Mingo.Life

[Jump to: Teriyaki Sauce Recipe]

Rewind three years or so. Poppy, our first daughter, was just one. She’s perched in her highchair for one of the first times ever, carefully watched by Mummy and Daddy. Her head control isn’t the greatest. She can’t sit by herself, and she has a horrifying tendency to slip and lurch sideways. Her supportive chair was is on backorder from the physio. Her muscles just aren’t there. Our beautiful Poppy, for those that don’t know our family, has additional needs. She was born three months prematurely with global developmental delays.

The NG (nasogastric) tube streams from her nose to her Daddy’s hand, fortified milk flowing with gravity to her tiny stomach. Business as usual. Except it isn’t.

Mummy’s just made, for the first time, some actual, real food for Poppy to try! Some tasty, proper REAL food! It’s cottage pie (blended to resemble the consistency of a milkshake, of course), and it took me all afternoon. I’m so excited. I’ve been passionate about food my whole life, a cook forever and a chef for years, and finally, I’m going to share it with my girl. I’m sick with nerves. She was never able to manage breastfeeding, a bottle, a dummy. Her swallow is medically unsafe, severely dysphagic, with the NG tube the only safe way to feed. What if I hurt her? WHAT IF SHE CHOKES!?

But, wait, no, she’s making progress, she’s taking interest, she’s been starting to suckle on things, taking tentative dabs of disgusting baby food. She even tried ketchup the other day. That was OK, surely we can try? Surely we have to? I scoop the tiniest spoonful of puree, on the end of the tiniest spoon, and place it, heart pounding, on the end of her tongue.

She retches, she coughs, she splutters and struggles to catch her breath. Daddy pounds her on the back, she’s fine. I cry all afternoon. The puree is in the bin.

Tonight, she’s having giant fishcakes with swirly potato and sweet potato mash (her favourite) and broccoli. And ketchup, of course.

It took three years. Three long years of hard work, of determination, of cutting up mounds of spaghetti into millimetre long pieces (my favourite).

But, she learned to eat.

It is Saturday night, the 8th of June. I’m home with the kids, Daddy’s at work. Poppy is in bed. She drifted off hours ago. Business as usual, except it isn’t.

I’m frantic. Evie, Poppy’s little sister who came along in spring 2024, just won’t settle.

Usually, this is no bother. I’d been sitting up with her until three, four, sometimes later in the morning for a couple of months now. But tonight, I can’t just pour myself another coffee and calmly sit it out. I’ve got work to do, and it’s sitting like an anvil on my chest.

I pour the coffee anyway. Doesn’t help. I am shaking, and not from the caffeine or lack thereof. I can’t breathe steady. My heart is pounding. The Tommy Tippee Perfect Prep machine buzzes in the background, making a milk I hope to heaven will send her to sleep. I feel sick to my stomach, not even tasting the sips of scalding Nescafe. The squealing baby is not helping. The ticking clock is not helping. My frantic texts to my husband, sporadically replying, elbows deep in work as usual, not helping.

Four or five?

Five. DO IT.

The longer she whines, the harder this is getting. The feeling of dread building, the numbers going round and round in my head like a pencil sharpener, cutting and cutting closer to the core, things feeling sharper and sharper.

Maybe just four. No, maybe none.

Ten PM. She’s just about settling. Now there really is no excuse.

I pour another coffee. Kill time, send another panicked text. Look up the numbers another hundred times. Eleven PM. She’s definitely asleep now. I could just go to bed. I sip the now cold coffee and try not to cry. Toy with the wedding ring hanging from a chain round my neck, ever since it fell off my finger for the third time, and I nearly lost it for good.

Four. No, five.

Half eleven. The most terrifying pan of water is boiling away on the side as I throw things in a bowl, frantic, heart pounding, not wanting to look at it, not wanting to be awake. I take a picture, send it, to prove it to myself more than anyone, to make it concrete.

Midnight.

I have five. Five whole prawns.

I’m having eight tonight. And some chicken breast and a large portion of rice. And a load of vegetables. And some pretty awesome teriyaki sauce.

I’ve still crunched the stupid numbers, I’ve still counted and recounted everything, I still feel sick at the thought. I don’t understand it. I don’t know what, or when, or how. What’s right or wrong or whether it even matters. My body is confused, my brain more so. My hunger signals are beyond comprehension, my metabolism like a bull in a china shop. I’m obsessed and apathetic, excited and terrified, overjoyed and angry, starving hungry and painfully nauseous. I’m still learning to eat. But, like my incredible daughter, I’ll learn.

And if this too takes three years, of hard work, of determination, of more mounds of spaghetti (or just teriyaki sauce), it’ll surely be just as worth it.

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EMMA’S TERIYAKI SAUCE

(makes one small jar)

45g Soft light brown sugar

40g Honey

70ml Soy sauce (I use mostly light, with a few hefty dashes of dark for colour)

Thumb-long piece root ginger, finely grated

2 Garlic cloves, finely grated

Large pinch chilli flakes

2 tsp Cornflour, mixed with a splash of water

2 tsp Rice vinegar or Lime juice

Small drizzle sesame oil

Mix the sugar, honey, soy, ginger, garlic and chilli flakes with about 100ml water (don’t be too precious about it, I free pour) in a small saucepan and bring to a simmer, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Bubble for five to ten minutes to reduce slightly and infuse the flavours.

Quickly whisk in the cornflour. The sauce will start to thicken immediately. Keep stirring for a few minutes, then stir in the vinegar or lime juice and sesame oil.

Strain through a sieve and allow to cool.

Use immediately as a glaze for pan-fried or baked meat and fish, as a dipping sauce, or as a stir-fry sauce (diluted with a bit of water), or store in the fridge for up to two weeks. This sauce is pretty strong stuff, so a little goes a long way.

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A heartfelt thank you to everyone who has supported me by buying a coffee through the button at the top of the page, especially Matt and Kim—your generosity was much needed! We also deeply appreciate all of you who have liked, commented, and subscribed to the blog. Your support means the world to us and helps us continue sharing our journey.

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