Three Peas and a Reality Check. (A Very Tiny Rant)

Three fat peas with a few fine slices of beetroot and two strategically placed dabs of flavoured foam. “Interesting” was my one-word comment. I’m a reluctant guest at a high-end Michelin-starred restaurant. By the fifth course I’m wishing for some real food—I think my metabolism is burning through the calories quicker than I’m consuming them. The restaurant is called OX and I’d happily wrap my chops around an ox steak if one happened to wander past.

Two plates later and we reached the final course. My mind insisted on calling it the final insult: rice and date pudding apparently. It was the first time in rice pudding history that I could actually count the grains of rice. I was disappointed to note the final bill was the only part of the culinary experience that wasn’t small. Not only was my stomach still empty, now my wallet had joined the party.

Maybe twenty or thirty years ago I would have been impressed with the evening, possibly name-dropping the fact I’d dined there and making enthusiastic noises about the whole experience. I don’t seem capable of that sort of indulgence anymore. If I don’t feel I’m getting value for money, no matter how lauded the product, I’m not going to fool myself by buying into the hype. If the emperor has no clothes, I’m gonna point it out, and possibly suggest he invests in a decent coat.

The same simple mindset runs through diverse areas of my life, from clothing choice to the organisation I use to hold my retirement portfolio (see, I squeezed a retirement angle in). Simple and no-frills just about sums me up. Next time we dine out it’s my choice. Unfortunately, they’re going to have to put up with a decent steakhouse with portions that bust your gut and food you need to chew. The only foam near my plate will be on the top of the pint I’ll be drinking.