Mostly about snacking

I may be strange looking, less funny than I like to believe* and have an incipient drinking problem, but if there’s one thing I can do, it’s food. Cooking, eating, talking about it at great length. And today, I have taken it upon myself to talk about snacks. No, I have no reason for this. Just go with it until I have something of substance to post about.

Now, I’m not entirely weird about food: I can eat in public without people staring in horror…hang on. Before I carry on, can I just say something on the off-chance that a certain gentleman sitting two tables away from me at lunch the other day is reading? Thanks. Talk amongst yourselves.

Dear Sir.

I know soup tends to be hot. However, your particular slurping technique makes you sound like a blocked drain. An attention-seeking blocked drain with poor table manners. And for the love of all that is holy and sacred (eg, grilled haloumi): picking up your soup bowl and tipping the remainder directly into your mouth? Just…no. Please, for the good of humanity, eat at home. On your own. In a locked, and preferably soundproof, basement.

Yours in expectant gratitude, tanya.

PS: it’s a small friendly café. Your imperious tone is not impressing anyone, and the staff will remember you.

Okay, I’m done. The rest of you still there? So, I’m perfectly capable of eating in company, but I’m happiest when I’m eating on my own. And I’m a fidgeter, so ideally I like to eat things that keep my hands occupied for a long time. This leads to obsessive compulsive snack assembly.

You know how Jatz advertisements always show a tray on which every single little Jatz has a different elaborate combination of toppings, and you think, seriously, who on earth spends five minutes per cracker balancing things on top of each other? Well, that would be me. I construct these things one at a time. Ideally, a meal’s worth of things-on-crackers lasts an episode of Dr Who.

Because of this, there are people that accuse me of having “issues”. To those people, I say…well, I don’t say anything, because I have a mouthful of water cracker, spread with Philadelphia (the full fat stuff; life’s too short), topped with a smoked oyster (the sort packed in spring water) and a sprinkle of dill on top.

Try it. You can thank me later. Cracker, Philadelphia, oyster, dill. Go.

The other one, equally fiddly, was invented by the husband, so all royalties should be directed to him. Water cracker, smear of hot English mustard, chunk of tuna, dribble of fish sauce. I know, I know, but it’s really good. It’s like mutated English sushi; the cracker substitutes for the rice, tuna for, well, tuna, mustard instead of wasabi and fish sauce instead of soy. See? Genius.

Oh, and anyone who has not yet discovered the joys of a Hass avocado, bocconcini, and a glass of Riesling (it has to be Riesling; the lemon characteristics cut the creaminess of the avocado and don’t overwhelm the bocconcini, and shut up) really really should. To be eaten thus: one bite of avocado, one bite of cheese, one sip of Riesling. That, my friends, is my idea of the perfect evening.

Well, a perfect evening that doesn’t involve champagne cocktails and hedonistic sex with lithe young men. I like that sort, too.

I don’t know what my point was here, really. I just had a desire to talk about snack food.

*The other day I decided to tell the husband why he would be a total catch if he was single and yeah, I don’t know what brought that on: “Hey, honey, did you know there are many many women who would want you? Here’s some evidence to back that up. You should…umm…do nothing at all about it. You’re welcome”. He responded in kind, because he’s nice like that, and ended, as an afterthought, with “oh yeah. And you’re quite funny”. God I love faint praise. It’s so…what’s the word I’m searching for here? Starts with a D?