‘No thanks, I’ve just grazed,’ an impromptu visitor said the other day when I asked if I could offer him something to eat. ‘But I could use a glass of wine.’ No problem.
I couldn’t bear to think what he’d been grazing upon.
‘Sheep do it/cows do it/lonely gourmets on their own do it…/let’s do it/let’s all graze on…’
Grazing: eating on the wing; a kind of peripatetic smorgasbord, is one way to define it. A piece of cheese; a hard-boiled egg; a few grapes; a cold chicken leg; a handful of peanuts left over from last night; a spoonful of cold ratatouille; a lonely chipolata in a saucer; a couple of slices of cold pork – back and forth you go between the laptop and the fridge.
Premeditated grazing is anticipating and preparing purpose-made fodder for tomorrow or the day after.
I was once standing in the kitchen of a luxury flat in Mayfair with the bodyguard/chef of a financial entrepreneur called Javier Benedi-Garcia, I was interviewing for a story. ‘Joe,’ a fascinating, but dangerous guy, ex-army para sergeant, returned from a spot of mercenary service in what was then Rhodesia, was making me a tomato sandwich that would have graced the table of a vicarage tea party. I marveled when he delicately cut off the crusts; and primped the sandwich with a sprig of watercress..
‘Yea, I trained as a cordon bleu chef, Joe said. Then, taking a perfectly roast chicken out of the oven said. ‘Something for the boss if he gets hungry in the night.’
Grazing can be joyful, it can be sad. Forget guilt and self-loathing; think positive. But don’t make too much of a habit of grazing… Like booze it can be addictive.
And don’t forget to shut the fridge door!