I’m not sure if it’s just an intrinsically British thing, in the same vein as always feeling compelled to comment on the state of the weather, but I wonder why people are always so interested in what you are about to eat? You waft a plate of food within five inches of a nose and you can see the cogs ticking…interest is aroused, curiosity becomes all too much and then….the comment floodgates open. Always one of these:
To the shrivelled up 3-day old pesto pasta, “ooh that looks nice,” when it clearly doesn’t.
To the bowl of soup bought from Tesco's, “did you make that yourself?” No I didn’t.
And the best of all, as if being able to recognise a food type is translation for a high IQ, “Ooh! chicken/salad/cheese, lovely”. Yup, thank you for telling me what is on my plate.
It’s a bizarre habit, like an unstoppable form of food Tourette’s accompanied with the unease of there being a possible brief silence in conversation or just a genuine urge to be overly polite and social.
It’s worse in a restaurant as the food commentators are total strangers to whom you will not require any input on your menu choice. Even I have to admit to head-trailing the waiter’s steps as he delivers plates to a nearby table for confirmation that I’ve ordered the wrong or right meal, as though realising the seafood tagliatelle looking better than your Carbonarra is tantamount to food suicide.
I shall now on be found eating my lunch in a darkened room away from nosing and noses.
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