CHRIS GEN looks back at those halcyon days when you could finish everything on your plate without wondering whether it was beef, horse or tree bark.
Tesco seem to be taking the phrase “so hungry I could eat a horse” a little too seriously. Really though, what’s next, my LIDL pony? I wonder what the next controversial Tesco headline will be – zebras bodies found in barcodes? To eat or not to eat? Ah, that is equestrian. At the end of the day though I guess it’s all part of a stable diet. Right, enough horsing around.
The amount of times I’ve had some swanky, arrogant, know-it-all celebrity chef starring at me through my TV screen, telling me that I don’t know what I’m putting in my mouth is unreal. I’ve had chefs like Jamie Oliver (and we all remember that time he embarked on the righteous campaign that was the ‘school lunch crusade’) yelling at me for eating chicken nuggets. I’ve had abuse hurled at me (indirectly, no law suits here) by Nigella Lawson for my diet. Thousands of us have also been victim to a full-blown verbal assault from Gordon Ramsay (that’ll teach us for not cleaning this dishes properly.) Enough is enough. Don’t make me eat my shame away.
I know at the end of the day these culinary-masters are just trying to help and improve our diets; aiming to tackle child obesity before a herd of waddling children (slowly) tackle them, but who has time to prepare gourmet meals at lunch? Who can be bothered conjuring up a feast fit for the Gods after a laborious 12 hour shift? Even with Jamie’s 15-minute-meals you have to prepare in advance – seriously, who has all that stuff just lying around their kitchen?
Credit where its due, I tend to swerve past places like McDonalds now, but when I’m finished for the day I can’t be bothered whipping up anything taxing. Fresh meat, side salad and occasionally, if I’m showing a nihilistic streak, some pasta too. However now I can’t even do that without fear I may be consuming something ungodly and that a TV crew are going to burst in and harangue me.
When I was a kid, I lived in a completely ignorant food-filled bliss. I thought hot-dogs were made of actual dogs. Did this assumption bother me? No. Well, maybe once – my gran’s dog died and I was pretty cautious that week.
I didn’t care if my chicken was processed, because I don’t know what it meant. My biggest fear was the lunch ladies – as a child they’re truly terrifying tyrants – wardens of the school lunch, Hitlers of the dinner hall.
Now we live in such a paranoid, nanny-state that when it comes to meal times everyone’s soon going to be consuming leaves from nearby trees. Well except when we’re drunk; Scotland will always love her kebabs after a night on the razz.
I’m not objecting to food scandals being revealed; if it’s for the benefit of the British public long may it continue. I just miss the days where I could consume my dinner without wondering what’s actually in it, cause there ‘neigh’ telling these days.