The Bore and The Trout

A friend was telling me today how she was going to meet her husband for lunch at a very nice restaurant. Apparently they do this every couple of months - which I think is rather romantic. I would imagine that it feels like a secret tryst, or having an affair. I suppose the drawback is that you can’t have much to drink at lunchtime, so there wouldn’t be much point in eating either.

I can just about remember the last time H and I met up for lunch. It was definitely in the years BC (before children) and I think it may have been when we had just got married. We were at this wonderful foodie pub, where children are either not allowed, or are sensibly chained to the car park railings. The sophisticated menu was chalked up on blackboards, rather than printed on wipe-clean laminated cards, and there wasn’t a nugget in sight. At least ten wines were offered ‘by the glass’ so it seemed churlish not to sample them all. We ordered our food, then gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes and talked about films, music and books. These were the sort of topics that filled our lives in those days. The conversation flowed effortlessly, due to the total lack of mid-sentence interruptions, assisted visits to the loo, or the need to apologise every five minutes to nearby diners. I didn’t bang my head on the table once, as there were no crayons to retrieve from under it. (I did bang my forehead on the mirror in the Ladies, though – trying to apply lipstick with one eye shut to help me focus).

After half an hour, the rather stressed waiter/manager came up to H and delivered the immortal line:

‘Are you the bore and the trout?’

We weren’t quite sure how to respond to this, until we realised that he was talking about the wild boar and fish that we had ordered. Apparently there was a problem in the kitchen, and the food was going to take a bit longer to prepare. This actually wasn’t a problem as far as we were concerned. It was just an opportunity to continue the world tour we were taking across the wine list.

I didn’t even have to confiscate all the knives from the table while we were waiting.

I have retrieved a bottle of Villa Maria Private Bin Gewürztraminer (£8.49 Ocado, Sainsbury) from my fridge. It has been driving me mad, because I can’t for the life of me remember which blogger recommended it, and I do like to link the blog to the post. Not only does this omission indicate how rude I am (I didn’t make a note of the name, only the wine), but it also shows up rather glaringly where my priorities lie. I have sifted through all my post comments, but it’s not there. If you recognise that you recommended this wine, please let me know, so I can thank you. It is very exotic, and tastes of lychees and, strangely enough, ginger. My knife is poised to perforate the plastic on the Thai curry, and I think this wine will go with it perfectly.

I have been thinking that maybe H and I should try and give this lunch time dining without kids another go. I long for those lazy, languid lunches of old, but I don’t suppose it will ever be the same again. Would the conversation be about cutting edge recreational events, or exotic travel? Or would we just sit there and talk about the next visit to the grandparents, whether its my turn for a lie-in at the weekend, or some nasty rash that has appeared on one of the kids?