Dear Sally and Other Seafood Lovers
I can eat sea insects if they are mashed up into something unrecognizable --
like crabcakes, which unfortunately vary vastly from place to place but
sometimes, as in a cafe in the Marquis Hotel on Times Square, taste yes yummy
and remind me of British food! And I mean really working-class English food of
the kind found in pubs and fish and chip shops. How d'ya like them eggrolls,
all you gourmets? In England there is (or was) a great number of "spreads" --
you know for those dainty little sandwiches that come with cress or tiny
little ladylike shreds of lettuce, often eaten under trees on semi-summer
days. These spreads came in little glass pots. You could get meat spreads and
fish spreads. It must always be remembered that the food you grew up with has
much to commend it, if only that it's what built your body, put your cells
together.
Then there is the to me appalling question of hurling living creatures into
boiling water alive, always with the assumption that they will not feel it
because it is bound to be over in a flash. Let us hope so. I am not so sure
myself.
It is not my intention to put anyone off their favorite food. My dear friend
eats seafood with a relish that is a joy to behold. A plate of shrimp or
shelled things is gone before I can get through four or five fried dumplings.
And of course it is really good food -- nutritious, excellent for the immune
system. And who said eating is a kind thing? And I have to admit I like my
steaks on the rare side (if one dares to say such a thing these days). I
wonder how many cavemen were vegetarians! There must have been some artistic
types, probably the ones who left all those wonderful modern pictures on the
walls, who would just eat gravy and fruit and nuts. They probably also wrote
plays, but I wonder on what.
I have just watched Long Day's Journey Into Night, which has to be one of the
world's most depressing yet sublime plays. Next to nothing happens, which is
what I like; everything is said in beautiful language, which is what I like;
there is an awful lot of shouting, but when the shouting is done by the likes
of Ralph Richardson and Kathryn Hepburn, well, the dimness and darkness of it
all comes as a blessed relief from the usual brilliance of TV -- which I
happen to like too.
Now fish and chips. That I could eat, right now. A nice big plate, slightly
greasy. As glorified in an Irish pub not far from here. But no vinegar,
please. That is one British peculiarity that even I cannot swallow. A nice
flaky meat pie or sausage roll -- especially as glorified in an East Side
bakery whose name I forgot long ago -- would be rather nice too. My friend has
to work tonight, so I have to fix a meal or go out and eat alone. I think I
will whip up some rice and chicken and mixed vegetables.
Whatever you are eating, I wish you a healthy appetite. What I said about
boiling water shows the extent of my hypocrisy, for who knows what a cow goes
through as it lines up for its meeting with the rest of Universe (from which
of course it has never been separated -- but at that moment a sacrifice as
supreme as any ever made)?
I love the letters I usually get when I say something about British food. But
is true that the food there now is better than it was, but the secret is to
eat in the middle of a big city, in a Chinese, Indian, French, Malaysian or
any other "foreign" restaurant and sample British food when you are in America
and it has been modified for American taste. I have yet to meet a Britisher
who didn't love American food right off the bat -- except for the one I think
I told you about, who said all American food tasted of pepper, even the apple
pies. Though, come to think of it, he ate everything with relish.
To the rice!
God bless
-- Ron
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