Did
anyone see the recent television programme about Elizabeth David? Instead of
concentrating on her charming recipes it chose instead to focus on her personal
life, in particular her relationships with men. It seemed to suggest that long
before dear Nigella slathered herself with mayonnaise and crawled up the leg
of the cameraman, a passion for food in a woman equalled a passion for sex.
As the programme pointed out, however, until some time after the Second World
War there was precious little about cooking in general, and food in particular,
in Britain to be in any way passionate about. Food was almost sinful, merely
something to be consumed for the practical purpose of fuelling the body and
not the senses.
This all becomes particularly relevant when faced with the imminent prospect of Valentine’s Day, the annual feast of the patron saint of greetings card manufacturers and restaurants. Many people who would not otherwise eat out on a weekday, and certainly not with each other, head out for a ‘romantic dinner’ a deux. The results are invariably depressing with overstretched restaurants serving up indifferent and micro waved food using incompetent waiters, many of whom leer suggestively at one’s partner as they wave their enormous pepper grinders in their faces.
There is always an unusual atmosphere. All the tables are occupied by couples, no groups. People who ran out of interesting things to say to each other many years ago are forced to make desultory conversation while suppressing the desire to ‘check on the children’ every ten minutes. Long periods of silence fall between them as the stumbling kitchen fails to send out their order in decent time. To fill the space they drink their wine, encouraged by wait staff who can see their tip disappearing with the non appearance of the main course.
This leads to increased tension as one of the couple will soon say, ‘Aren’t you drinking rather a lot tonight?’ This is akin to running up a battle flag and the accused party will empty their glass and signal for a refill. The other will now drink less and less in order to make a point. Soon one is fighting drunk and the other emitting death rays. All this tends to lower their enjoyment of the late arriving main course. The sober one will say this is rubbish, why don’t you say something, for God’s sake! The tipsy one will insist it’s all perfectly delicious and why do you always have to spoil things when we go out, for crying out loud?
One of them will now not want dessert, wishing only to escape. The other will slur ‘Zabagli, zabagla, zibiglioneoneone! I haven’t had one of those for years, I’m going to try some, hic!’ and then sit back truculently whilst glaring at the man on the next table who is now tut tutting quite clearly. The partner will smile at the annoyed man and make ‘what can you do?’ faces. This will lead to a further problem as drunk partner wants to know why the other is chatting up the man at the next table. The man at the next table’s partner will also wish to know, thus enlarging the tension beyond its original point. Soon comes the silent drive home and the cold bed.
My advice is always to buy a lobster and join hands and smile at each other as you lower it, twitching, into the boiling water in your own kitchen. It’s a bit sad for the lobster, but safer for the relationship.
