Ingratitude

I slaved in the kitchen for hours today, only to have Philippa turn her back on my food because it was ‘too spicy.’

Bloody Hell.

I shouldn’t moan really – I got to eat three times as much stir fry as should be deemed physically safe for a human man to ingest, and she was delighted when I rustled up a quick salmon-and-rice combo for her as a last-minute replacement. So it was all good. It’s just that I could have saved myself all the pissing about by just doing something simple in the first place. But there we are – she appreciated the effort I’d put in, even if she didn’t indulge in the outcome.

It does surprise me sometimes how picky people get about food presentation. It’s fun sometimes to have your starter arranged in the shape of a certain country, but it’s grub, for ****’s sake, not art. I’m paying to enjoy the taste, not the arrangement. It all looks the same on the way out, what difference does it make what it looks like on the way in? (A point I often make to food buffs, much to their disgust.)

I enjoy a good meal as much as the next man, but why the Hell would I care what pattern my tea appears in on a plate? I’m not five.

RC 25-5-19

2325 BST