Selected Cronicas

TO EAT

The food was awful, but there was one good thing: it would revive me for some better meal in the future whenever that might be.

Blanquette de Veau. We went to the restaurant with the sole intention of eating well. We were more interested in food than any conversation. When the maître recommended Blanquette de Veau, something told me I should choose something else. I brought up the same old excuse that I did not really care for anything with a white sauce. My friend, who is a great gourmand, assured me that a white sauce is not to be despised. So we decided to compromise and share any risk by ordering one Blanquette and one Tournedos cooked in a wine sauce.

When the food arrived, I set about sampling it and after the first few mouthfuls, I felt there was something wrong.

I asked my friend hesitantly: Don’t you get the impression that something here has been burnt? There is a slight taste of something charred. I could not decide what it was because in my hunger I had chewed everything together. Whereupon my friend tried to reassure me: The rice has probably been overcooked.

As for the Blanquette. Certain dishes, when they are too refined, provoke nausea. Excessive refinement makes one almost feel like being sick. Besides, there should always be a touch of simplicity in good cooking.

As for the Tournedos, that was another mistake. Good meat should give one something to chew on! And any fillet of beef which cuts like butter is a clear warning that the waiter has not heeded my instructions.

This was enough to make me lose my appetite. And nothing could take away the sense of disappointment. I felt quite frustrated, and in a fuming rage I inwardly vowed never to eat again. For I am so immature that I cannot bear to have my pleasures spoiled. ‘So much for eating well’, I said bitterly to my friend. ‘Be patient’, she told me calmly, ‘your appetite will come back’. Her own mother is such a wise and practical woman that, whenever there is illness in the family, she immediately does two important things: she administers medicine and then goes off to her room to pray. And then all is well.

But that is another story. To end the first one, my appetite did come back eventually. But as for Blanquette de Veau — never again. And I am not joking.