Roger Collis

‘A life in food’ by Bea Tollman is a luscious coffee table book self published by Red Carnation Hotels. It is, surprise, surprise on display everywhere, and was handed to all 350 delegates at a tourism conference last week in Cape Town.

Well, yes, so much for that, you’d think. But the 29 recipes in the book describe what I call ‘real food’ as distinct from ‘mucked about food.’ They are an inspiration for anyone who needs to get everyday food on tables. In fact I’ve borrowed one very simple recipe, ‘The best Dover sole in London,’ for my own forthcoming cook book, ‘Food & the Single Man.’    

Here’s the review I posted on Amazon. Click here

Foolishly, in a vainglorious moment, I wrote to The Guardian as a candidate for their ‘Blind Date’ series in their Saturday magazine section. In spite of my advanced years, I was ‘matched’ with a lady called Mary.   The drill is that you both meet in a restaurant (booked by The Guardian) for a nice expense-account dinner.

It was pleasant enough, but ultimately depressing; I suppose, inevitably. Here is how I filled out the questionnaire, followed by Mary’s version. The piece has not yet appeared in the paper. I shudder to think how it will emerge in print.

After all these years, I never learn… Click here

Talk about traveling with pets. Here comes British budget hotel chain Travelodge with news that it has found 75,000 teddy bears left behind by their errant owners at its 452 hotels within the last 12 months.

In response to this staggering finding, Travelodge surveyed 6,000 Britons to investigate the nation’s fascination with cuddly bears. The survey revealed that more than a third (35%) of adults admit they sleep with their teddy because they found cuddling their bear comforting; and the calming feeling of a bear hug also helps them to de-stress after a hard day – which aids sleep. Click here

Please forgive me for all the times
that I have been so insensitive
to your sensitivity.
My original passionate arrogant notion
of trying to make you happy
may not have worked out. But
I promise always to go on trying
to redeem your trust in me.

February, 2007

Demain, dès l’aube, à l’heure où blanchit la campagne,
Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m’attends.
J’irai par la forêt, j’irai par la montagne.
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.

Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,
Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,
Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées,
Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.

Je ne regarderai ni l’or du soir qui tombe,
Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,
Et quand j’arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe
Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur.

Victor Hugo

‘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!