I hate new-age everything, but there is no hate that comes close to the hate I harbour for new-age terminology: Yoga mats with intelligent performance skills, hair purifiers with hydro-cleansing agents, organically cultivated sun-kissed rain-bathed super-foods oh yeah and overpaid advertising executives with the word ‘CUNT’ embossed on their sweaty foreheads.
But anyway, after painting the town in variegated shades best mate and I decided to go out for a spot of lunch. We settled on a place which seemed nice enough though if I’m honest the distance between home and eatery was, in this case, the deciding factor. I won’t name names, no gratis advertising here, but it was the kind of place that’s in to fancy plating, dainty apportioning and incongruously sterile décor. Scanning the menu my eye snagged on a dish called: ‘Lovingly prepared soup’ and I swear, hand on heart, the ever-so-slightly-protruding vein on my temple leaped out of its place and landed in the condiments. Best mate didn’t seem the slightest bit perturbed and laughed at my hung-over antics. The couple at the neighbouring table looked at each other, aghast, and then without a word went back to their private whispers. Eventually the waiter arrived; I pointed to the menu and said: ‘I’d like to know what’s in the lovingly prepared soup please.’ He couldn’t tell me. Another waiter arrived and informed me it was your BOG-standard vegetable soup. ‘Okay’ I said, ‘I’ll try it.’ Our food arrived some minutes later. I got my giant spoon and was about to tuck it when it occurred to me that I didn’t actually know how lovingly my soup had been prepared. To satisfy my curiosity I waved the waiter over and said: ‘I’d like you to please quantify how much loving went in to the making of this particular bowl of soup.’ The manager was called. I softened my tone with a drop of facile sweetness and said: ‘Am I paying for the lovingly executed preparation or is that free?’ He laughed; in fact he was a good sport and eventually I settled down and tried the soup. It was okay but the point is they make their fucking broth no more lovingly than McDonald’s prepare their burgers and all the rest of it is a load of new-age bullocks.