Ladies who lunch

While I was putting together my cheese and toast sandwich today, I was suddenly hit by a memory. It was a hit, not a gentle reminder or anything so subtle. It was the cheese that did it. Or rather, the foil that the cheese was wrapped in. But in order to understand why foil-wrapped cheese could trigger a moment of vivid recall, I need to start way back in September, during my trip back to Melbourne for a few days.

It was Mum's birthday. I was jet lagged out of my mind, feeling the effects of a horrendous plane trip that had ended at midnight the night before. The flight was awful, not least because somewhere between Singapore and Sydney, or Sydney and Melbourne - I still can't narrow it any further than that - I lost not only the denim jacket that I'd been carrying, but also the scarf that was with it. Beyond that, there were delays, annoying people and a malfunctioning entertainment system. Another day on Qantas, essentially. But I digress.

The jet lag had left me a little silly by the time in the afternoon that we made it to Nana's house for the hello visit. After the usual welcome back conversations ('When will you be back for good?' 'Have you seen Anabelle yet?' 'When do you leave?' 'Have you got a boyfriend yet?' 'You should go on Farmer Wants a Wife.' 'I got served by a lovely boy in the supermarket. So helpful, he was. I thought of you. You should get his number.'), talk shifted to the dinner plans for the night. We were off to the Cross Keys, a local pub that used to have a somewhat seedy reputation but now does a half decent meal and, most importantly, has discount vouchers on the back of supermarket dockets. The gist seemed to be that Nana was all prepared for the dinner already.

It seems that the meal sizes at the Cross Keys aren't to Nana's liking, though. Too big, apparently.

"They give you two enormous pieces of fish," she told me, gesturing with her hands. She could have been the fisherman describing the one that got away, with a piece of fish as large as the one she demonstrated.

"One that size is too much." I agree with her. One piece of fish that large would see me through a week. But Nana, ever-resourceful and always known for such behaviour, went to her handbag and showed us her solution; she had a freezer bag and a couple of pieces of paper towel already stashed, ready and waiting to receive the extra piece of fish and as many chips as she didn't want to eat. She's always been known for loading up on dinner rolls from the table, but it seems she's been picking up bad habits from her friends in the day club. I feel sorry for the bus driver on their outings, a load of senior citizens coming back from some destination, each with a piece of battered fish concealed in a wedge of paper napkins in her handbag. The stench must be mind-numbing by the end of a two hour trip.

"The only trouble," she told me, "is that it all goes a bit pappy by the next day. After ***'s birthday the other week, it was a soggy mess when I pulled it out of the fridge."

You have to remember, I was jet lagged. I was feeling silly, and I was still adjusting to having to conceal my giggles. And I'm always a little bit of a smart arse - er, always helpful. So I offered a suggestion, a hint.

"You should take some foil, keep it crisp."

Her eyes light up like the flashers on a winning pokie machine. It's all she can do to keep from running to the kitchen and stuffing the roll of foil into her bag there and then. She manages to contain her excitement, somehow, and the rest of the visit goes off without a hitch. ('You should be saving.' 'You need to come back and settle down.' 'About as welcome as a red-headed step-child.')

Later that night, clustered around the family dinner table, I heard a rustling from the far end of the table, and suppressed giggles from the cousins and their partners lined up opposite me.

"Was that foil?" demanded the newest addition to the family group, the girlfriend of a cousin. She sounded incredulous. I looked down the length of the table and there sat Nana, forcing the zip of her handbag closed over a clearly bulging foil-wrapped parcel. She looked up at me and beamed. I don't think I've ever made her as happy before in my entire life.

When I saw her again a couple of days later, she was still beaming.

"That was a lovely bit of fish I got from the Cross Keys. It stayed all crispy. I'll have to tell Mary to keep a bit of foil in her bag."