When discussing the magic arts and rites of shopping, I claim the same experience as most of England; the need to stock up with the necessities of life, food; mainly ready-meals for my wife, and frozen fish as my selection: not, you must understand, because of a fish-craving, but because of a diet with fairly restricted and delineated boundaries; but easily prepared and just as easily consumed. But every other Sunday, I cut loose, prepare curries, casseroles, steaks, whatever; for this is when I host Son #2, his wife and the stars of the show; three of my four grandchildren; along with my daughter, who also lives comparatively local.
I have shopped in shops and supermarkets, or their equivalent, across four of the five Continents, and I truly thought I had seen and witnessed everything under the sun, especially in a supermarket where I once espied the magic advisory label “XXXX Stain Remover Powder; One for £7.00. Two for £14.00” but, when browsing for staple vegetables, came across this gem:- as pictured.
Now I may be in a tiny minority, but I buy items because of how they taste when cooked, of flavour and of quality: and never, ever, because of how they look. A knobbly carrot is just a carrot, but because it has a blemished outer skin; it must seemingly be banished to the cattle feed trough, or thrown onto a pile of rotting veg which has also failed the marketing strategists or ‘t.v. celebrity chef’s’ beauty parade. We’ve all heard them mouth off on endless tv cooking shows; they say, ‘a touch of colour’ or some similar verbal garbage; they prance around, pouring some over-reduced ‘jus’ ( which, of course, translates as ‘bloody meat gravy) around some artfully-prepared culinary excrescence.
Who gives two shits what some plate of food looks like? What does it taste and smell like?