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From Tanya Muneera Williams, cultural producer:

Growing up unlike most children, Saturdays was the worst day of the week for me. I enjoyed the time off and the possibility of meeting up with friends and riding in the local park for hours on end, I enjoyed Saturday morning TV programmes such as Going Live and Live and Kicking featuring the lovely Zoe Ball, but all the joy seeped out of my day by 1 pm.

Without fail, as long as I was at home at 1 pm on the dot I was summoned to the kitchen by my mother or father who would have a giant stock pot full of water boiling on the largest stove, waiting for me to cut up a whole manner of vegetables and put them in, for we were cooking Jamaican Saturday soup.

I didn鈥檛 fancy Saturday soup back then, perhaps it was the toil and the precise timing that was required, in order to ensure nothing was over or undercooked.

To make it worst, after what seemed like an epoch of sweating over the stove, on special occasions, it was my duty to dish out the soup and deliver it to our nearest non-Jamaican Neighbours.

I鈥檓 not sure what they thought about it, as to me it was not the most attractive looking Jamaican delicacy, but the neighbours always returned the dish a day or two later with their own assortment of food. It was like a never-ending chain of generosity towards each other.