To the Restaurant Show. My first time. I’ve been to other trade shows, of course; scores of them, from party political conferences to the steel industry with mass-attendance pointless versions in between. I’ve struggled round juggling collecting stuff I’ll never look at again with balancing a coat (why are they always so stiflingly airless?) on arms that get longer from bags of bumph, bored, tired, mind-dulled, wondering why I had tortured myself yet again. Not here. This felt like home.
It was early afternoon; the drinking spot was full of suits quaffing, no other point to their day. I was here to get ideas for articles and who to approach who might need crisis management training. A little snack here and there, now that would be nice, but no drink thanks. Except for small tastes.
Bombay Export beer. Now that’s a good idea. My home town on a label and I can’t resist. Bombay Sapphire stands proudly in my drinks cupboard. Alphonso mangoes arrive in March and I’m buying them by the several Bombay boxfuls at a time (the season’s so short, it’s a crime to miss any – just don’t judge me on the air miles/carbon footprint point; it is my one weakness in an otherwise shop-local, in-season world).
It’s new, I was told. Not actually brewed in Bombay (just in the bit of Bombay that is Bradford) but based on a brew from Bombay. That works for me. And with an impressively high alcohol content. A sip of that would be lovely, I said. I put down my bags, relieved to be standing so close to heaven. They poured generously; almost half a pint swirled into a plastic (sorry) glass, frothing nicely; my nose appreciated its nose. It settled on my tongue; lovely, golden. It slithered it’s way down my throat; glowingly, slightly dark. It was good. I’m not a fan of lager, except with a curry or a Thai, but at a trade show …
What do you think? Very good indeed. It’s full in the mouth, not too light, with a hint of night on the tongue. Do you own a restaurant? No, I’m a food writer I said, slightly aspirationally. Give her two bottles, please, to take away, he said. Oh, are you sure? (I’m newish to this lark; used to freebies in restaurants but not to take away drinks). Thank you! (Ignore the heaviness; they’d be perfect on an at-home night … and they are chilling nicely, thank you.)
More stalls. Longer arms. Some vile food; some average food; a bagful of Jonathan Crisp crisps; a homely mouthful of Label Anglais chicken (I buy it from my butcher, so no surprise for me); only the ice cream (which I can’t get excited about) seemed worthy of praise.
Oh! So Shepherd Neame distributes a Chinese beer, does it? As a fan of Kirin with sashimi (no time to waste on rice in sushi; just give it to me neatly raw), this must be worth a try. Sun Lik Beer, it said. And with only one punter at the stall, this would be easier than being crushed by crowds at the Bombay Export beer stand. I smiled, trying to catch the eye of the chap behind the bar. He was talking loudly, and fast, with the punter. Guffaw! Chuckle! Guffaw! They were getting on famously. A woman, sporting the Shepherd Neame logo on her top, joined in. Raucous laughter! Banter! I moved. And moved back. Looking from one to the other. Tried to say “May I have a taste, please,” but mutual grunting drowned me out. I moved to the other side of the stall, hoping to attract the attention of the third stall-attender. He turned his back on me, started to dial on his mobile. I looked again at the first man, then the woman; no, their conversation with the punter was far more exciting; I clearly wasn’t a catch. Still I stood there, moving from foot to foot, eye to eye, hoping one of them might wake up to my potential.
As a (younger looking) middle-aged woman I might not have seemed a good prospect as a buyer. I didn’t expect them to think that I might look out for their beer (not worth plugging it’s name here again) while eating out – and written favourably about it – but surely they could see that I might be a good prospect as an orderer from a menu? Instead, I will actively avoid it. It’s clearly not for the girls.
Service NOT Included 