Cheese and onion rolls, cherry tomatoes, bbq crunch; millionaire’s cheesecake

When I left hospital, what feels like ages ago but has only been about six weeks, I was given details of a rehab daycare service, where you can go to get physiotherapy, a hot lunch, and some company. I politely declined as I’m pretty sure I’m not the target audience (last night’s carer told me I’m by far the youngest person he’s ever cared for) and I was looking forward to preparing my own food again.

After less than three days I’m starting to reconsider, as the daily “what’s for lunch / dinner?” is already wearing me out. I wouldn’t mind so much if it was mum asking, but it’s always the carers who want to know, usually before I’ve even worked out what’s for breakfast¹, and the expectant look as I’m scrambling to remember what’s in the freezer and cupboards gives me so much sympathy for what my mum had to deal with when my sister and I were kids.

Those who have been asking after mum (and your concern is much appreciated, thank you) will be pleased to know she’s doing OK, although she tends to get stuck on a particular topic and be hard to shift from it. Today’s topic was that I forgot to order bread (and cat food, although that’s not relevant to this story) and she therefore couldn’t have a sandwich for lunch, and what were we going to do? This question was so pressing she woke me up this morning to ask it, resulting in an uncharacteristically sharp and un-caffeinated response from me of “can you wait until I’ve had some coffee?”

So without the easy answer of ‘sandwiches’, what came to mind under carer E’s² expectant gaze was “umm… cheese and onion rolls?” These are the frozen ones that are the vegetarian equivalent of cocktail sausage rolls, from Iceland as most things are atm, that you just put in the oven for 20 minutes or so to cook the pastry and heat the filling to around 1000°, although thankfully they cool down quickly.

I’m pleased to say that they’re really good: light as a feather, with crunchy outsides that unusually don’t scatter bits of pastry everywhere – thankfully, as I ate mine sitting on my bed. The filling smells really cheesy, and tastes it too: I ate the four E served me, then sneaked back to take the last few from the baking tray (after checking mum didn’t want more obviously). The cherry tomatoes were sweet and juicy, and acted as a palate cleanser between rolls.

I followed them with a piece of millionaire’s cheesecake, as it accidentally got left out of the fridge last night and needs eating quickly before it goes off. That’s my excuse for heading off to finish the last piece now I’ve almost finished this post, anyway.

As for what’s for dinner: maybe the duck noodles I intended to do last night? I’ll leave that decision until I’m once again under the expectant gaze of a carer, as that seems to be the only way I can currently make a decision.

1. Not that it takes much to work out: it’s Weetabix with hot milk and a banana, every day. ↩︎
2. I will be referring to the carers by their initials, as I did for the home’s HCAs, to give them some privacy. ↩︎