I used to squirm with embarrassment when my Dad used to say "You're a breast man, aren't you?" every time he was carving a chicken.

When presented with a pie, cake, any slice-able food destined to be divied up before serving my Dad always says

"Ooo only one piece left!"

Has done for decades and I hear it in my head whenever the occasion arises. I'm sure once my little one is old enough I'll start saying it out loud and thus continue the cycle.

My dad's was 'Who wants stuffing?' when any kind of roasted bird was served. He would then laugh as if something amusing had been said.

Eating them put hairs on your chest apparently, which at eight years old I wasn't quite ready for.

And did crusts also make your hair curl?

All, I think, unique to herself.

Most Christmases she'd wail from the kitchen,'Oh! This turkey's as dry as Old Mick!'

Who or what Old Mick may have been and why he/it was so dry she would never explain.

All the more confusing because to me and the rest of the festive diners the turkey was usually absolutely fabulous.

was what my father tended to say when a large pie was removed from the oven...

On a related note, my mother had a particularly savoury way of suggesting that an item of clothing could be a little *more* fit for purpose. SHe would suggest that "you could spit through that..."

And one of his (shoebox int middle o road type) stories was how his dad always sharpened the carving knife on the back doorstep (so the neighbours would think they had meat).

My old man insists to this day on asking if "anyone's f'coffee" everytime he makes a hot drink. The expected hilarity always fails to ensue.

My father, especially with regard to a steamed pudding (those were the days).

I was always ushered away from my mother in the kitchen as she had "495 other things to do".

That number every time. The statement of being busy is now forever "495 other things to do".

It might be the name of my biography if I ever write one...

will be carved.

i.e., get your elbows off

my dad always made me cry with empathetic sadness as a child when I'd complain about something I had to eat. He'd give it the old 'we were so poor, when we had the school party all the rich kids bought in Bourbons and custard creams. And all I had to contribute was bloody old 'Lincoln' biscuits. SO think yourself LUCKY.' Even now he regards Bourbons as the 'rich man's biscuit' and Lincoln, morning coffee and 'nice' as the Biscuits of the Disadvantaged.*

(He also used to reduce me to woeful tears with other examples of his 'alleged' childhood deprivation like: being regularly forced to fish last weeks Beano out of the bin. And that they 'couldn't afford clothes and therefore had to save up to buy a hat simply to look out of the window.' The old git)

*not an emo-band.

One Sunday dinner when we were kids, my Dad cracked his dental plate.

"I've broken my teeth on a bit of pork!" he exclaimed.
"We're eating lamb." answered Mum.
"Aye well, that explains it."

Bit pale and peaky: "you look like death warmed up"
A weak cup of tea: "that's not tea; that's monkey pee and pepper"
etc. etc.

Our standing joke is my brother and I asking "is this all the gravy?" while passing around the gravy boat. It wound my mother up so much that even now she'd pre-empt it with "there's plenty more gravy" even before the Sunday/Christmas roast is served.

Sadly, my other Sunday lunch memory is of the too many cooks bickering between M & D in the kitchen.

If my oldman was unhappy about the quality of a spud he would hark back to his lodging days . He claimed the fare was " So wee and waterery that ......Your hand would be sore and your face washed before you had peeled enough for a meal "

If my mother wished to denigrate a womans table it was " Sure she hardly peeled a spud "

We grew spuds on the farm and as was true of many a farmer , my oldman saw his kids as an extension of his farm machinery . 17 acres picked by hand , god I don't miss that .

Always referred to when my Mum served her regular Thursday night of steak and kidney pie. I couldn't bring myself then or now to touch the kidney.

My Mum was/is a decent but limited cook, I can still remember pretty much what we had each night of the week.

Coming soon to next week's festival lists:

Biscuits Of The Disadvantaged
Biafrans
The Humble Spud
Sons To Parents
Staffordshire Nan
Expletive Hilarity
The Mangled Version
Crusts

These come to mind, as spoken by my Dad:

Whilst poking some unfamiliar food around the plate: "Is it dead yet?"

On being served some sort of "budget" meat pie: "Ah, hoofs and tails."

Asking Mum for a cup of tea: "Could I trouble you for another cup of ditchwater, my dear?"

On finishing his meal, in mock Yorkshire accent: "Eee, that were a fine repast."

Also, the usual response to trying new food: clutch throat, feign a look of horror and make gurgling noises as if poisoned.

There's a good book of family sayings collected by Nigel Rees, called "As We Say In Our House". ("I'm so hungry I could eat the dates off a calendar", "That's the last time you have Ribena in the drawing room", etc).

my dad would spear one with his fork, hold it up and announce sotto voce "Of course, you know what they make these from, don't you? Baby budgies' heads. Aye, it's true, that!"

Whereupon my mum would grumble "Do you HAVE to do that? It's hard enough to get these kids to eat their greens as it is"

and was regularly said by my mother when we were trying to transfer food on a fork or spoon way across the table to our own plate: 'Never in mid air.'

a phrase my dad will say without fail every time he tucks into a decent meal. It's become a catchphrase amongst all the family now.
Another which strikes fear into my heart whenever we eat out is "If I want vinegar, I'll bloody well ask for vinegar"...thing is he has vinegar on roasts, chinese, you serve it he'll stick vinegar on it!
Once in Germany an irate Chef came out of the kitchen to enquire who wanted vinegar on their dinner much to mine and my sister's shame...

- it won't be fit for your Mum to eat"

....that the dinner table is Dad's stage. Maybe that's because it's the only place where they have to listen to you. My youngest quotes me already - and I'm still there - saying "Food. It's a good thing." This is neither perceptive nor particularly memorable but it's somehow stuck.

When asked in restaurants how he wanted his steak cooked would always reply "Bleeding but not mooing"

My mate would be turning inside out with embarrassment.

was perfect. The meal that everyone looked forward to each week and was never less than excellent.
However as mum put all the plates in front of us she would tell us how crap everything had turned out:
"The potatoes could have done with an extra five minutes"
"Turkey is so hard to get right"
"If you don't like it just leave it"

Every morsel was devoured, as well as seconds and thirds. Every. Single. Week.

...had a neighbour who she didn't like. I was too young to know why, but now I suspect it was because she was lively, independent and didn't give two hoots what people thought about her. She was always lovely to me and gave me fruit polos at the beginning of every month.

Anyway, she described Connie thus: "She doesn't even ice her own buns." I have no idea what it means.

Who made a fine variety of stand your spoon up in, Scottish soups, used to be very disparaging about her sister's efforts.

"going round to Patsy's for your dinner. It'll be Shadow Soup"

i.e. soup so thin and watery, you could see your own shadow at the bottom of the bowl.

on a Sunday is to wash up the roasting dishes and pans. He insists on doing this when dinner is being served, despite my mum telling him for the past 49 years to "Do that after we've finished, Michael!"
He then proceeds to spend 10 minutes faffing about pouring wine or getting a beer for the numerous members of the family that are always there for Sunday dinner. So by the time he sits down, the ravenous hoardes are already halfway through their roast.
Next, he tells terrible sub Christmas cracker-style jokes to the grandkids (they tend to get to about five years old before they realise he's not funny).
When he finally gets round to eating his dinner (which must be stone cold), he'll pronounce it "the best Sunday dinner I've ever had". He'll have "a slither" of pudding, then seconds, then thirds, so he might as well have had a huge bowlful to start with.
And then, when we all tell him that we've all finished 15 minutes ago and ask him why he eats so slowly, he'll reply: "Ah, you want to go to France. They savour their food there. They take five hours over a meal."
This is from a man that has a phobia of flying and has never been abroad in his life.
This all happens every single Sunday without fail.
I love my dad to bits.

... are obsessed with reporting that a good bowl of soup is "a meal in itself".

I've eaten it.

said by Mother after dinner, funnily enough.

Which manages to be both true and not make much sense.

Dad: Well, you can't take it with you. It's 'May I leave the table'

He was a stickler for correct English, pronunciation and grammar.

would always (literally always) answer the question "What's for tea?" with "Bread and pull it". I eventually would then ask "How are you cooking that?" but I have no idea where that phrase came from.

"Piffy on a rock bun" which basically means feeling left out, later to become "Piffy on a rock bum bailey" as said many times by my Aunty Edith.

My Dad would also say "Well i'll go to our house" or "I'll go to Buxton" both expressions of amazement

We called him Uncle Charles. After every meal he'd proclaim "Thank the lord for what I've had, a little more I should be glad."

we could have Ham and Eggs, if we had any ham" was just one of my wifes gradndmothers classics

... attempt to make gravy, my dad would always say to us "one lump or two?"

And an old boss of mine, a lovely bloke called Ken, would always say when lunchtime came around "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse between two bread vans."

Talking of Ken, whenever he finished a phone call he would always say one of two things: "bye for now " or "thanks for phoning." After fending off a particularly enthusiastic creditor he said "bye for phoning" by mistake. Unfortunately for Ken a couple of us overheard him so every subsequent time he was about to hang up we'd shout "bye for phoning!"

when asked, for the umpteenth time that day "What're we having for tea mum?" would casually reply "Shit wi' sugar on".
Ah, golden memories.

my Mum would say, "she doesn't eat enough to keep a fly alive"

My dad has a considerable sweet tooth. When he really enjoyed something, he'd describe it as "I really made love to your mom's pie." As I learned the other connotations of the expression, it grew more and more horrifying. Now, I just think of Jason Biggs.

but when I do, I'll have it weak and milky, or as my Mother describes it:

"Watter bewitched and tea begrudged"

has made my day.

We've had "anyone fercoffee" already, but it still makes me laugh when Dad says it still and I now use it - it doesnt raise a smile from my children (give them time)
"Wait and see " was always the response to the question of "whats for tea?"
Whenever we ate out as a family(not often, as children) my mother would always say, practically as soon as we'd finished the last mouthful, "Shall we have coffee at home?". I've started doing that now. At least it means avoiding rubbish coffee and dodgy mints in a saucer.
When I was in t'Army, tea was always taken "NATO" i.e milk, two sugars. Nothing finer with a Malboro Red at 5 in the morning instead of trying to force down delicacies like "Bacon Burgers" and "Biscuits Brown". Steak and kidney pudding, in a can, was always "Baby's Heads".
This thread has made me very happy.

in front of my Grandad, he'd immediately say:

"What are we having for dinner today?
Sawdust and hay? Sawdust and hay?"

He also used to sing "We'll Meet Again" whenever I left the house at the end of a visit. It was years before I realised it wasn't a song he'd made up himself.

Two kicks of the pantry door.

'well it's not raining' my father would reply.

My father would always ask for "Horserubbish" with his.

would always tell us when serving very small portions of something, or (not very often) something expensive; "Eat it in a devotional spirit!"
I use it all the time.

was strictly a meat and two veg man... from any Monday to Sunday it was mince/stew/mince/stew/mince/whisky/roast beef.
Once my wife and I invited her parents round for a meal..bolognese was the order of the day.
Took one mouthfull and said:
"A waste of good mince that was ".

When asked "What's for tea" if unsure would reply "I've not christened it yet"

brings back many memories, especially the "shit with sugar on" and "bought cake", I'd completely forgotten about those.

My favourite sit-at-table proclamations are "I could eat the south end of a north-bound skunk" and "I could eat the arsehole out of a low flying duck" for a bit of variation.

My grandson will decide if they stand the test of time.

The ritual of a cup of tea at 4pm is so ingrained in me even today I'll find myself making a brew without checking the time and I'll subsequently discover it's a few minutes minutes either side of 4pm.

Growing up we moved house a lot. This meant my dad and I often worked together at weekends on something in the garden or in the house and without fail my mum would bake a cake and get a pot of tea ready for 4pm. Seeing my dad and I toil in unison over some laboursome task always gave my mum a thrill as it meant she had "her boys" close to hand. She'd coo and fuss over us without exception. Being the "men of the house" we would of course take all of this in our stride, acknowledging her queen bee instincts with curt nods of the head and sharp intakes of breath when she dared to comment on the status of the work in progress making sure she witnessed the exchange of knowing looks between us when her considered opinion didn't match ours. All part of the foibles of family life.

Just before 4pm we'd down tools and soon enough there mum would be with a tray of mugs and homemade cake.

Every time my dad would reach out for his mug, take a long sip of his brew, gasp exageratedly and then declare aloud:

"You know son, there's nothing like a good cup of tea.

[pause]

And that's nothing like a good cup of tea."

If dining with guests, my mother would always mutter 'FHB' to my father and I, meaning 'Family Hold Back' or let the guests go first. I do it now.

When you're a kid you presume that the language your family uses is universal. Was frequently laughed at because:
Plubby = description for a biscuit left unwrapped to go soft.
Nutty slack = a piece of cake that was dry and would stick to the roof of your mouth

And my Grandpy's reply to anyone expressing enjoyment of a meal was always "Well, I'd go to Putney on a pig." I have no idea why; he was from Yorkshire and didn't much hold with the city.

I started reading this thread at work earlier today but I was laughing so much I started snorting and people were looking ... so I came back to it tonight so I could read it in private ... so funny, thank you for brightening a crap day!

This thread has gone too far. I've wet myself laughing so much at the endearing memories a rainbow has appeared over my monitor.

I cannot hope to match the mirth but my dear departed dad, bless him, never minced his words even when I had rare visitors, nay missionaries, from "the south" i.e. Harlow New Town. When returning home from the pub we called at a Chinese chippy to purchase comestibles. When he realised where we had obtained said fried delights he responded "put 'em at the back of the fire". Whenever we were splitting something edible he would always want the "bigger half".

my father has appropriated Tony Hancock's line, "I thought my mother was a bad cook, but at least her gravy used to move about. Yours just sort of lies there and sets."

These days I sometimes find myself actually saying it out loud to nobody in particular as I'm stirring in the cornflour.

my mother, when having said something profound (or got a hard clue in the crossword) would invariably point to her head and then her feet

"up there for thinkin', down there for dancin'"

My dad used to say about my mothers' Yorkshire Puddings (with regular monotony) 'these would have won us the war a lot earlier if we had of dropped 'em on the Germans'

Or 'that was a meal fit for a prince. (wolf whistle) Come here Prince, good boy'

"Wind-pies and sky-juice!"

in a large supermarket during the weekly shop, my Dad would more often than not ask for a 'leg of mince'.

Hilarity ensued.

Not really. The look on the face of the bored girl in the white trilby hat behind the counter spoke volumes.

it now, it'll be there tomorrow and the day after" - usually went together with either an onion omelette or some aubergine and pepper horror.

has made the price of admission worthwhile. What an utter hoot, I think all our Mums and Dads must have come out of the same box. My Mum certainly used a lot of the phrases mentioned here, plus also, when asked 'Why?' she would invariably reply ' Because buses pass the door'. How true, even today. She's just turned 90, and when faced with patronising bastards, she'll fix them with a steely gaze and tell them 'I'm retired, not retarded!'

Was discussing this with bezzie mate, and she reminded me of one of my Dad's hilarious repeated gags (having no sons, he has contrived to pass his terrible sense of humour on to me. Successfully.). When talking about what veggies he wants, he will say: "I want two peas on my plate!" but in a cod-Spanish/Euro accent, elongating the word peas.

Similarly, when making the bed, he'd say: "I want two sheet on my bed!".

Oh, the hilarity. I do it now.

My Uncle Chris isn't my uncle. He's my dad's best mate, and was the old man's music professor at teacher training college in the sixties. Anyway, he's Uncle Chris: as close as family.

Every Christmas, without fail, he'll pronounce the turkey to be "tender as chicken", and every year the build-up will be more and more convoluted and strung out. I think one year he milked it to such an extent it ended up being said of the Christmas pud. He's 91. Still does it. Bless him.

My dear, much missed Grandad Jones used to slap our tummies after a meal when we were kids and say "Tight as a drum!" in his deep Llanelli rumble. I started doing that to my kids too, despite Grandad having died 15 years before the eldest was born. It's one of his legacies. Still miss him (and the other grandfolks) like anything.

After wolfing down a fabulous Sunday roast the old man would say 'mm,the starter weren't bad, whats for main course?"

About my Nans gravy: 'You need a knife and fork to get through that'

My mum on hygiene 'if you dont wash your hands before you eat your dinner you will catch dick dollaroo (never sure of the spelling). Strangely though it we were out and my brother or I had a dirty face her remedy was to spit on a handerchief and rub the dirty spot clean.

...in our house is greeting with a resounding chorus of "Has the vicar come to tea?"

Suggesting, of course, that the amount of mug showing above the tea was akin to a member of the clergy's dog collar - said offending item is then immediately topped up

When topping up wine glasses from an almost empty bottle my mum will save the last drops for her own glass and when pouring them in she'll say "I got the boy!"
She can't explain what it means and it's unclear if "the boy" is a lucky or unlucky thing to get, but she still says it and I have caught myself saying it myself these days.

The task assigned to dads' all over the world at the dinner table seems to be to crack bad jokes. Mine specializes in bad rhymes and alliterations for anything brought to the table. The same ones of course, every time. How he laughs...and we do to (a really bad joke improves vastly around the hundredth time you hear it)!

On anybody making a lot of fuss over anything " Slow down. You'll be a mother before your father was."

On anyone useless at anything "Like a square cock at a round hole party."

'This'll stick to your ribs"

I'm surprised this hasn't been mentioned yet: when someone burps at the table, I am still wont to respond with "More tea, Vicar?"

My uncle Eric said "hunger's good kitchen". His dear wife, Kitty, had to put up with this if the meal for the family was not served at 5pm on the dot. He would also say this to heighten the anticipation of any food to come - on holiday, having finished breakfast, as we set off at 9am to cycle round Millport several times with packed lunches in our backpacks he would ask "what's in the sandwiches?" *long pause* *sideways look at me* "hunger's good kitchen". The sandwiches were always gone before we went looking for elevenses.

My uncle Tom lifted Eric Morecambe's gag (and I have carried this one forward) - on hearing an ambulance or fire engine with sirens wailing he had to comment "He won't sell much ice cream going like that!"

My dad and his brothers all grew up during the Depression. They explained their relative lack of height, and the bamboo-like growth of my generation by saying "all we had when we were boys was shortbread and condensed milk. That's what you should be eating." My elder daughter now towers over her mum, and recounts this diet strategy whenever prompted, despite the fact that most of my uncles had passed away long before she was born.

And I have to mention some gems for Mr Jaffrey, the father of my Mum's best friend. His daughter had slaved over a hot stove all day to produce a very special meal of roast chicken served with peppers stuffed with rice. He was a farmer from Tain, and not an adventurous eater. He politely rolled the pepper around, looked under it, and asked (with an innocent face) "no potatoes?"

The other absolute gem from Mr Jaffrey came one Sunday - as my Mum and her best friend (both in their late teens) were politely fighting over the mirror to get ready to go to church one Sunday, he gently shushed them - "Come on now girls, no-one's going to be looking at you anyway".

...On the finishing off of any meal at her house (and by God, they were big, Grandmothers' Teas are the most generous of spreads, aren't they?) would ask "Did you get yer fill a' Bartholomew?". I have no idea whatsoever where this came from.

My Dad will, on the arrival home of any of us with a takeaway, be it Chinese, Indian or pizza, react with a look of disgust and go "Stomach like a tinker's donkey!". He'll also, without fail, follow the last spoon of trifle into his mouth on Christmas Day by pushing back his chair, lighting a fag and saying "Well, that's that for another year".

I could eat a scabby horse between two slices of bread.

Don't know why it had to be a "scabby" horse...

"Tongue sandwiches eat what, but it's been in somebody else's mouth".

I always remember being told to 'stop waving that pizza about,you'll have someones eye out with it',even my mums' soup came with the same warning.

I grew up in a small flat. There was obviously no dining room - the dining table was at one end of the small living room, with the sofa and TV at the other end. After a meal, my mother would proclaim with a flourish "Shall we retire to the drawing room?" We'd stand up, complete the journey of about four feet to the sofa. I still say that now.