Before I get on to the crux of this post (that will explain why there is a picture of an entrapped duck above) can I just tell you one thing? Even though I am a gay man (in the words of Daffyd Thomas "Yes! I am a gay, ok!? Deal with it!) and in my time I have seen more condoms than you could wave a stick at (I'm sure that there is a more appropriate analogy there somewhere) I still find the idea of actually buying condoms kinda funny, ha, ha. After all, wherever us gayers go we literally get showered (pardon the expression) with free condoms and lube - I can't remember the last time I actually purchased a condom.
I was just at the chemist picking up my inhalers (note that I have been without inhalers for over a week now!) and the guy in front of me, probably late thirties, with a cute little 3 year old in tow (with the normal three year old accessory, a small plastic bucket) was buying some throat soothers, shower gel and ... condoms. I actually had to turn away to suppress my giggles. My inner 14 year old wanted to shout out "Ew! You're gonna have SEX! Gross!"
I'm sure that had he been a rugged Steve Jones type I would have been less childish and more turned on.
Anyway - tonight my friend Richard is coming round for dinner and Vix and I were discussing what we should cook. For some reason Foie Gras came up and it made me think that I should share something here that happened several years ago.
One of the perks of my job is that I often have the opportunity to take press out to very swanky, expensive restaurants for lunch or dinner. These days I generally go on these appointments by myself, but years ago when I was but a lowly Exec I would always accompany my boss.
When I worked at Lynne Franks PR my boss Francesca and I took a very influential beauty journalist (there is a disconnect there somewhere between the words "influential" and "beauty journalist") called Karena Callen and her assistant to lunch at Vong, which is a really plush French restaurant under the Berkley Hotel in Kensington. Now Francesca, while lovely, could also be frikkin scary. "Whatever you do, just don't say anything stupid. Karena is a tough cookie. Let me lead the lunch. If you don't think you know the answers to any of the questions, then don't say anything, understand?"
I shake my head.
"You don't understand?"
I nod vigorously, "Oh no, no I mean I do understand. I won't say anything."
So we get there and Karena is far from the picture of the monster that Francesca has painted. Very pretty, friendly and interested in me, which is surprising because I had been assured that she wouldn't be. Her assistant is also very nice too.
So we sit down and start up the conversation - usual chit chat. Nothing too inspiring. And then the waiters bring us the menus and I take a look. And there is a problem - it's all in French. Now, again, I can speak enough French (with a dictionary on hand) to get by. But I do also get a little confused as well. I think I get the jist of the main courses, but I'm not sure what the starters are. And because at this point I was a vegetarian (was vege for eight years can you believe!) eventually I decide that I'm going to opt for the one entitled Foie Gras, because it sounds like "Fake Grass", which would surely be vegetarian.
So the waiter comes back and I confidently order my starter of Foie Gras and main course of, er, légumes.
After we have all ordered the conversation gets around to the fact that Karena's daughter is vegetarian and is only four. Which is of course my cue to be able to respond in like, "Yes - I am also a vegetarian. Yes! The smell of bacon is rather tempting isn't it? But for me, because I am a vegetarian!" And so it goes for the next five or ten minutes.
The entrees come to the table and the moment I receive mine I know that something is very, very wrong. While the delicately sliced piece of Mango appeals, the teeny tiny sliver of what looks like a baby kidney doesn't. I lean in to Francesca and whisper "What is this?"
"Well, what did you order?"
"Foie gras."
She considers it, "Well it's goose liver." Then she looks up at me, "Just...eat...it..."
I look at this thing infront of me. Even when I ate meat, I could never bring myself to eat offal, because quite frankly, it's just gross. I'm also not good with things like Snails and Frogs Legs. But because I am so afraid of making a fool of myself I begin to cut it up. I consider whether I should perhaps just eat the thing in one go - to just get it over with. But that would look odd. So I carve off a little (oil like fluid seeps out of the thing) and couple it with a slice of the mango. And I try not to pull a pained expression as I attempt to chew it without barfing.
But it’s obviously not working because Karena looks at me and then down at my food and then back up again. "Hang on a minute Christopher - what are you eating?"
I can see where this is going.
An innocent smile, "Oh yes, it's just a little Foie Gras."
"But I thought you said you were a vegetarian?"
A pause.
"Yeeeesss, but sometimes, not very often, I do eat poultry."
"I see." she says unconvincingly. "But Christopher. You do know how Foie Gras is made don't you?"
My face must have been a picture. "No..."
She smiles sympathetically. I know that, despite her unphased exterior, Francesca is probably ready to take me down to the floor.
"I'll tell you when you have finished." and she pats me on my shoulder. Now I feel like a stupid school kid. And in addition the Foie Gras is now less like a mini autopsy and more like deadly poison. But because I ultimately have a backbone made of rigid steel, I polish it off. And I try not to gag. It's so fatty and oily. It actually gives me shivers now, writing about it.
When it is clear that I have indeed finished my little dish, there is a pregnant pause and Karena tells me. If you are really interested, if you don't already know, there is a more eloquent explanation here.
Clearly after the explanation I am feeling a little green. "You didn't know what you were ordering did you?" Karena says, sympathetically.
Again, I mournfully shake my head.
"Francesca - I love this boy. Poor you, Christopher. Would you like some water?"
The rest of the lunch goes swimmingly. And Karena agrees to write a story on the hair care brand we are pitching. Maybe she agreed to it because she felt sorry for me. I had obviously gone beyond the call of duty for her. I guess the moral of this story is that a little stupidity can sometimes be a good thing. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself...
No comments:
Post a Comment