THE GOOD LIFE Pamela Vandyke Price
Rousseau (not the painter, the other one) is among my Great Gaps. Fortunately I am sure we all have them, else I should be depressed, but I do not think that, when what Ogden Nash inspiredly calls "the Great Head Waiter with l'addition hovering near" does near, I shall be alone in trying to get to the bottom of the ironing basket, tidy the back of the car and cope with last year's Christmas correspondence with one hand, and bone up on Rousseau, the Etruscans, Bruckner, Rousseau (the painter, not the other one), Cervantes.
I have a feeling, though, that writer Ftousseau propounded a theory that it was wrong to interfere with people's natural instincts. Although I would not go right along with this, even for myself (it would involve jumping on too many people), I have been suspicious of people doing things to me 'for my good' for many years. While I was still in the iron grip of the character-forming British boarding school system, for example, I was always being compelled to "join in" and play games as "good for the health and conducive to your making the right friends." As I can out-dance all those dribblers of the ball to this day, and as I can imagine no person being even an acquaintance of mine for more than seconds if they really regarded a game as more interesting than conversation or books (I once got sent out of the upper fifth because I pertinently remarked that, for me, games are things children pass the time with before they can read), this argument has merely become feebler with time. The British boarding school did, however, form my character to the extent of inciting me to achieve getting out of compulsory games then, so that nowadays I feel myself capable of getting out of anything similarly mind-stultifying, reading-time-wasting and hideous-rendering.
But one of the things people still attempt to force on me is company. "You can't be alone," they say, especially at times when, at holidays, I've got to the state when the walls of hell would consist for me of a mural of the faces of those I've had to see in recent days. I like people. But I've always loved my own company. There have only been two human beings from whom I have never wanted to have time off and — as with those specialists who tell us our back troubles are because we shouldn't ever have walked on our hind legs — it's too late to change now.
For one of the delights of being alone is eating d une. One can read. I am of those who will read and listen to a play or story on one radio and a concert on the other in sheer hogliness of enjoyment. Or one can think the sort of profound thoughts that rise, like huge elderly carp from the sludge at the bottom of one's mind, while one sips an experimental apertif one wouldn't risk with friends. (This is how I found that the Danish blackcurrant rum, or a cherry brandy or sloe gin will substitute interestingly for cassis liqueur in vin blanc cassis.) Then one can cook long, glow things, partaking of titbits and mini-slurps the while, so that the final creation is certain to taste delicious. This is when I discovered how admirable are cold avocado soup with marsala or Commandaria, or a canapé of chopped onion and grated apple on a sliver of Gruyere. Cou can have the sort of food you wouldn't dare indulge in openly: I once ended a day of tastings, ultra tried-about food and legendary wines by noshing sausage and mash with baked beans on the side, accompanied by export lager and followed by treacle tart (slightly burnt) with sour cream. Or you can be crudely luxurious, expense regardless. It sounds good to say that I recently cooked myself a roast partridge (I put slices of apple inside, as I do with pheasant), plus all the trimmings, roast potatoes and cabbage, followed by a Cornice pear — and with a half-bottle I happened to have by me of Ch. Lafite 1947 (Drink now, I think, as I did).
But perhaps the recurrent dish I enjoy as much as any is my version of a potato galette. It's not expensive and wonderfully comforting at times when you've stopped caring about getting fat.
Peel and thinly Slice wax potatoes. I used to allow 2-3 each, but now restrict myself to one of medium size. Dry them thoroughly. Put a dollop of unsalted butter and a spoonful of oil in a shallow pan with a lid, in this put a clove of garlic, then the potatoes. Put on the lid and cook until they are brown on one side (about 10-15 minutes). Turn them over, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and chopped onion and a diced rasher of bacon. Put on the lid and cook again until brown. (If you leave the lid off they will be very hard, but some people like them this way). Then push
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