Those of you who regularly read my blog will know that I am a bit obsessed with food. In fact I have made a pact not to write any more about my latest diet or the iniquities of supermarkets (Do you know I have lost 7 lb in 15 days and now shop at Aldi? No. Stop!)
There are three things that I think about nearly all the time, unless I am at work of course. They are Food: I’m hungry, what do we need, hope we can try that restaurant some time, those flavours would go well together, what shall I cook for friends/dinner/pudding; Relationships: I’m such an idiot, he’s such an idiot, I wish I hadn’t said that, I wish I was as nice as so and so, that person baffles me; and writing: I could write about that, and that, and that, bugger, I’ve burnt the dinner! Full circle.
Dinner parties were what we did for fun in the ’70s. After eating at Bernie Inns and Bistros we would attempt to emulate their atmosphere at home: Mantovani in the background, low lights, best frocks, white table cloth, wine glasses for different wines, a dinner service, cutlery for each course – starting from the outside and going in towards the plate.
The food would be copied too. Prawn cocktail or egg mayonnaise, Steak Diane or au poivre, Black Forest Gateau or Sherry trifle. You know what? It was great; I love those foods. I have a sudden desire to re-introduce the 1970s to my younger friends.