Eating with the Enemy - Not a Chance, Dear!

One was sitting all alone one evening last week, within the vast magnificent expanse of Crusty Hall. The household staff had all gone home, or to their rooms and Chu Me was in the kitchen furiously buffing something - the silver, one imagines.

As usual the television was appalling and one was searching the Sky on-screen TV guide for something titillating to grasp ones interest; up and doon, like a whore’s drawers, I went until I finally came across a program that caught ones eye; Eating with the Enemy.

I wondered what the content of this program could be and seemed to drift slightly as I thought of eating with some of my own enemies; perhaps Danniiiiii Minge (sorry my keyboard’s sticking) or Cheryl y’nailed-it Cole. Then I chuckled to myself when I realised one would never invite such people to Crusty Hall for dinner and one most certainly would not be seen out in the public arena with them.

Anyhoo … the program was just starting and immediately I realised that it was a programme with a format that had been flogged to an inch of its spinal column; a panel of featureless faced, pompous judges sitting being awful to everyday people trying their best to cook a delicious meal. The only redeeming factor was that scrumptious, dancing dessert James Martin, who hosts the competition beautifully.

Our four judges were Jay any-relation-to-Claire-dear? Rayner, Kate Spicer, Toby Young and Charles Campion.

Crusty finds Kate Spicer a strange one! A relatively youthful looking face - if not a little over-moisturised - and lips that, it seems, the good Lord stuck on upside down; the poor girl always seems so unhappy, poor poppet! It’s quite ironic that she should be on a panel to criticise people for their cooking, when she clearly doesn’t take the opportunity to criticise her hairdresser. I find her appearance like that of Ann Boleyn - had someone picked her decapitated head out of the bucket and stuck it back onto her neck with UHU.

Jay any-relation-to-Claire-dear? Rayner just looks like someone playing at the Three Musketeers, with his almost ringletted hair-do (All for one … and that one’s me!), while Toby Young always comes across as the naughty little schoolboy trying to impress the older boys with his contrived wit and sarcasm yet never quite accomplishing it. As for Charles Campion, if one had ever wondered what Jabba the Hutt would look like in a charcoal suit and burnt crimson v-neck, then one need look no further.

All four sit with looks of disgust, disbelief and horror as each competitor describes their proposed dishes: “You realise you don’t normally use berries in that recipe for a reason?”; “And you think those combinations go together why?” and “that’s the sort of thing you think people want to eat, is it? We shall see!”

Well, I mean, one must always have manners and respect for the efforts others put in. I know when I visit the vicarage for dinner; Mrs Flecks produces some strange and wonderful things. When I attended one of dinners only a week ago, we were sitting around the dinner table and Marjorie was boasting of her cooking skill. As she served her next dish she said, “Sebastian always compliments me on my cooking, Dame Crusty. Don’t you Sebastian?”

“Oh, I do Marjorie. It’s like the very food from Heaven!” The vicar proclaimed.

“Yes, his two favourite dishes of mine are turkey pot roast or my own twist on Shepherd’s Pie. He can’t get enough of them”

As I looked down at my food, I raised my head and smiled; “And which is this, dear?”

“Oh no!” Marjorie giggled, “this is my lemon roulade!”

“And with….gravy … how Bohemian,” I replied.

As it transpired, Marjorie assured the dinner guests it was actually a chocolate caramel sauce ... however, I would tend to stick with my original observation.

But you see, poppets, how easy it is to be pleasant when staring in the face of possible food poisoning and potential death?

I really think such televisual nastiness should be stopped and those wishing to enter a life of cooking and running a restaurant should be allowed to do so naturally, without these snooby ogres degrading their florishing skills.

Of course, these are just Crusty’s humble opinions, my legion of Crustettes may have their own.