Nerve 14 - Taste is Everything

Taste is Everything

When it comes to food, call me a stick in the mud. The basics boiled till the gas goes out, butter on all four corners of white bread, mug of tea - though no sugar since getting my own flat made sure I never had any - and look at me! I'm like a lat, but fit as a butcher's dog. Yeah, there's a lot of hooey talked about grub, mostly by those paid to do it - whether a celebrity chef on the telly or the Council bods in pink coats I've seen plodding up and down Breck Road. And by grub I mean coffee, too (anyone else think this stuff is gonna catch on?)

There's a village in China famous for producing incredible gymnasts who can leap 40 foot in the air from a standing start and land on a pinhead, all on a bowl of gruel Oliver Twist would turn his nose up at. And not just a handful but the whole lot of them are mustard at it. So, how, when they're not getting their 'five a day'? Turns out there's a lot more going on in the keeping healthy cupboard.

For good advice I rush to Faddy Food Fads & Phoney Eatin' by Oscar Belafonte and June Moon (HogFried Press), scandalously out of print but a must for anyone who wants it straight on the line. Only the other day my neighbour George, on his way to telling me something else, let slip he's still on lard.

"LARD!" I gasped. Even I’m not immune to all culinary propoganda but when he said, "The chips don't taste the same with modern cooking oils," he had me. TASTE IS ALL. But where can you get the antiquated cooking fat? "99p a slab from specialist outlets," said George. A corner shop, he means, usually next to an offy.

Oscar and June don't waffle on the issue (page 34 if you can find a copy). Every nob of lard is equivalent to 48 push ups. Do them and the stuff will never kill you. You can't say fairer than that. I last seen George shinning up a giant poplar to retrieve a balloon for a distraught nipper and his 'Go George Go' mum. If there's an ounce of fat on that fella I'd like to know where it is.

Eat what you like and work it off, that's the ticket. Though food intolerance has to be accepted, especially in others. Once on a retreat in the wilds we gathered round the pot at evenings end; beat, ravenous, and grateful for rest and sustenance. Only for one of our party, who had been solid all day, to suddenly blurt out on spying the pasta, "I'D SOONER FIGHT A BUNCH OF GORILLAS THAN EAT THAT STUFF!"

Like lightning I pulled the rip cord on an emergency slice of lemon mirangue to calm him down, followed by a pan of barley soup we rustled up and served in seconds to bring him round. It was a close thing but taking turns sprinkling a light garnish all over him throughout the night (God bless Ainsley Harriot's Range of Easy Condiments) he pulled through.

Traditionalist though I am, I like to keep a nose in the air for the latest goings on in cooked meats. Hanging around the Eatery Quarter I sees a couple of Lunchettes comparing crumbs in their diaries and making plans for their next rendezvous.

I move a little closer.

"Are we talking figure conscious or pig out?" says Heels and Bangles.
"Oh, why don't we go 'V'," gushes her chum, having a real eureka moment.
"Yes!" says Heels, "The PP again?"
"It's the future," smiles Chum, and off they go. Corn fed and happy.

OK, so 'V' is veggie, that's schoolboy stuff but 'PP'?

I let it cool a couple of days then started asking around. A few faces had heard whispers but that was all. Even the veggies were saying nothin' or didn't know.

Then the name 'MacCombe & Ferris' dropped through my door. A small, upmarket deli/pie house, tiny dining area inside with two tables and chairs outside in summer. I strolled in ready with some ruse to make time but it hit me right in the face. It came in two sizes, regular and large, and retailing for £1.89 the large looked good value.

I got home, cut it into sixteen, giving a portion to George and the rest of the neighbours, plus two cats. I never seen anyone for a week. Still chewing, like me, I guess. Hallucinating every four hours that we can taste something.

The Porkless Pie. It’s the future. It's gonna be lonely.

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Comments:

Comment left by Phillipe Curtain. on 26th October, 2010 at 19:24
I have to agree that it is about the taste and some things are just worth the risk! I was watching the tv series " ...on a plate " recently and caught an episode about French food. There was a part describing how President mitterrand had a dinner party and one dish was a rare bird that was protected by law but not when it came to a president's private dinner party. The small bird is force - fed in a dark barn then given Armagnac, then cooked and eaten, bones and all. Now, the pork pie is perhaps not taboo, yet, and certainly not endangered thank god, but one day will it be met with similar lardy response? I must say I have tried snails in Paris restaurant with Lyon sausages and a glass of wine and it was a great moment as well as tasty. The truth does lie somewhere between the fact and the fiction and being from the North West I am well versed in both. I think with food it is a case of apply the rule of thumb. I love my corn beef hash but would love to have been at that dinner party.

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