Tag Archives: meal

1707. A chef for the homeless

“I think caviar is vastly overrated,” said Lord Brackenbury. This was at a meeting called by the local Anglican vicar. The number of down-and-outs on the streets had sky-rocketed. The local vestry decided they would provide a grand Christmas dinner for the homeless. And the wonderful thing was that Lord Brackenbury was lending his cook for the day. “Lending a Cook” might be too banal a description; Lord Brackenbury was “Providing the services of his Chef”.

“I think caviar is vastly overrated; although it doesn’t get simpler—or more elegant—than crème fraîche and caviar tartlets when served alongside a glass of sparkling wine. However, in the case of feeding the homeless at Christmas I think a carrot tart with ricotta, almond filling and pickled grapes sounds a lot healthier. And my chef Delphine makes it to perfection.”

“We were thinking along the lines,” said the vicar, “of something simpler. A slice of ham or turkey, with mashed potatoes and peas. Besides, I don’t think we could afford such extravagance.”

“And you need a chef for mashed potatoes?” said a stunned Lord Brackenbury. “Delphine wouldn’t have a clue how to go about doing that.”

The vicar was starting to get riled. “Delphine can’t be much of a cook if he doesn’t know how to boil a potato. I suggest…”

“I suggest,” interjected Lord Brackenbury, “that you find yourself another chef. I have standards. No wonder no one comes to church these days.”

“You can stick it up your…” declared the vicar. The vicar’s statement was interrupted by Lord Brackenbury rising from his chair; he gathered his proposed menu notes and stormed from the scene. Fortunately he forgot to take the main thing he had brought for the meeting to enjoy: elegant crème fraîche and caviar tartlets with a couple of bottles of sparkling wine.

“Ham, mashed spuds and peas it is,” said the vicar. “Cheers.” The meeting cut late into the evening.

1571. An organized proposal

Adrian and Alan had been in a same-sex relationship for just over three years. Adrian decided it was time to propose. It wasn’t quite clear in such a relationship as to who should do the proposing, but Adrian decided he had waited long enough and so took the matter into his own hands. It was to be a special occasion.

Adrian planned every second of the event. Really, it was all rather exciting! First they would go to the go-cart track (they loved doing that, it was how they met), hire a go-cart each, and race around for half an hour or so to determine who was the superior go-cart driver.

Next, they would go for a wander through the botanical gardens. It was the tulip season and every year they had celebrated tulips by strolling through the gardens at the very peak of flowering. In fact, they so loved the tulip celebration that they had selected two tulips as a symbol of their relationship and had devised a monogram to go on their front door.

After the tulips they would go to a fancy restaurant; not too fancy mind you, because they weren’t exactly made of money, but fancy enough to make things special. They both especially liked “The Plucked Auk” – which ironically never had auk on the menu. Not to worry. Both would inevitably order a hearty steak, rare, in fact, blue.

Finally they would wander down to the estuary and stroll along the winding river path in the evening light. The stars! The moon! It would be then that Adrian would propose. Let’s hope the weather was fine. The forecast said it would be.

Adrian announced to Alan, it being some not particularly important anniversary of something or rather, that he had planned a special afternoon and evening. Such regular celebrations had always been part of their living together.

Well! Would you believe? They were about to leave home when Alan went down on one knee, produced a ring, and said to Adrian, “Will you marry me?”

Some people know how to stuff things up.

1566. Cherry clafoutis

Bonnie worked as a chef in a prestigious restaurant in town. Her husband, Alex, was an accountant. Because Bonnie worked all day in a kitchen, Alex did most of the cooking at home unless of course it was a very special occasion, in which case Bonnie would “pull out all stops”.

Because fair is only fair, Bonnie paid for the house finances to be looked after by a professional accountant, and not by Alex himself. It was a happy arrangement.

They had been married for fourteen years. All was right with the world; at least it was until Alex one day got a call from the accountant.

“What is this three week cruise for two in the Caribbean?” Alex had no clue, but with further surreptitious investigation discovered that Bonnie had planned a cruise with the bellboy from the restaurant’s hotel. In short, she was leaving Alex. The day of her departure arrived. How would Bonnie break the news?

Bonnie had announced she would cook. “Let’s make it a special occasion right out of the blue,” she announced. “I shall cook.” Alex wondered if she didn’t have a special ingredient in mind.

At the end of the delectable feast, after gorging on a second helping of cherry clafoutis, Bonnie declared that she had a wonderful announcement. She had planned a special surprise. The two of them were to go on a luxury three week cruise in the Caribbean. “We’ve always wanted to do that, darling. Our dream has come true!”

It was only then that Alex wished he hadn’t laced her cherry clafoutis with weed killer.

Poem 52: Gobbler’s lament

(The form chosen for this week is the rondel).

‘Twas the eve of Thanksgiving Day.
I’m not at all grateful, he said.
There’s no fun in losing one’s head,
Then roasted and carved on a tray;

Sage stuffed up your bum all the way
With mushrooms and spice mixed with bread.
‘Twas the eve of Thanksgiving Day.
I’m not at all grateful, he said.

So how would you like, come what may,
To be basted when you are dead?
Thank God for this turkey well-fed,
Big drumsticks, plump breast, they all pray.
‘Twas the eve of Thanksgiving Day.
I’m not at all grateful, he said.

1112. Stone Age mealtime conversation

Adzehead: My word, Wildhoneysuckle, this boiled food is absolutely delicious.

Wildhoneysuckle: It’s beaver tail boiled in fresh spring water with a touch of cress and a pinch of salt.

Adzehead: And this dish here… scrumptious. What is it?

Wildhoneysuckle: It’s mammoth heart stuffed with seasonal juniper berries, and slow roasted in an iron pan, which is the latest technology.

Adzehead: And this here is the best of all. What is it?

Wildhoneysuckle: You should know! We have it regularly.

Adzehead: Yes of course. I don’t know how those Neanderthals eat such crappy food yet taste so good.

783. The Robinson Family eats

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The Robinson family didn’t sit down together for a meal very often. Occasionally, Elizabeth Robinson would insist her husband and their four sons come together and share a meal “like proper people”.

There was Bill. He was the Dad. Dad was in charge. Someone has to be in charge when you have four sons all in their teens.

Fritz was the oldest boy. He was nineteen, and rarely home. He was either working at the factory or out with his girlfriend. Occasionally he would doss down at home. Today he was gulping down his food because he was in a hurry. “Don’t be in such a hurry,” said his father. “It’s not often we get to sit down as a family.”

Ernest was the second son. He was seventeen. He was an apprentice mechanic. He didn’t have a steady girlfriend but was usually either dog-tired after a day’s work or doing the party thing. Today he was gulping down his food because he was in a hurry. “Don’t be in such a hurry,” said his father. “Chew your food properly.”

Then there was Jack. Jack was fifteen and still at school. He was very studious. He was hoping to be an industrial chemist of some sort when he grew up; or maybe some kind of forensic scientist. Today he was eating his food slowly, chewing each mouthful like he was deep in thought. “Hurry up with your food,” said his father. “We don’t want to be here all day.”

The youngest was Franz. He was a bit of a mummy’s-boy. He liked staying home, and was addicted to his computer. Today he was gulping down his food because he was in a hurry to get back to a computer game. “Slow down!” said his father.

“Why?” asked Franz.

“If you’re going to masticate,” said his father, “masticate properly.”

Franz went a deep purple. His three brothers hooted with laughter.