New year was a quiet one for me. While Binky next door celebrated into the night, with his coterie of thespian friends, I opted for a good book, a cup of cocoa and a pouffe. I must admit though, I don’t like reading fiction. One of the worst things about being an actor is you are always visualising text as it would appear, as you would perform it. It is a curse of our profession I am afraid, and reading Delias’ Summertime Treats did nothing to assuage my preparation.
Soon I was scouring the Internet for pastry ingredients, convinced I could, perhaps, perform a more convincing portrayal of someone cooking something than Delia. The bells rang heralding a new year, and I was writing to Amazon to complain about the lack of pastry. I think more people should write complaints to companies at this sort of time, instead of partying with friends, colleagues and peers. It shows one cares about the business.
I could present a cookery show. I am not sure what sort of food I would specialise in. I could of course base my entire culinary output on my acting experiences; years spent on sets, with the caterers. Although I hasten to add caterers is a pejorative term. I have often considered the very real possibility that that manufacturer such poor food simply to finish you off before the cheque turns up. How could I improve this? Less sausages? A shade less mash? No flies? It would be a boon indeed to be the man who made on set location food edible. And it would lessen the work for the forensic people. I would become even more of a national treasure than I already am. And I am a national treasure. I know this because people rarely mention their valuables in case some swarthy type breaks in and steals it when they are away in the Dordogne. There would be nothing worse for theatre, film or television that I would be stolen, possibly melted down and sold. Imagine, the phone ringing with an offer for Casualty while I am being bundled into a sack. The humanity.
So location food. Awful. I remember once appearing in All Creatures Great and Small and Bob Hardy turning up with a tin of winalot, the food there was so poor. Spoonful after spoonful he consumed, all the while talking about long bows. It was lucky he was among actors, any other profession we would have had him put away.
Hospital food is another area I could specialise in. While I was visiting Bob last week, I was struck by how he had everything mashed up and was being fed by the nurse – somewhat forcefully I have to say – with a plastic spoon. Apparently he had managed to work the straps lose and there was an incident with a pudding the previous week. But mashed up food seemed to be very common in there. I could mash things up and then make them into some new sort of cuisine. And the beauty of it is, you can mash anything, virtually. And bits you find difficult to mash there are always the miracles of modern technology. The Krelby Auto Mash, The Rosco Blender, The Ford Focus.
I shall call Pamela this afternoon and discuss my idea. McPheresons’ Meals is the working title. I did ask Binky but he suggested Tarquins’ Tiny Treat and wandered off laughing.
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