The problem with buying a couple of pounds of minced beef is that before very long at all I am going to be faced with cooking it.
Whilst this imperative is true of every fresh comestible, it is only when looking at those depressing skeins of pulverised beef that any sense of originality flies out of the kitchen window and I am left deciding whether to make Spaghetti Bolognese or Hamburgers.
I don't know what it is about 'mince' that precludes spontaneity, but there it is. I buy some not because I want to but because it's so handy to have, especially over a long weekend. A Pavlovian reaction sets in instantly and I then buy burger buns and a hunk of Parmesan cheese so that both options will be available to choose between once I get the stuff home. I usually buy some chewing caffeine at the same time, to help keep me awake whilst I decide for which of these epicurean giants to plump.
No point asking my husband – he only has to hear the word caffeine to dissolve into helpless giggles because it reminds him of the time I bought decaffeinated coffee when I wasn't sleeping well, then unthinkingly brewed a pot of the vile stuff specifically to swallow caffeine pills by in order to keep me awake whilst a house move was in progress.
No point asking the yoof – a topic as fraught with difficulty as 'What do you want for supper tonight?' is liable to lead to a teenage strop of monumental proportions, school having finished hours ago - so why do I have to answer more bloody questions??
I have to decide alone.
It would appear, however, that the decision has been made for me this time. Whilst traversing the space-time continuum that is our local supermarket I have come across what at first glance appears to be boil-in-the-bag deckchairs but which at a second glance – and several disbelieving subsequent glances - have turned out to be
hilariously-striped fresh ravioli in mint green, salmon pink and Beatonesque black and white. It is as if Syrie Maugham has had a beyond-the-grave rethink about all-white soft furnishings and gone for edible cushions that will not only look nice against the pickled boudoir chairs, but will also afford a quick snack in times of emergency.
This has completely put me off buying sesame buns or hard Italian cheese. I have gone into an event loop. I smile indulgently at the oversized humbugs and move away. Less than the next chill cabinet away I find I have to return to look at the fresh pasta section again just to make sure I am not hallucinating. I've done this six times now and I'm cold, tired, hungry and not getting any younger.
Wandering off for what I hope will be the seventh and final time, I am only amazed these tiny marquees are not sold next to a pile of white china, lest a person without the appropriate taste and style should serve them on a patterned plate and thereby cause their gustatory feng shui irreparable harm.
What I do know is that savoury frou-frous such as these manifestly cannot be served with a sauce, particularly Bolognese, since they weren't designed for a covering of any kind and this has thrown my wheat circuits into overload, as I am completely beyond thinking in terms of pasta as something long, thin and in a packet priced at less than the national debt of Bolivia.
I am now at the alcohol section swigging neat vodka, looking confused and staring belligerently at a member of staff who has decided it will be safer to ignore a woman with a nervous tic muttering "Meatballs, Moussaka, Shepherd's Pie" like a mis-remembered skipping rhyme. I like to think of this emergency tippling as the adult version of a child who opens a packet of crisps before the checkout. Or at least, that's what I shall tell the manager, should he think himself hard enough to come and chat to me about it.
Too dazed to do the obvious and replace the meat from whence it came, I have, several pre-pay Stollies later, added to my slender mince repertoire and will be serving Steak Tartare this evening, about which I shall have two things to say:
1. "Isn't it? I could have sworn it said Ground Fillet Steak on the label, darling..."
and
2. "It's a very underdone hamburger without a bun. Just eat it."
