Having a meal is fun, right? Wrong! Sure, it can be delicious and fulfilling and all that, but so often something happens that makes you gnash your teeth mid-meal or splutter over your drink out of sheer irritation. Why am I upset, you ask? Well, I'll give you ‘why'. I'll give you ten ‘why's.
Interruption Here you are, introducing some good food to your eager palate, when your friend/sibling/random homo sapien slaps you on the back in joyous greeting. Or your phone buzzes with a call you simply can't afford to ignore. Or a special someone wants you to run an errand 'right now'.
Uninvited sharing Now this awakens some primeval instincts in us. I've seen people actually snarl when you reach into their plate. If you can't resist, ask permission and use a fork. But never, ever touch the fries.
Creamy layer Some insensitive beings insist on talking with you until that wrinkled layer forms in your cup. Also, there's an eternal battle between a good drink and evil dregs. You try to keep really still, but that last sip is a Trojan horse, on which the dregs rush in, spoiling it all!
UFO alert! Unidentified Floating Objects. Oh, they're just bits of vegetable or bread. Are you sure? I mean, it's a very peculiar shade, and the shape isn't right. A creeping doubt wedges itself between soup and mouth and when you realise you're right, you have the right to go Aaarghgh!!
Forensic grunge You take a fragrant morsel of rice to your molars and…crrrrunch. Rocks in your food! In vain, you try to pick it out and end up spreading it around.
If you can't eat it, why cook it? Why make us work for our food at the table? We appreciate the food, really. Why feed us vegetable peels, silly little bones, pointless seasoning and seeds? I want to eat the food. If only you'll let me!
Frozen cold, volcano hot Cold is nice, but I'm not a polar bear and I'll need an ice pick to crack that. And ‘right from the stove' looks great on paper, but when you're ravenous, you want to go “yum!” not “ouch”.
Wrong cutlery When there're mashed potatoes, you need a broad spatula. When there's a gorgeous, runny sabzi, you've got to have a voluptuous ladle. Mess up the tools and I will go ape and use fingers.
Waiting If you're waiting at the salon or the doctors' or at an office, you read or chat or fiddle with your phone. But if you have to wait at the table, food mirages haunt you and kolaveri builds up in your system.
Grime is a crime Sticky table, spilled food, a solitary fly perched audaciously on the rim of your plate; icky vessels, sloppy serving, odours that don't belong. Wet patches, grimy wash-cloth, crusted cups. And food in the middle of it all! Where's my flamethrower!?
Being a gourmet isn't all soufflés and silverware, you know. To take care of this belly, I've got to traverse the underbelly of…wait, what's that super-scrumptious smell? It's from the kitchen…dinner, here I come!
