Mood food

The aphrodisiac food debate raised its head again in the papers recently. It doesn’t come up very often, possibly owing to a shortage of aphrodisiac, but the report talked about the same old foods, oysters, chocolate, what you should serve for a ‘romantic dinner’ etc.

Thing is, when it comes to pulling, you should really discount food. All you need is a very cold bottle of champagne and a hot obliging bloke. Oh and the right music. Not ‘Je t’aime’ but Elgar and Vaughan Williams.

I wouldn’t entirely rule out a fish and chip supper afterwards, but the whole process of cooking for someone as a kind of foreplay is intrinsically flawed.

There are far too many opportunities for romance failure. Realistically, if the cooking is *that* good, you are going to have seconds of the main course and then complete the pigging out with a large chunk of the toffee pear cheesecake which will make it impossible for you to suck your tum in and attempt to look alluring.

Also, if you have a very good dinner there is a high chance of gusty southerlies which, while occasionally hilarious between people who know each other well – probably rather too well – are for some reason never recommended in the “How to Hook a Dishy Bloke” books.

So on the whole as far as food as foreplay is concerned, you might as well make the spread so bad that both parties can either cut to the chase or regretfully back away with some concocted excuse about irritable bowel playing up. Any talk including the words “irritable” and “bowel” in the same sentence is an instant passion killer anyway.

So while I don’t hold with any legal additive but champagne making you feel sexy, I do believe certain foods make you happy or at least provide temporary emotional satiation.

Colleagues at work yesterday were wistfully remembering the best of school dinners – chocolate crunch and pink custard; spotty dick and custard and lemon curd shortcake. Then another colleage rushed in during a break and starting riffling frantically through the biscuit and cake tins demanding “Chocolate! Is there any chocolate?”

Fortunately we do keep a chocolate stash for dire emotional emergencies. It usually works.

And if some food makes you happy – doesn’t it follow that other foods make you depressed?

I was depressed by a sausage last weekend in a b&b dining room in Weymouth.

It came accompanied by a single rasher of cooked bacon with little white spots on it, which I assumed to be some kind of additive deposit.

The sausage had a skin that was too small and too tight, leaving an exposed rounded end of pinky-beige sausagemeat that looked like the result of a tentative circumcision

It’s depressing to be presented with that sort of thing first thing in the morning. Also, it makes you wonder if the person cooking the food has ever had a decent breakfast in their life.

Bad food is depressing generally. Long-life orange juice with a similar Ph to battery acid was also served, which was about as far removed from the dripping sweet juices of a fresh orange squeezed by a naked hand as you could possibly get. Tepid tea and packeted breakfast cereals completed the repast.

“Will you be wanting a sausage tomorrow?” the owner asked me reproachfully, removing my plate and the rejected sausage.

I didn’t think so, on account of it being obviously the cheapest, nastiest sort of sausage in christendom, consisting of sawdust, cereals and husk sweepings mixed together with goo and squirted into its soon-to-be-inadequate skin.  I didn’t say the last bit out loud, obviously, not wanting to spoil everyone else’s breakfast.

Now, I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me while I go and tuck into a pile of golden glistening yellow scrambled egg and hot steaming butter-fried field mushrooms. It’s so nice to be home.


About janh1

Part-time hedonist.
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27 Responses to Mood food

  1. Pseu says:

    “Leaving an exposed rounded end of pinky-beige sausagemeat that looked like the result of a tentative circumcision” – you had me laughing there Jan, and several times, in fact, the image being rather a strong one!

  2. janh1 says:

    Sorry about that Pseu. I do hope you weren’t having a late breakfast 🙂

  3. Pingback: And the nominations are: – (passing on the Versatile Blogger Award) « Pseu1's Blog

  4. Pingback: And the nominations are: – (passing on the Versatile Blogger Award) « Pseu1's Blog

  5. Laughed out loud, Jan. Only on this island could one find a sausage this depressing.

  6. IsobelandCat says:

    Food as a weapon. Remember Butterflies?
    I’ve been trying to but some tix for the paraolympics and the security questions included ‘what is your favourite food?’
    Have you been awarded too? 🙂

    • janh1 says:

      Yes Isobel! Wendy Craig! Her food was a kind of protest – cry for help, even 🙂 The park where she used to walk with her platonic man-friend was Hatherley Park in Cheltenham.
      I’m very chuffed to say I have been awarded, yes! 🙂
      So I’m wondering what your favourite food is? Tricky question to answer. Mine’s corned beef pie because of the associated memories but a fresh crab is a close second (with mayo and chips).

  7. earlybird says:

    Loved your description of the sausage! I remember those sausages… (*shudders*)

    I totally agree with the concept of ‘mood food’ – that some foods can make you happy or depressed… but I must admit to having some success with meals planned for seduction in the past… if they are just right and you have everything planned they can be just as much ‘mood food’ as that pink flaccid sausage! 🙂

  8. valzone says:

    If I’d just had sutures surgically inserted into my tummy, I would have had to abandon this post until a more suitable time, this has had me in stitches Jan. The sausage? been there, and eaten them too. I think mood food depends on your mood, when you are hungry, most things are passable if you have a good champers to wash it down with. My Son, and grandson are excellent cooks, or should I say chefs, although neither do it as a trade, but they should. A week or so ago, I was at their house, and was about to leave, when my grandson said “I’m doing beef sandwiches, stop and have one”. So I did. He sliced large baps, spread each side with Horseradish sauce, piled slices of hot beef, cut from a piece of brisket, onto one side, he then drizzled gravy over, and plonked the other side on the top, He served it with roast parsnips on the side, core blimey Jan, it was delicious.

  9. janh1 says:

    Val, stop!!! I am drooling uncontrollably here. That’s just about my favourite sarnie – roast beef and horseradish – and brisket beef too,which has masses of flavour, like rib – my goodness, your grandson knows his stuff. 🙂

  10. valzone says:

    The trouble is Jan, you need to wear a large bib. My son does a similar sarnie with pork, he spreads the bread with apple sauce, piles loads of hot roast pork on, sprinkles hot, crispy stuffing over the pork, tops it with the other slice of apple sauced bread. That’s a winner too. My grandsons Beef wellington is good too, although the beef is always a bit too rare for me, so he has to cook mine for longer, to what he calls, the ruined stage 🙂

    • janh1 says:

      I’ve nothing against bibs Val – I usually don one when tackling a large crab. No-one wants a crabby decolletage. It would be well worth it for the beef or the pork – I do love a nice pig roast – not so much Pigling Bland as Pigling Delicious! 🙂

  11. SidevieW says:

    lol! I’m glad I found your blog.

  12. Mr @Nduja says:

    And then..and then…you are assuming that the messy bit planned after the meal is better than the food experience. What better than a good blow out, a grande bouf, a slap up, slap happy, gut groaning hours long, engrossing of each other? Then, engorged with giggling, distended with discovery, there is the mutual grooming of unexpected gravy wiping and finding of unexplained chocolate sauce. What better bonding than the careless sofa collapse, each kept at a mindful distance by gales of garlic breath and the quacking noises blamed on Rover. Then incapable conversation about walks that will never happen lapsing into gurgles and snores, and the gentle thump when the object of each other’s desire falls off the couch, and tenderness shown by helpful rearranging of limbs and clothes gone awry. What a shame that the days of hooks and buttons, suet puddings and quarts of port, laces and industrial fasteners, have gone, leaving us with the terrible immediacy of now.

  13. janh1 says:

    Greetings Mr N. Each to his own but gales of garlic breath and Rover quacking (I’ve never met a duck called Rover but there’s always a first time) doesn’t add up to romance for me.

    I can understand the joy of a good suet pudding though and I daresay hooks and buttons help to make the whole thing quite tantric 🙂

    • Mr 'Nduja says:

      I say, Jay, it’s a bit low to make fun of a chap’s duck. One could retaliate by mentioning girlish sausage envy, have you considered those who might be regarding that sausage with jealous wonder? However, if you like a bit of tantric spice, the Goan sausage is a banger with a difference.
      Thanks for another tasty blog.

      • janh1 says:

        Sausage envy? Ah ze psychiatric condition first recognised by Mr Porkinson, no doubt.

        Does eating a Goan sausage make you a Go-er? If so, they should print a Note of Caution on the packet. Becoming a Go-er after all these years might strain Capt Sensible’s constitution.

      • Mr 'Nduja says:

        Then he needs to have cape made from feathers of the o’o bird such as I have just donned.

      • janh1 says:

        🙂 The o’o bird – never heard of it before but I suspects it belongs to the family Onomatopoeia.

  14. I think I’m with Val on this one, it depends on the time, place and circumstances. I’m sure you’ve had fabulously well cooked sausages that have set you up for the day before now?

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