Saturday, 19 July 2008

Food

I am not a foodie. Fuck food. Food is merely petrol you need to top up with from time to time to make whichever carcass you happen to be trapped inside move around a bit & do things, & like petrol it is overpriced, overrated, smelly & facing extinction. Alex Cox got it right with Repo Man as did NASA with their inventive solution to zero-gravity lunches. No frills, no washing up, no choice, no nonsense. This, my friends, is the future: Deal with it or get off the pot...

I had the poor fortune of having to witness yet another celebrity chef reality monstrosity on the idiot's lantern last night. Yes, having: My flatmate Ursula actually enjoys making & eating the stuff while she watches other people making & eating it, can you imagine? My living room is a cross between the inner circle of Dant├ęs Inferno & an Escher staircase. That chef what doesn't iron his face is barking contractual expletives at assorted inept celebs attempting to bolster their dwindling incomes in order to go out & buy more food (or, more likely, have it cooked for them) & then eat it. The whole shebang is utterly, utterly ridiculous & I am at the point of weeping into my Bombay Bad Boy with fury but as man of the household I exercise an heroic restraint, feigning interest for what feels like an eternity but is in fact the time from rolling opening credits to 1st ad break. Never in living memory have I been so grateful to see the Halifax's multi-talented Howard warbling his talented way across the Channel. Ursula is no fool : She instantly detects the suppressed venom & catapults herself at my Achilles heel. "Isn't it interesting how Gordon has become the object of desire for most well-adjusted modern women." Bitch. Brilliant, but Bitch nevertheless...

I am beside myself : There are more flaws in that one sentence than there are flavours of Jelly Belly (which, by the way, I highly recommend should you need a meal between treats) & the sheer volume of CPU power required to retort completely blows the processors on duty. I have to leave the room, fizzing in defeat, leaving Ursula & Gordon to enjoy their wild raspberry & mint fucking cheesecake, washed down with a half-bottle of Muscat d'Alsace or Skol lager. Whichever...

4 comments:

e said...

My, what a comely shot of Ursula. She's looking positively pedigree. Have you been schmoozeudling with the celebrity photographers now as well?

eggstationzebra said...

She does scrub up nice although, to be frank, her breath can knock small birds from the trees at 50 paces. I don't think she'd mind me telling you that...

Elinor said...

Actually I agree with the lovely Ursula about Gord being an object of desire. Of course he is, he looks more raddled than I do!

BPP said...

As a man who spends most of his life doing fuck all you'd think cookery shows would be my bread 'n' butter. Actually, I'd like to see all celebrity chefs have their innards drawn from their bodies on winders out of their noses. Of course, I'd make an exception in Delia's case - she can have her lights ripped out of her anus.

By the way, what this blog needs is filthy jokes.