Food, glorious food

Yesterday I got home and found waiting for me on the table a huge piece of garlic ciabatta, some fresh pasta and a roasted vegetable sauce. The smell was overwhelming when I walked through the door and I could actually feel my stomach rumble in anticipation.

A mite over the top, you might think. But bear in mind that thus far I had consumed: some broken mandarin orange segments with three spoonfuls of yoghurt for breakfast; a chocolate chip cookie stolen at a meeting; an Asda own-brand tomato and beef pot noodle for lunch – tasted ok but I’m convinced it would have looked exactly the same in the not unlikely event that I had vomited it up again; and half a stale beef sandwich that was going begging at work (the find of the day). So all the major food groups covered there then…

Well the pasta was waiting for my other flatmate who was out playing football, so I had to sit there, watching it ravenously while heating up my tinned ravioli and marrowfat peas (the tin is still emitting an evil smell so I am determined to get them finished and it chucked out) in the microwave. I still managed to misunderstand the instructions and almost ruined it.

Now I am no rocket scientist, nor indeed a brain surgeon. But I did scrape a degree and passed A Level English - I also did domestic science in school. And yet I still got it wrong. How much more difficult must it be for a Living Ghost, who may not speak or read English, may never have seen a microwave before, may be from a culture where the man is not expected to cook, or may not be used to the produce in the food parcel? I had no idea what a marrowfat pea was before yesterday – so how likely is someone from Iraq or Somalia? I am a fussy eater – but they may have religious or cultural restrictions on their diet which makes shopping in a supermarket on a tenner a spiritual as well as a material minefield.

At least I couldn’t go wrong with my second course – a small stick of bread and a slice of processed cheese.