The Good Life
Leading with the stomach
Pamela Vandyke Price
It could never have been anticipated that I should have anything in common with that persistent and eventually triumphant old person who began every single speech in the Senate (whether or not I could find the verb or even a vague meaning in same) with the phrase "Carthage must be destroyed." But m yreaction — whether voiced, typed or merely snorted — to more and more things I read about is "Begin by being gastronomic." If one is, all else falls into place without as well as within.
Currently there is much ado about the labelling of what some people might eat. About this I say nothing. But if the wouldbe reformers had begun by being gastronomic, they would first have tidied up the actual language of the label, so that sacrileges such as Flavoured with real fruit' (as if one could have false fruit), 'Rock hard tomatoes' (for robots' salads, I suppose?) 'dairy ice cream' and 'garden peas' (from whence should ice cream or cream come if not repository of cow product, and is the pea seen to flourish on the coal face or the roof of a shoebox building?).
Then there is a squabble of some kind going on among those who climb up mountains, with one climber criticising the fare and another praising same — quoting oxtail soup, beef and spring vegetable (what is that or those?) stew, mashed potatoes, mousse with bananas, coffee, brandy and cigars. Not only is this carte du camp comprised solely of mess, mush and mousse, but it's all beige. No wonder the partakers thereof thereafter became fractious. They had to exercise their teeth on something. But Mrs Marcia Williams's reported revelations do really take the bun, as we used to say in the lower fourth. Her meetings with Mr Benn bode nothing but ill: "he believed in sandwiches and a large mug of tea in his room in his Ministry. I like tea myself, and having no particular love for fine food, found sandwiches perfectly satisfactory." (The messenger provided this fodder.' And what is the result? Mr Benn was seen once by me woofling away at a pipe whose tobacco was not, I thought, even very good of its kind, in one of London's best restaurants, while sitting directly under a notice politely requesting that pipes should not be smoked i nthe dining room. The man who will thus impose his personally created odours on those engaged in civilised eating and drinking is hardly going to consider our creature comforts if he ever has us in his thrall.
Mrs Williams, Peregrine Worsthorne relates, actually objected to not being invited to an all-male nosh-in while she was visiting the US with our then dear Leader.
Now the poor lady may be impervious to 'fine food,' but she really should thank her sex that she is excluded from men's dinners' and luncheons. Gastronomic they seldom are if given on a large scale, and instead of delightful talk between men and women, there are those speeches to endure! No gastronomically inclined character would be other than delighted to be excluded. I should know — after any of the great masculine orgies, I get all the gossip therefrom in shorter form and six different versions from those who were there; these gents subsequently take me out and stand me far superior fare as some kind of compensation (to them or to me, I have often wondered?).
To be the only female at a tasting, a party, or a carefully chosen meal for a select few can be fun. But not only do I not want to go to men's dinners — I doubt that the weaker sex would risk hearing what I'd say about the food, the drink and the service if I did! No, no, Marcia, an eminence grise is quite different from an eminence grisee — and to get vaguely tipsy is usually the only way to endure ordeals such as business luncheons and dinners. See how that mug of tea and those sandwiches (processed cheese or well-done beef, probably) have distorted a judgement and affected a conduct of life that might have been adroit and harmonious if you'd begun by being gastronomic.
Passing to tranquilising heights, here's a recipe for a delicious salad, which I first ate last spring as a guest at Château Palmer in the Medoc, where those who sit round the table respect their stomachs as much as they do their palates. This salad goes very well with a mild cheese and the ingredients do not, in my opinion, impair enjoyment of the last glass of a fine red wine. Quantities must be approximate, but for two people you need one firm dessert apple, peeled, cored and cut into chunks. A good Cox's Orange Pippin is ideal, but if you fear it may be woolly, then a Russet or any hard, not too sweet apple will do. Sprinkle the apple chunks with a little lemon juice, salt, freshly-ground black pepper and, if you like, some sesame salt. Cut three to five heads of trimmed chicory into inch-long pieces. In the salad bowl put salt, pepper, a very little mild French mustard and four to five dessertspoonfuls of very good olive oil, plus one to two dessertspoonfuls of walnut oil. (I know — fearfully expensive, but presumably you're only serving this salad to those you love.) Mix the chicory into the oils, then turn the apple pieces into the cicory. Drip about one scant dessertspoonful of sherry vinegar or wine vinegar over the salad and stir well just before you are about to eat it. Sprinkle four to six lightly crushed walnuts over the top. You can prepare the apple, the dressing, and cut up the chicory in advance. But don't add the vinegar until the other ingredients are coated with the oil.
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