Thursday, 4 June 2015

A pill for tea

Every so often, the ‘science fiction’ idea of being able to eat a nutritionally-balanced meal just by taking a pill will raise its puritanical head. It was a staple of sci-fi writers back in the day when technological advance would free us from the drudgery of having to cook and then eat real food: after all, why bother if you can just take a pill? The idea still appears from time to time and is usually to be found on the front page of a less reputable tabloid (e.g. the Daily Express, the purveyor of so much charlatanism and bullshit pseudo-science). Why peel, chop, slice, dice, boil, steam, grill and fry when you can simply pop a pill out of its pre-sealed blister pack and have a three course meal with a simple swallow of a mouthful of water?

The idea of food having so little cultural significance, so little pleasure associated with the rutuals of shopping, preparing, cooking and eating is truly bizarre to my mind. A home-made meal, even if it turns out slightly less pretty that the photo accompanying the recipe you followed religiously is still a thing to take pride in, to enjoy. And it is even better if you are sharing you culinary triumph with someone else: food has an important social aspect too. It brings us together around a table to eat - yes, of course - but also to talk, to share, to laugh. In some situations, food may have to take on a lesser meaning, to be stripped back to it’s basic raison d’être - to provide fuel for the body. I have a friend who was instructed in the ways of ‘food is fuel’ on his first overnight manoeuvres in the army. They were served meat and potatoes followed by sponge pudding as a dessert. However, custard accompanied the meat course and gravy was ladled onto the sponge pud! In order to survive the rigours of the following day, the food had to be eaten, regardless of how it tasted. I can understand that, in the midst of battle or yomping across miles of territory, stopping to prepare a banquet where the men can engage in a bit of social interaction is not really practical. Meals, under such circumstances, are about supplying the body with fuel for the next day. However, the side effect of this utilitarian approach to food has stayed with him: food for him should be as simple and nutritious as possible without any fanfare, bells or whistles.

I enjoy cooking and matters culinary. Cooking programmes such as Masterchef are about the only ‘reality’ shows that interest me and I can almost stand James Martin on Saturday Morning Kitchen...almost. I am not about to over-sell my cooking skills, however. I can cook but there is no way that I would want to do it even vaguely as a way of earning money. The work is hard, the hours long and when you’ve finished, you get to start on the clearing up and clean-down. Definitely not for me! Neither am I going to indulge in the clchés that are trotted out each season in Masterchef: “Cooking is my passion!”; “I’ve put my heart onto that plate”; “I’ve always wanted to cook professionally” (so why didn’t you?) etc. I just like to cook. It is therapeutic (chopping, tenderising meat), relaxing (Radio 4 on in the background, glass of wine) and ultimately satisfying as is the case with any process that involves making something from scratch. We also have an extensive library of cooking porn: those glossy cookbooks full of fabulous recipes that you haven’t cooked yet (and probably never will) but just look so good in the photos!

Just as control of our weight cannot be gained through popping a pill in the cakehole, despite what headlines in the Express or adverts in many magazines or all over the internet may say, so eating cannot currently be reduced to a pharmaceutical transaction, thankfully! Only those who are ridiculously time-poor or are hardcore ‘food-is-fuel’ puritans could ever embrace the meal-in-a-pill concept: it is joyless, inhuman and boring. It would be the equivalent of living life entirely through books or TV: yes, we may learn much about life that way, but we could never claim to have truly lived that life in all its imperfect glory. Get cooking people!

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