Seeing hospital meals again

Scoffing at utility

It might be congenital but that is looking for excuses, my mother when she was in Europe in the 1960s scoffed at the idea of the specialisation of chiropody but God knows today that having a chiropodist look at my feet would be of greater succouring benefit than a mother mopping her sick child’s brow.

And so, did one not a time scoff at the idea of being a dietician viewing it from the perspective of those weight loss diets or regimes that seem to plasticine-mould you into body beautiful that Michelangelo’s Mona Lisa or David would jump out of their eternal states of paint and sculpt in mortal envy.

The glories of hospital food

You learn, I had a visit from the hospital dietician the other day because it appeared I was not eating enough of my food.

The food choices are to reach the goal of either more energy or more bulk, that is where the sophistication ends, she did agree that hospital food was hardly haute cuisine, well, if you thought Michelin and hospital food, it would not be about stars but probably the chewiness of rubber in their tyres, OK, maybe that is a bit extreme.

No voice in choice

Anyway for all the integration that might be required of immigrants, losing your indigenous cuisine is probably the very last thing you will ever give up. There is a world of difference between Dutch cuisine and Yoruba food from the South-West of Nigeria, even so, there is enough of a difference between English and Dutch cuisines, and I seem to prefer those to the Dutch.

The presentation is a collage of dull colours that would hardly rival masterpieces of art out a kindergarten class, finger-painting and all.

A vulture pause will do

So we built round these courses of palatable disregard but not before I was reminded of the nursery that literally forbade eating between meals, these become lessons of life well learnt from childhood only to be debunked by professionals.

So Hiliare Belloc penned this rhyme for children and whoever had this at school was definitely scarred for breaching that rule.

The Vulture eats between his meals. // And that's the reason why. // He very, very rarely feels. // As well as you and I.

His eye is dull, his head is bald, // His neck is growing thinner. // Oh! what a lesson for us all // To only eat at dinner!

And you wonder why what is a coffee break should really be aptly named a Vulture Pause; nursery rhymes could be so unforgiving and graphic.

So, it is cornflakes rather than breads for breakfast, fruit salads in between and high-energy milk shakes for lates.

Sick as a dog

Now what I cannot understand is why over 6 hours ago I felt nauseated but the manifestation of seeing my food again took that long and by the time I finished this blog, I had been sick thrice already. Don't worry, I am sick-bag trained, no mess.

Is there a dietician in the house?