THE other day, I had a #WinningCafeMoment. You know the one; my repurposed greens, compressed hemp tofu nuggets with ionized kombucha drizzle had obviously been prepared by not just one, but a team of Michelin-star chefs, spirited directly from heaven by a bevvy of gastronomic goddesses.
Everything about my food screamed biodynamic hedonism and instantaneously guaranteed an additional century of healthful and energetic living. My friend’s dish, however, was evidently speared out the back of a roadside café west of Oodnadatta, certain to cause long-term cardiovascular complications and was nanoscopic.
I then realised, with devastating first-world-itis, that I am over Food. Don’t get me wrong. I love food but Food and Eating, as they have become, are leaving me cold (and somewhat hangry).
Personally, I would quite like to see the rise of the Equalicafe, where all diners are born equal and the only available menu items are cold boiled potatoes, nanna’s meatloaf and a healthy side of flatulence-inducing brussells-sprout mash. Imagine. Two people. In a café. Not talking about Food.
As it stands, current café etiquette involves an obligatory 10-minute standoff during which café buddies pass comment on each other’s dishes while either inwardly high-fiving themselves or weeping with an acute attack of Menu Choice Incompetence.
You marvel at the ability of a chef, with years of prestigious culinary training, to arrange two undernourished kale leaves and a pea-sized ball of protein on your companion’s plate and coo over the nondescript jus dribbled with as much aim as a two-year-old in potty training.
Your friend counters by staring disconsolately at your plate, which is a towering monument to satisfaction. You instagram your #win while she slides into a little puddle of starvation under the table, licking at the dust on the floor.
Over the last decade,food has morphed into Food and somewhere along the way we have also lost juice to Juice. I am no longer allowed to order Juice following the last incident when I smeared it on my face instead of drinking it, which, apparently, is what “normal” people do. It was packed full of phytonutrient-rich aloe vera, black bean puree and oats (which had been steel cut by unicorns under a full moon in Narnia). Well, it sounded like a facemask.
So, I will think of you next time I tuck into my cold potato of culinary equality and grin at my lunch date with goodwill and benevolence as we discuss more interesting things than Food. Like world peace and… er… the weather (well, it has been cold!). I really hope you are #winning.