From the desk of Roland Rocchiccioli – 14 August

Anyone who came to visit my late mother, Beria, never left empty handed. Always, she gave them a bottle of her homemade jam or relish.

For some years after leaving Kalgoorlie she lived in a retirement village in Esperance, on the south-west coast of Western Australia; a truly glorious spot with a white beach, and where she swam every morning with a group of like-minded ladies.

Beria was known affectionately by her village neighbours as Mrs Pickles. She suffered intermittent insomnia, and rather than lie in bed tossing and turning, she would get-up, whatever the hour, go to the kitchen, and make a batch of jam or relish. Often it would be 5am before she went back to bed. Neighbours always knew when she was cooking. They could smell it in the early morning air.

In the winter months, she made Cornish pasties which she gave to others as a treat. I remember them from my childhood – they were delicious. She used her own puff pastry – made with lard. I still have, and use, her tin, jam tart tray which makes a dozen in a batch.

There is nothing more agreeable than receiving food from other people, as a surprise.

Recently, after a full day of working with student actors, I returned home to discover a friend had left for me on the front porch of my cottage, a portion of her delicious, homemade lasagne, and a slice of her famous flourless, hazelnut chocolate cake. She even thought to leave me a generous serve of double cream! It was Sunday night – cold and miserable – and it warmed the cockles of my heart, not to mention my stomach!

My late neighbour, Audrie, and her daughter, Faith, lived for 60-years in a cottage which is now mine. Faith, who died aged 65, was born with Down’s but was as sharp as a whippet, with a wonderful sense of humour.  Faith loved my rigatoni, and every couple of weeks I would prepare enough for several meals and deliver it to Audrie, who assured me Faith’s two favourite things in the world were the Carlton Football Club, and my pasta.

Audrie, on the other hand, made a delicious slice. Whenever anyone moved into the immediate houses around her, she would wait a couple of days to visit and give them a slice as a welcoming gift.

When Audrie moved into permanent care – she died last week aged 95 – I baked and took her fruit cakes, regularly. It brought her much happiness since she was no longer able to practice her renowned culinary skills. For the family Christmas she prepared everything.

Food has played an important part in my life. My late father, Ginger, made the best rigatoni, ever. The recipe was simple: a pound of rump steak, two onions, and a bottle of Rosella tomato sauce. No matter, we have never been able to replicate the taste. He took the secret with him to the big white kitchen in the sky.

Gwalia, the goldfields shanty town where I grew-up, was 60 percent Italian, 20 percent Yugoslav and other Europeans, and 20 British. With 28 different nationalities in the town the food at Christmas was a feast. The town moved en masse from house-to-house. My mother was famous for her chicken risotto made with a rooster.

Sadly, with our fragmented society, such niceties have all but disappeared from our lives. We are, it would seem, too busy to be bothered.

Food, like music, evokes wonderful memories. We need – all of us – to spend more time together, around the table, eating!

Roland can be heard with Brett Macdonald Mondays at 10.45 on 3BA and contacted via [email protected].