Choices, choices!

“What this blog lacks, of course, is a strong narrative thrust: the blog’s general title seems to promise much, but Catalonia too often fades into the background, and even Cardiff lacks a clear profile.” I can almost hear my alter ego talking, whispering critical words of admonishment to me as I merrily continue my self indulgent way pontificating as the mood takes me, butterfly like from topic to topic. Can I get away with the assertion that the essential eclectic nature of the writings and a predisposition to digression is what makes them interesting? Worth a try, I suppose.

But, today I do have a sort of link. The ever present question of where to eat on Christmas Day is one which has occupied Laura and Carmen. Once again I luxuriate in the knowledge that in Catalonia it is not that unusual to have lunch on Christmas Day in a restaurant and, (this is the really unusual bit for Brits) it does not cost an arm and a leg and various other bodily parts to partake of a meal at this time.

Looking around in Cardiff I have noted, with a sort of sadistic glee, all the pretentious foodie meanderings in ‘special’ menus which make up the normal Christmas time meal options in the restaurants in town. We accept the fact that we will be fleeced by unscrupulous restaurateurs because “it’s Christmas!” A mark up of anything up to 100% and more, much more, will be accepted as yet another of the penalties of being British. And, of course, being British having to exhibit that legendary reserve and inability to complain when complaints are the only way that afford the prospective diner any degree of self respect, for which we are justly famous.

To be fair some of the menus look mildly interesting with some local, seasonal variations on the tried theme of turkey and all the trimmings. There are sometimes a reasonable number of courses and, of course, it being the twenty first century, an edible vegetarian option or even (breathe in not in Garth!) options in the plural. People with allergies have been catered for, and all nut content (including traces thereof) is carefully printed underneath each offending dish.

In some generous and largess dripping effusions of the festive spirit there are even offers of a mini bottle of Champagne, or a bottle of wine to be effusively forced on diners as long as they share and they have a party of more than ten and it is not on a popular night. All other drinks, up to and including water and coffee will have to be bought. And bought at the absurdly inflated prices that we seem unable to refuse to pay, in spite of the fact that for the same wine that we are offered at £15 a bottle in a restaurant we would not think of paying more than £4 or £5 for in a supermarket. So, for example, one menu that I glanced at today was for £28 with no drinks. This means, of course, that the final cost of the meal after bottles of water (don’t start me!); wine, Cava, liqueur, coffee, is more likely to be closer to £50 or £60 per person. And these prices, of course, are not for Christmas day itself. Obviously.

Luckily none of this seems to govern what is offered and for what price it is offered in Catalonia! I think that the nearest that Catalonia comes to vegetarianism is to offer a tuna salad! And wine and Cava is part of the way of life and not something which must be consumed because of the price it cost.

The meal which we will probably have in Terrassa will comprise: Christmas soup; selection of fish; shank of lamb; ice cream; bread; water; wine; Cava; liqueur and coffee with turron for the princely sum of about £35 on Christmas Day itself. We do not, however, have crackers; it is not the tradition. The descriptions speak for themselves. I will let you know what it all tasted like after Christmas!

As for reading: I am now starting on the short stories of Daphne Du Maurier. The only previous collection I have read is ‘Birds and other stories’ published by Penguin with a particularly effective line drawing of an eagle like bird with blood dripping from its beak. The strangeness of many of the stories reminds me of Roald Dahl; almost normal but not quite, and that small element of the ‘other’ makes the whole relation disturbing. I am thoroughly enjoying reading them.

I’m not sure that Aunt Bet has started her re-reading of Dickens, but I am decided about the way that I am going to approach my own re-reading: chronologically. Obviously ignoring some of the more esoteric volumes that that compulsive writer wrote! According to a list that I’ve downloaded the next major novel that I should read is ‘Oliver Twist’. Now, I know that I own that volume, but it is safely in store in lower Rumney and not available for me to use. As Toni is becoming more and more virulently anti book in the house I will have to try and find an alternative way of getting the requisite volume. I loathe borrowing books because you have to give them back, and library books have a soiled appearance which I also find distasteful.

I am still recovering from the policy outlined by a very helpful person in my local library: we have no book more than five years old. If you want a classic novel then it will be ok as long as a version of it has been published in the last five years. Do you believe that? I will go down to the library tomorrow and find out for myself just how much of the Great Literary Tradition is available to the citizens of Rumney. Who knows, when I’ve finished reading the short stories of Du Maurier in the morning, I might be reading the second of the great novels by Dickens.

We’ll see.