I spared everyone the enlarged shot of the burnt burgers. They are just too tragic. I am, however, going to feature ‘bad food’ today. The best thing about food is that it’s always an experience and not always one were the most memorable thing is taste.
But first, back to the pure horror pictured. This is what happens when the men I know grill (where have all the chefs gone?). They are too distracted by daydreams! All of them are such awfully cute nerds, artists and general ‘free spirits,’ to bother noticing that the food is burning. Or, to bother being so square as to even care about what a burger is supposed to be before it is deconstructed by flames.
I love them for the effort anyway, and fully admit partial responsibility in the burnt-burger fiasco. First, I am, despite my cruel gendered jokes, a feminist and I’m pretty sure no one should just assume men can grill… or do anything else. OH I’m at it again! And second, I was there too. I sort of wondered why it was so freaking smokey in the middle of Oxford’s Port Meadow. In the middle of the night. Ah yes, I think we all deduced it: Sam’s cigarette, is not the ‘smoking gun.’ It’s remarkable we didn’t set the entire field on fire.
And what were the manly-men up to while their meat was soaking up FIRE?
You know, the usual. General contests of strength and intellectual prowess as they devised an experiment in theatrical satire aimed at debunking the myth of the skill and artistry involved in cheerleading. A general strategy was also in preliminary testing stages, of how to somehow get inside the mind and body of a cheerleader. Too far?
The best things about them, now I’m finally being serious for the day, have never involved mindfulness, elegance or that strange and repulsive thing “machismo.” Who needs those things when one’s friends know just how to spend an evening-to-early morning in a cow infested meadow. And then know how to attend a classy breakfast in the morning. Even when still emitting the odor ‘de-cow-meadow and late night burnt-burger. Ew.
The key is: don’t order anything that involves cow.
Better yet, order something rustic transformed ‘gourmet’. It can still be a bit gross, after-all you just came home with the cows. Try English beans on toast with parmesan “curls.” And–this is important!–never, ever take your dirty feet out from under the table!
Breakfast was at Oxford’s Grand Cafe, The Highstreet.
I don’t think anyone wants to know more about the burgers.