What’s in a name when food tastes good?
I often wonder how I’ve managed to survive as long as I have with such a narrow worldview.
At a wedding once, they brought out the dessert comprising a particularly badly presented mixture of cream, strawberries and meringue. You know when all the other food has been served immaculately — like dishes from a Masterchef finalist — and then they put in front of you something that looks like a sparrow regurgitated it; well you kind of look around to see everyone else’s reaction.
Everyone, it seemed, was happy — and it was delicious. But one of the guests on our table piped up with:
Mmmmm, eaten mess
I stared. “How rude”, I thought. British resolve normally dictates that even if something is presented badly you still acknowledge its good points in polite company. Of course I hadn’t read the menu and I’m ill-educated, so how was I to know the dish was actually called Eton Mess in honour of its college roots.
Sometimes I wonder if my existence is too sheltered.