterranean dip hummus and he liked it?”

She nodded, baffled. Grabbing my things, I quickly fled, consumed with guilt. Then I remembered Oliver and went back in for him.

I’m an utterly terrible mother, I thought.

My family own Greek restaurants and I was raised on a diet of hummus, feta cheese and black olives (and the odd shepherd’s pie for good measure) so why had I underestimated my own child’s love of the chickpea.

That night I churned hundreds of shiny chickpeas in virgin olive oil, thick tahini and  lemon juice, making pots and pots of the golden stuff ready for consumption. Who am I kidding? I stopped at Sainsbury’s and bought four tubs from their ‘Best Of’ range. Then all was right with the world again.

Photograph ©Peter Broadbent.