Where have all the vegetables gone?
We have just got back from two weeks in France, Luxembourg and Germany. We love travelling but one thing drives me crazy. That’s vegetables, or rather their lack. I love vegetables and no meal in England is served without at least three, Sunday lunch in a pub will involve five or more.
The only vegetable I can’t abide is broccoli – I loathe it with a passion and am proud that I saved my granddaughter from its curse. One day we joined my daughter for lunch. Thea, my granddaughter wrinkled her nose puckered her mouth and stared at her plate – it had broccoli on it. “Come along”, urged her mother “you know it’s good for you”. “If it didn’t taste so disgusting you would not say that”. Thea smiled, daughter frowned “You can’t inflict your weird ideas on others you know” she told me. Suddenly I heard my self say “I forbid you to give my granddaughter broccoli – ever again.” For the first time since she became a teenager my daughter obeyed and has continued to do so.
There is something weird about continental Europe. Travel through Spain, France, Belgium and Holland and it’s french fries with everything. Go to a local market and stalls groan under the weight of luscious vegetables, go to a café or restaurant and there are fries. Not until Germany does this stop and once again vegetables appear on plates. One story will serve to explain the problem. We were staying in a small town on the Dutch Belgium border. The menu offered a range of fish and meat and - fries. “Do you have any other vegetable?” The waiter looked baffled – “I don’t care for fries with everything.” I said helpfully. He thought a long thought, suddenly a light bulb moment, he smiled – grinned, “Oh yes”, he declared triumphantly, “We have potato croquets”.
The next day I went to the hotel reception and explained that I was suffering dreadful vegetable withdrawal problems and asked for help. “Give me an hour,” he said. An hour later he called the room and said his friend, who owned a restaurant in town, had agreed to cook a meal with vegetables. It was wonderful.
Where do all the vegetables go? I asked a snooty French restaurateur once after an expensive meal with fries and a splodge of some vegetable mousse. “We eat vegetables at home”, he told me “and fries when we go out because we don’t have them at home”. I think I prefer the Dutch explanation. “It’s expensive to employ people to cut them up”.
My wife is more rational than me and buys salads to compensate – OK, I know they are vegetables, but not real vegetables!
The only vegetable I can’t abide is broccoli – I loathe it with a passion and am proud that I saved my granddaughter from its curse. One day we joined my daughter for lunch. Thea, my granddaughter wrinkled her nose puckered her mouth and stared at her plate – it had broccoli on it. “Come along”, urged her mother “you know it’s good for you”. “If it didn’t taste so disgusting you would not say that”. Thea smiled, daughter frowned “You can’t inflict your weird ideas on others you know” she told me. Suddenly I heard my self say “I forbid you to give my granddaughter broccoli – ever again.” For the first time since she became a teenager my daughter obeyed and has continued to do so.
There is something weird about continental Europe. Travel through Spain, France, Belgium and Holland and it’s french fries with everything. Go to a local market and stalls groan under the weight of luscious vegetables, go to a café or restaurant and there are fries. Not until Germany does this stop and once again vegetables appear on plates. One story will serve to explain the problem. We were staying in a small town on the Dutch Belgium border. The menu offered a range of fish and meat and - fries. “Do you have any other vegetable?” The waiter looked baffled – “I don’t care for fries with everything.” I said helpfully. He thought a long thought, suddenly a light bulb moment, he smiled – grinned, “Oh yes”, he declared triumphantly, “We have potato croquets”.
The next day I went to the hotel reception and explained that I was suffering dreadful vegetable withdrawal problems and asked for help. “Give me an hour,” he said. An hour later he called the room and said his friend, who owned a restaurant in town, had agreed to cook a meal with vegetables. It was wonderful.
Where do all the vegetables go? I asked a snooty French restaurateur once after an expensive meal with fries and a splodge of some vegetable mousse. “We eat vegetables at home”, he told me “and fries when we go out because we don’t have them at home”. I think I prefer the Dutch explanation. “It’s expensive to employ people to cut them up”.
My wife is more rational than me and buys salads to compensate – OK, I know they are vegetables, but not real vegetables!
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