-
lunch.
I thought before my voyage of all the things that could surprise me out of my vague insinuation that this Au Pairing job would be a bit like every film about a nanny ever made. Except with English subtitles as representative of my thoughts and modern french being the audio language.
I never once thought however, that the food would be anything less than exquisite. Blahlblahblah the french are good chefs, the English aren’t and are all fat and eat everything fried and covered in ketchup. In the simplest of French homes they are supposed to dine on fresh bread and croissants and cheese and seasonal tarts and simple but delectable rataouille. At mealtimes there’s always supposed to be something delicious going on on the plate.
Well wrong wrong wrong. The father has the mentality of a french stereotype, but non of the skill. I detest this. Mainly because due to my coming from England, he feels the need to educate me about food. I think they think I eat mud fresh from a deep fat frier accompanied by packet sandwiches and mcdonalds mcflurrys. They look at me suspiciously when i approach a tomato, as if in being English I might not know what to do with it, and they want to protect me from embarrassing myself with their kind french knowledge.
Oh at first I thought it was funny. My dad, himself an excellent cook, asked me to report back each day on what I’d eaten so he could sigh in pleasure and inspiration at the wonders of accross the channel. When I told him that we’d eaten white sliced bread, tomatoes whole, radishes, raw mushrooms, chopped beetroot from a packet, packet ham for them and fish sticks (fish sticks!) for me, he wrote nothing back but a question mark.
Its not funny any more though. I had to watch the dad prepare a meal to take on a picnic with friends the other day. In fairness, they do ask me if I can cook or if I like to and if the food is ok here and what do i eat in england. I have the oppportunity to admit but I’m scared to. I told them i’m used to cooking and like to, but I know that they internally shake their heads and smugly imagine me over-boiling carrots and cooking steaks in the microwave. I’m scared to cook because they’ll realise what I’ve been thinking all along. Thus it is simpler to go along with it. The recipe (he used a recipe for a start, minus 2 points), came from a book written for fools as far as I am aware, and contained the ingredients frozen spinach (minus one), packet pastry (minus one), butter, garlic, hard boiled eggs and packet grated cheese (minus fifty). The father asked me if I’d ever cooked spinach before and I couldn’t resist saying yes but its normally fresh. He ignored the comment, and I regreted saying it because I don’t want to confuse them out of their patriotic stereotypes. They will feel as bereft as I did when i learnt that being a Frenchman does not automatically equal being a culinary master. Or even culinary basic.
Oh I feel terrible really. With my snobby thoughts. At least they feed me. But I’m yearning for new leaf which is not something I ever expected to miss here in the home of haute cuisine.
The reason I thought to write here though is because he showed me a packet of couscous this morning as if it were an ingredient sourced from forbidden amazonian legend. And I longed to cry out of my experience of couscous, which despite being most notably gained from an unremarkable university salad bar, beats anything I’ve eaten here in the past month by a hundredfold.
-
A verification of today’s conversation, courtesy of Wikipedia
Freddo bars were released onto the UK market in 1973 and withdrawn in 1979. After 15 years they were re-launched.[3] In the UK, a caramel filled version is also sold, with a yellow wrapper. This was formerly known as the Taz bar, featuring the Looney Tunes character. They disappeared for several years before returning under the Freddo image.[citation needed]
(source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Freddo_Frog)
The time today is essay time. In light of this, Wikipedia must fill the void left behind in the absence of the customary gripping debate and engaging reflection that our readers have come to expect of the Diaries.
Also, re: Tazos, please see:
http://spakatak.com/tazos/set.php?id=333
(I had most of them, except the special ones that you could only get in Doritos; my mum wouldn’t let us have them. She said they were for grown ups and there were too many in a bag for us to eat. But really I think it’s ‘cos they were more expensive. Pity my deprived childhood.)
-
what’s in a name?
robert COOKe
a-MEAL-ia king
kath-RYE-n hALL
it seems our greed for delicious food, which has recently spread beyond friday o’clock confines, is down to predestination, as suggested by the names we were each given. it is beyond our control.
we cannot fight fate. nobody can.
so someone COOK us a MEAL (possibly with RYE in it, though there are other preferred ingredients) and may we eat it ALL.
-
This Friday…
LET THERE BE COUSCOUS
http://mutant-sounds.blogspot.com/2007/05/lol-coxhill-couscous-lp-1983-uk.html
COUSY-WOUSY-WOOO
LOL
-
Would a couscous pie be tasty?
i really couldn’t saymaybenoYES!
-
Yes ! Finally ! A one o clock to savour and rememember. It seems as though forever passed us by since last the lunch club celebrated a success. Yes, thanks to Kat we’ve moved to higher climbs than the couscous lows of newleaf, and found fresh inspiration in the Westend pub on Glossop Road.
Despite the initial set back of a puddingless menu, I swallowed my indignation and tried to behave like an adult. Thus I was drawn immediately to the fish finger sandwich option, and joined matrimoneously with a free apple juice, I felt every bit the grown up that I am.
True there was a slight misunderstanding with the chairs- in that they had been seated around the wrong table, but this was quickly rendered solved as we swapped them round. If the staff minded, they displayed their distaste only in the ambiguity of Kat’s provided dip, which was of a rusty colour, and full of unidentifyed vegetables, and potentially capers. Perhaps this was their way of saying : yes, we saw you move those chairs, no, we won’t say anything, but hère, see if you can solve this mystery of an accompliment.
In any case the meal continued jovially with no broken bones or obvious tears. Perhaps Rob was crying a little at the thought of the innocent deer who lived then died to be a part of his pie, but he did it discreetly, and with minimum fuss.
Next we spilled outside to the Bright white lights of a Sheffield sky, greying at the edges but full of promise. The peace gardens called our names and we answered with eager footsteps in their direction. Ice cream from the ice cream van kept us cool in the winter coldness and contrasted nicely with the exotics of the orangery.
Finally something civilised did happen to redeem me from embarassing régression, we had post-lunch coffee at Robs.
This is surely an example to live by, can we not keep up this high standard of end of week dining ? I guess we’ll have to wait and see ….
-
This is our new logo. I hope you like it. Personally I find it more enthralling than writing an essay on Modernist literature.
BYE.
-
Inspiration for ‘Pies for Other Girls’: secret double lives.
‘A pot of English Breakfast and a glass of tap water’ by day.
But by night… ‘he’s superfreaky.’
