Home life
Buffet garrn
Alice Thomas Ellis
Isaw a man recently on television suggesting that chimpanzees should be reclassified as hominids. When I men- tioned this in passing to my friend the analyst he said that if they did that they might also consider the possibility of re- legating certain people to the ranks of the great apes. I've already made a little list – headed by those who run British Rail. Many of us have long been dissatisfied with BR for diverse reasons. It seems to be run by men of Machiavellian cunning and complexity of mind or, in the new dis- pensation, by a bunch of monkeys.
Why, for instance, does one have to trudge along the platform dragging one's luggage (the porter race seems to be extinct) and clutching one's second-class ticket past dozens of empty first-class carriages (empty, that is, except for a few men with Samsonite briefcases, and some Japanese and Germans) in order to cram oneself into a second-class compartment with far too many of one's fellow hominids for comfort? Apes in overcrowded cir- cumstances lose condition, go off their food, bang their heads aimlessly against the wall, and their fur falls out. Is it not expensive in fuel and energy to haul these empty first-class carriages the length and breadth of the country?
And why can't you drink the water? Some friends in the country, having to be in London for a wedding, booked first- class tickets on an early train and were assured that there would be a buffet car to hand. Of course there wasn't; and when they asked the ticket collector for a glass of water to wash down some medically essen- tial pills he strongly advised them against It.
The other day the third son and I had to travel to Wales for an overnight stay. We walked the customary half-mile down the platform to our second-class carriage and found seats. I sat next to somebody who hadn't washed for some considerable time, so when the son suggested that we should avail ourselves of the buffet car facilities I agreed (I don't usually). There was no room in the second-class section, so we asked if we could trespass on the first-class one and were told we could. We couldn't see much difference between the two except for antimacassars or something, but when the ticket-collector came along he said we had to pay extra. This was suffi- ciently annoying, but what really irritated me beyond endurance was the menu. Let me demonstrate: 'Smoked Salmon with Lemon and Brown Bread and Butter, £2.95. A touch of luxury to start your meal while enjoying the journey.' I wasn't en- joying the beastly journey. I wasn't, I wasn't.
They go on to describe absolutely every- thing with more adjectives than a bodice- ripper writer. Adjectives and porn seem inseparable as Siamese twins. 'Chilled Fruit Juice, 70p. Please choose from our selection of orange, grapefruit, tomato or farm-pressed English apple juice.' Do they fear we might imagine the train has squashed the apples? 'Oxtail Soup, £1.25. A bowl of rich, hot Old English Oxtail Soup garnished with diced beef.' Oh shut up, Jules, and just open the tin. Anyway, how 'Old'? 'Shredded Carrots Vinaigrette. In a specially created French dressing.' How specially created? Did they stand on their heads in the engine while tossing it together? 'Waldorf. Our own recipe of chopped celery, red apple, walnuts and creamed mayonnaise sauce.' What do they mean – 'our' recipe? That's the recipe for this tiresome salad. And the marquise potatoes are actually 'baked in the oven until golden brown'. Very original that. What a good idea. The oven, already. Why not the fridge?
Everything is described variously as plump, rich, light, crisp, young, fluffy, tender, fresh or juicy. A hint of sadism (like the hint of nutmeg in the dauphinoise potatoes) creeps in with 'boned', 'grated', 'chopped' and 'sliced', and it all gave me acute indigestion. Even the tea is described as 'Freshly Brewed'. Fancy that.
As for the wine list – well, I offer just one example: `Liebfraumilch Prinz Rup- precht. Clean and very fruity with a mel- low, easy-to-drink style.' Is this to reassure us that it need not be siphoned down the throat while the guard holds your nose? It might take the apes some time to write the whole of Shakespeare but it looks to me as though they could make a start with the BR menu.
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