Day Fifteen - Appreciative August

Food

Obviously this was going to be something I'm appreciative of. As most of us are. Starvation and death, as the alternative, would kind of make everything else I've blogged on about slightly irrelevant.

Unsurprisingly, I have fought the fight against flab, flatulence and firm-fitting-frocks my entire life. If only food didn't taste so friggin' good all the time. Despite my mother's best efforts (especially in the seventies, with our sunbeam-fried lamb chops on offer at least five days a week), my appetite remained undaunted, and my face was always in there, hogging away to my heart's content.

No, that's not entirely true: if it was canned fruit, Christmas ham, steamed flounder, boiled pumpkin or broad beans, I was prepared to pass; force it down if my folks were glaring at me; or scatter it under the table and around the dining room as 'Read family mealtime flotsam and jetsam' and hope I'd get away with it. Mum has since told me - many years later - that she knew I was doing it, but didn't blame me. She wasn't under illusions about her mealtime cooking skills - it was her cakes that were her piece de resistance.

These few food dislikes aside, I'm grateful that I had some aptitude for tennis, netball, swimming and running or I'd be one of those poor saps you'd snort derisively at when the crane being used to lift my heaving bulk out of my apartment for the first time in 20 years snaps under the strain, making my flop fat the lead story of the six-oclock bulletin.

In addition to my general greediness I'm an insomniac by trade, and my usual nocturnal imaginings include: John Cusack, Jude Law, Love Chunks (not necessarily in that order); what I'd do if we won lotto; how I'd renovate every house I've ever lived in; movies I would like to have starred in; the invention I'd most like to claim credit for and what parts of my body would I most like to sculpt down to a size 10 and why (so far only my earlobes escape the treatment).

If they're not pathetically banal enough, here's one that I regularly indulge in. It's almost too shameful to write about, but I sometimes amuse myself by trying to work out What I'd Eat If I Were On A Deserted Island (reasonably normal so far), If I Could Only Choose Foods That Start With One Letter Of the Alphabet. This is absolutely true. The saddest thing is, I've actually chosen a letter and feel very comfortable about it.

The letter is C.

Firstly, it contains my three most favourite foods, all starting with CH - Chocolate.

Cheese. Chips.

.... and let's not forget cherries, champagne, Chinese, chardonnay, cheesecake, chickpeas, chives, chop suey, chowder, chutney and chestnuts...!

It is then my mind runs out of 'ch' foods and goes for the Big C - caesar salad, cabbage (raw, not boiled into a grey, stinking, slimy cowpat), cake, cabernet sauvignon, cannelloni, calamari (or squid, to those who are more earthy), capers, capsicum, caramel, cardamon, cinnamon, carrots, cashews, celery, cereal, cider, citrus fruits, clams, club sandwiches (stretching it a bit), coconuts (hopefully fairly plentiful on a tropical island, unless I'm shunted out to the Orkneys), cocoa and cocktails..........

And even though I like the idea of vegetarianism, meat cooked well just tastes so damned wonderful. We've seen the 'Meat is Murder' t-shirts that say in smaller, more evil letters underneath, 'Tasty, delicious murder', and I heard Michelle Laurie on Good News Week say the other day that she's mostly a vegetarian as "I only eat the ones who taste really good." Therefore, Chicken is right up there in my desert island C list favourites. Forget the shiteful desecration of the sacred bird by KFC but instead think of your Mum's roast chicken, satays, marinated breasts on the barbie, burgers filled with lemon and coriander, stir fries, casseroles, fragrant curries and even a good old rotisserie chook with crunchy burnt wings and deliciously wicked and crispy skin...... Ohhhhhh.....

I'm sure that there are more foods, but it's breakfast time now and time to do something with cheese, chicken's eggs (a tenuous one there, too, I admit), chopped tomatoes, chunky toast slices, coffee, cinnamon and cream.....

And when Sapphire (whose real name starts with C, incidentally), comes home from school, we both have a cup of hot chocolate, made with milk and real shavings of chocolate. We sit at the kitchen counter, sorting through the detritus of her school bag - crumpled newsletters, art works, tupperware lids, leaky drink bottle, her 'found' hat - and talk about her day. Who is in love with who, who got sent to the principal's office, who farted when they bent over to pick up their crayon and who she wants to invite over for a playdate tomorrow. Bliss.

It's why I run so much. I love every mouthful.