This afternoon I took a frozen Tesco’s vegetable pie out of its cardboard packet, put it on a baking tray in the oven, and cooked it for around 30 minutes. I then proceeded to eat it, along with a portion of Heinz baked beans which I had heated in the microwave for 2 minutes. I ate them at the kitchen table whilst half-heartedly reading an article about Oscar Pistorius in The Times.
The meal was OK. The pie itself was quite bland, and had bits of broccoli in it which were tasteless. Imagine that when water solidified it became something other than ice. That’s a bit like what the broccoli was like. There was also some kind of sauce, the constitution of which I couldn’t quite identify. Was it cheese? Probably. But it didn’t taste like any cheese I’ve ever known. Imagine that water was hot, and a bit thicker than what it’s actually like. That’s what the sauce was like. There were also bits of peas and carrots and that. I don’t think there was any horse.
My tastebuds were rescued from their torpor by the baked beans, which lent a highly familiar yet comparatively exciting frisson to the meal. I even went to the lengths of getting half a slice of Bavarian-style smoked cheese and laying it across the beans. I waited for it to melt and then ate it. This tasty cheese concoction was a paragon to which I felt the anaemic cheese filling of the aforementioned pie should have aspired.
I think the whole experience, however, was let down by the surroundings. My kitchen is currently filled with a miscellany of random items, by dint of building work going on elsewhere in the house. I was therefore forced to eat my meal amid coats, items of furniture, drying clothes and suchlike. I felt that the meal, average as it was, deserved better. I feel like I should blame someone, but I’m not sure who. I’m blaming David Cameron.