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When I was a tyke one of my family’s annual delights was our church Fowl Supper. The dinner was a fundraising effort where the ladies of the congregation pitched in and together cooked up a feast fit for a king (or in this case God).

I now know what a huge amount of work went into staging such an event, but back then I was so transfixed by the mountains of food and the heavenly smells wafting about that nothing could shake my focus. My 5 siblings and I, much to my parents chagrin, would strategize beforehand, and formulate a plan of attack. I learned actual engineering skills, (in fact I suspect that’s why my brother became an engineer), as it takes dexterity and creativity to stack your food, layer upon layer, until the plate disappears. Don’t laugh, this was serious business because if there was a breach in the perimeter, say the peas were making a break for it, then you’d quickly have to shore the suckers up with mashed potatoes before proceeding.

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