“Cravings might just be my personal time machine. Lately, they seem to reach straight into my childhood, pulling me toward the comfort foods stamped into my memory,” writes PAUL DORIN.

What are my cravings saying about my life? Well, for starters, they’re definitely not saying I’m pregnant.

As our family clan grows, through birth and love, I find myself thinking more and more about the relatives who were always around when I was growing up, especially those who aren’t here any more. It’s funny how those memories seem to resurface through food cravings.

Cravings might just be my personal time machine. Lately, they seem to reach straight into my childhood, pulling me toward the comfort foods stamped into my memory.

They take me back to cheese and beetroot sandwiches and jam-in-the-middle biscuits at my grandmother’s table. And then there were nana’s homemade buttermilk scones, fresh from the oven with jam and cream for afternoon tea. Honestly, my taste buds are basically nostalgic detectives.

I sometimes find myself buying a loaf of crunchy sourdough simply because it reminds me of nana’s homemade bread. It turns out memories are very persuasive shoppers.

My grandma would often make herself a beetroot and cheese sandwich for lunch and make me one, too. It was the only time I ever had one, usually during sleepovers at grandma and grandpa’s. 

And if she made her family-favourite homemade lemon butter, nothing was better than a thick spread on a slice of fresh bread. I was in absolute sandwich heaven.

I always knew the best day to visit grandma was right after she’d finished baking her famous jam-in-the-middle biscuits. Now my aunty carries on the tradition using grandma’s recipe. They’re so good I can’t even describe them without drooling.

About a month ago, I was chatting with friends about the sandwiches we took to school for lunch. In primary school, mine was always the classic devon and tomato sauce. I haven’t had one since I was a kid, which is probably a good thing.

These days, the closest I get is mortadella, thinly sliced on fresh bread rolls, which I love.

In high school, unless mum had stopped by grandma’s and brought home a jar of her lemon butter, it was usually jam or plain tomato sandwiches.

In the last 12 months, I’ve indulged a few childhood cravings, using my cooking skills to recreate them.

At sleepovers at nana’s, she would spoil me with baked apples, pitted and filled with jam, sprinkled with cinnamon, then baked again with a meringue topping. They were heavenly. 

A recent craving I had was for salt-and-vinegar chips, a favourite snack growing up. If I didn’t come home with a bag of lollies, they were usually traded for a packet of salt-and-vinegar chips instead.

The way I used to eat them would annoy anyone watching. I’d nibble along the ridges like a typewriter reaching the end of a line, then hit return and start again. I still love sitting down in front of the telly and nibbling just like the old days.

Another childhood ritual I enjoy is making a salt-and-vinegar chip sandwich. I like to think my inner 10-year-old would be very proud.

Recently, while cleaning out a few drawers at home, I stumbled across a couple of my mum’s handwritten recipes. 

One of them was an all-time favourite, and the moment I saw it my craving radar went off like a fire alarm.

It was a beef curry with crushed nuts, packed with the kind of flavour I absolutely adored growing up. I used to hover around mum while she cooked, savouring the smells and watching her every move like a culinary detective. My mum’s Hungarian goulash is another dish I often make, keeping her recipes alive in my own kitchen.

The lolly jar at the fire station I work at is the crew’s treasure trove, regularly restocked thanks to my cravings for childhood favourites such as Strawberry & Creams, Chocolate Freckles, Milk Bottles, Pineapples and Snakes Alive.

The deal is simple: half a packet for me, half for the station. I call it my charity work, and it completely cancels out any sweet-tooth guilt. As for marshmallow sherbet cones, they never make it to the jar. Those go straight to my tummy.

So, if my cravings are anything to go by, my life is basically one long walk down memory lane, with a packet of chips in one hand and a jam-in-the-middle biscuit in the other.

Paul Dorin is the CityNews cartoonist.