Foooooood glorious foooood…

We like food. We fucking LOVE food. If you follow either or both of us on twitter then you’ve already been subjected to thousands of photographed restaurant offerings, cooking failures and triumphs, classy tales of Panda eating in her car seemingly non-stop, and Crumpet reciting “food won’t fix the mood” over and over again.


It’s totally rare, you know, for anyone to not have one single issue with food. Even if you have the best metabolism, figure, and the most ‘normal’ or  ‘healthy’ attitude to eating in the world, you might still find yourself scoffing raw potatoes or lemon slices, or disguising your love of pickled onions for fear of offence, like my old flatmate. A selection of my nearest and dearest reveals a diabetic mother, a father who is never ever full, a brother who force-feeds his girlfriend his Man vs Food-inspired creations, friends with varying degrees of eating disorders in one form or another, and those who just bloody love food.

Just keep swimming just keep swimming

Just keep swimming just keep swimming

I’m pretty wobbly. I’ve never been toned, but it’s quite easy for me to control how I look by cutting down on certain things and upping my exercise, like the week I went mental by cycling everywhere and swimming 4billion lengths in 2 days. MAN I was hungry.

I find food massively comforting. Food DOES fix the mood. When I was little, I hated hated hated having my hair washed. HATED it. Possibly because it inevitably led to hair being BRUSHED. Nightmare. If I was very brave and didn’t cry, I was allowed a Daddy Gokgok (a chocolate from my dad – those mini dairy milks which used to come in cardboard envelopes before those tubs of HEROES came along). On a Friday, after a long week of school and sucking at maths and kids laughing at my hair and glasses and freckles and bogies, my grandma would feed me a delicious afternoon tea of fresh hot jam tarts and we’d all have a big family dinner of Proper Jewish Chicken Soup and a roast and it was my absolute favourite bit of the whole week.

Daddy gokgok

Daddy gokgok

When I go and visit my parents now, before I’ve even taken off my coat I get “you want something to eat?”

When I get in from a night out, my head instinctively decides it’s time for toast, or crumpets, or snacks, even though my belly rarely needs it.

If I’m anxious or nervous, upset or stressed out, the first thoughts I have are about what food might make me feel better. It’s rarely chocolate, by the way. Or cake for that matter. My most comforty comfort foods involve eggs, or smoked salmon, or potatoes or coronation chicken or soup or humus.

We’ve written about food before, where I detailed my terror over eating in front of boys. That was pretty much a year ago I think. In the past year I’ve got way more used to it, including having a ladle of soup force-fed to me shortly after writing that piece, to happily scoffing the messiest meals in front of all manner of men and hiding behind napkins less and less.

I bloody love food. I love cooking it. I love reading about it. I love shopping for it and experimenting with it and I LOVE feeding it to other people. But most of all I just bloody love stuffing my gob. It calms me down. It makes me feel happy. It excites me and even when I go absolutely mental and have a week of mad crack-like full on food addiction and end up feeling horrific and full and spotty and completely repulsively unlovable, I’m still going to always choose a hot toasty cream cheese bagel over a swim.

So there.


I’m much like Crumpet in a OH MY GOD I BLOODY LOVE FOOD way. Actually last time I went to see Crumpet I had to undo my bra in the middle of a pub to make way for some more food. Right now I’m chomping down on a family sized pack of Salt and Vinegar crunchy sticks, I’m not even that keen but I’m sure I’ll keep going.

I’ve no self control when it comes to food. One day I’m gonna wake up obese and diabetic and I’ll be totally screwed. It’s like the other night for instance I started into a pack of Marks and Sparks Chocolate Viennese  biscuits. Now these are the Queen of the biscuit world, buttery and melt in the mouth and just bloody wonderful. So there I was tea in one hand biscuit in the other, like some sort of orgasmic robot, dipping and sucking, dipping and sucking. When suddenly I felt full, really full, a bit sick full, but when I looked down there was only two biscuits left. I couldn’t leave those two lonely biscuits while the rest of their family were churning round in my belly. They had to be reunited, I had to fulfil their little biscuit destiny. GOD DAM IT I had to finish them all, so I did. I felt like yacking but I was also proud, what a bloody achievement.

Whenever I can get away with it I like to eat food with my hands. The feel of cutlery in my mouth does not please me at all. I’d much rather feel the food then taste it, get more of my senses working, a fork is just a barrier, a rubbish metal barrier. Sometimes I’ll treat myself and cook a chicken and just sit there like Henry the eighth ripping it apart with my hands whilst the grease dribbles down my fingers. Steak as well, oh god yeah, fuck cutting it up, I like to hold it and tear into it like a wolf then sit and feel all meat drunk after.

Sausage fingers

Sausage fingers

Sausages, eight in a row once, standing in my kitchen dipping them into a jar of mayo nom nom nom. Today I dipped my fingers into cream cheese then wrapped smoked salmon round them then popped each delicately wrapped finger into my mouth (I blame Hula Hoops for this anti social behaviour, I remember being five years old and opening a pack. They were hoops! They’re designed to be popped onto your fingers!)

This might all sound quite sexy/repulsive but let me make it clear I do not mix food with the bedroom.

No Mathew NO

No Mathew NO

I mean yeah I’ll eat Trifle in bed but I do not want to smear it all over you then lick it off. How absolutely ridiculous, tainting my lovely custard with man juice. I’m also not great at sharing food, don’t get me wrong I’m not tight I’ll buy you all the dinners you want. But if you say you’re not hungry then THEN EAT SOME OF MY FOOD I WILL WANT TO RIP YOUR FACE OFF. I also get quite cross if I’m not fed, I’m like the opposite of a Gremlin. But like a kitten I’ll keep coming back for more if you do.

My big sisters a brilliant feeder, I think she takes after our Nan who used to be Jewish. I went round there last week and before I’d even taken my coat off there was a cup of tea and a plate of toast and pate sat in front of me. Crumpets a good feeder as well, she always buys the food I like and last time I got to eat it all with my fingers so I was dead happy.

I guess apart from the willingness to inhale entire packets of biscuits at a time my only problem with food is I only eat when I’m happy. Luckily I’m happy 80% of the time but the first thing to go when life’s being a bit shit to me is my appetite. I also (as you’ll know if you follow me on Twitter) really like eating in my car. I’m not sure why or when this started but I’ll go park up and eat, alone. Sometimes it’s a lovely experience and I’ll be parked up along the seafront watching the boats or sometimes it’s bleak, like when I’m in the Tescos garage forecourt and it’s dark and raining. Sometimes it’s just a bit weird like the time I made food in the house then went out and ate it in the car.

I genuinely get quite excited about food. I’m like a six year old when I get to go to Bodeans, they serve up plates of meat and it’s totally fine to eat it with your hands and they put several different animals on your plate at the same time,. It’s my best thing EVER.

One of the main things I liked about being pregnant was the fact I got to walk down the street, sausage roll in one hand and chocolate éclair in the other and no one could say a bloody word to me. Unsurprisingly I was a big ol bird when I was expecting.

I like the tradition of food as well, it’s comforting. I love sitting round as a family and eating a Sunday roast with a big apple pie after. I like the fact we always have a buffet on Christmas eve or a special breakfast for Easter. Watching the boys eat something I’ve made (and sometimes enjoy it) is an absolute joy for me. Actually I don’t do it as much as I used to but making food for someone and seeing them like it is a brilliant buzz.

So yeah I’d say I’m definitely team food, yeah go food! I’m pro food, gotta lot of time for it.  Maybe it’s not the healthiest relationship but I’d always rather be the girl who eats with absolute gusto than the one who classes having one chocolate out of the selection box as a naughty little treat.

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3 Responses to Foooooood glorious foooood…

  1. and_ says:

    food: feed the body… feed the mind: indeed food does fix EVERYTHING!!!! x

  2. mywiary says:

    There really is nothing like the little tender meaty bits that you gnaw from the bone at the end of a pork or lamb chop meal.

  3. Katie says:

    I’ve just discovered your blog- and this post is ruddy brilliant!
    Panda- I am totally with you on the lonely biscuits and the face-ripping if people touch my food. I also get seriously cranky on the rare occasions when I get hungry and I have no access to snacks- I’m like a rumbly-bellied hulk.
    Crumpet- I am glad to hear you’re getting over your fear of eating in front of men. I used to feel the same, but then I realised if they were focusing on the washing-machine motions of the food being massacred in my mouth, they weren’t enjoying their own meal enough. And who wants a man who doesn’t love food?
    I think everyone has a meaningful relationship to food, even those weirdos who only see it as fuel (and clearly want to punish their stomachs by depriving them of profiteroles)- I recently wrote about my own relationship with it on my blog too.
    I look forward to reading about future car picnics 🙂

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