Time, Coffee, Breakfast, and Mr Kurtz

Reflecting on why our breakfasts are currently more enjoyable than ever before in our 99 years of marriage, the conclusion  is that we now have time, or at least we more frequently have time, to spend over said meal. Sternest Critic is off at university so we no longer have the school bus rush. I have worked from home since 2007, and since last summer the Dear Leader has two or more days a week when world domination is plotted here rather than at one of her secret bases.

I do not believe that either food or drink can be truly savoured unless there is time available to focus on them. A cup of coffee gulped en route to the office will not give the same pleasure as the same cup sipped calmly at the table. It's not a matter of focussing intently from first sip to last, but the greater opportunity to take a moment and notice. Stop and smell the flowers, or the coffee, as it were.

This brings me to the horror of grazing, and the (exaggeratedly) reported death of the family meal. As an admitted hedonist I would take some persuading to swap my time at the table (morning, noon or evening) for time spent on another activity. An extra hour spent texting friends, retweeting what some pointless celebrity('s PR hack) has written about toenails, or playing games on my phone would none of them tempt me to change.

If you graze then it's just re-fuelling. Quality is sacrificed for convenience. Reheated rubbish that can be carried without spillage will be preferred to anything that needs a slow simmer and has sloppy juices.

I am standing for the Green Party in my local ward this May. When I rise to absolute power, as seems inevitable (the Dear Leader busy developing a mind-altering ray even now), grazers will be sent to re-education camps in the foothills of the Norfolk mountains to face a stern regime of meals featuring dishes lifted from the finest pages of de Pomiane, David, and (Jane) Grigson. They will be forced to sit for a minimum of half an hour over each meal, with no TV, music, or access to personal electronic devices. Anyone failing to engage in delightful conversation during the evening sitting will be required to spend another 15 minutes over cheese*. The horror, the horror. Conrad was deliberately ambiguous with those death-bed words, but I wonder if what Kurtz was imagining was people on the go eating as breakfast those strange squashed-egg and sausage patty efforts foisted on the world by McDonald's. I may be wrong of course.


* Those putting butter on their cheese biscuits will naturally be shot for the good of the gene pool. I'm no extremist, but tolerance has its limits. Anyone asking for cheese with bits of mango, or cranberries, or ginger in it will be treated far more harshly.