Chez Kay
Andrew Kay on the art of managing disappointment in the modern world
I have just eaten one of the most disappointing lunches of my life. It’s been a busy week, my diary is bursting, my brother and family are about to arrive for a three day break, and my desk looks like it has been ransacked. I had to pop out at lunch to buy a forgotten birthday present for a ten-year-old nephew and in my eagerness to get things done, I decided to pop into the new supermarket across the road from Latest Heights and pick up an easy lunch.
How confusing it is buying a ready meal. It’s not something that I do often but at work they can offer a quick fix on a busy day. I went down the appropriate aisle and started to ponder the choices. My word, bargains, healthy options, family feeds, and posh nosh in packaging that uses a lot of black ink in the hope that it will appear sophisticated.
‘‘Posh nosh in packaging that uses a lot of black ink in the hope that it will appear sophisticated’’
I’m all in favour of clear labelling and the listing of a product’s nutritional value, its calorific content and its lack of GM products or organic street cred. But pile all that up high and really it’s like doing the research for a PHd rather than buying lunch.
In the end I went for a healthy option which repeatedly stressed what a wise choice I was making given its rather marvellous content. They seem very keen to let us know how good something is for us or how tasty it will be. What they don’t tackle is managing our disappointment.
Yes, it was a let down, I may have eaten healthily but it left me wanting more. Low fat but pleasure free.
I also picked up a peach that claimed it was ripe and ready to eat. Well if it had been a turnip it might have passed muster but as a peach it did not. It was crunchy and tart, as far from ripe and ready to eat as is possible. Oh I know I should have taken it back but it was sticky and dripping, and remember, I am a busy person today.
On the way out of the supermarket a bevy of busty beauties and a token fit lad thronged towards me, brandishing leaflets telling me all about the various benefits of my store card thingy, and with it came a bar of chocolate.
At the end of the day they had saved themselves with a promotional freebie, a bar of choc that, whilst being in no way gourmet, did at least kick start the clever work that they do on free radicals. Aaargh! They’ve even got me at it now, I’m rationalising the act of eating chocolate, justifying it with science. I feel soiled, the pleasure has gone, it was a sweetie bar, a sin, a naughty pleasure and even I want to sanctify that pleasure, make it clean and sin free. I need help. No I don’t, I just need another bar of chocolate.
