Look, I know it’s comfortable up there, but you really must get off the fence. You have to pick a side. I reached this conclusion for myself after staring at some bins in Manchester, because my life is glamorous. The bins, an initiative by the council designed to encourage people to chuck away their litter more effectively, had two slots. Each bore the name of a side in a debate. Were you, it asked, team Noel or team Liam? Were you Barbie or Oppenheimer? Chuck your litter in the appropriate slot. Digital counters racked up the votes. It was the third Manchester bin that caught my attention: a choice between barm or muffin. I am old enough to know that you don’t get involved in a fight between Mancunians over bread products. It’s their row. Leave it.
But there are many other binary choices in food and drink, and those we can get into. Obviously, some aren’t even worth discussing. It’s medium rare over well done. Of course it’s printed menu over QR code. And it has to be margherita over Hawaiian every time. These aren’t choices. They are tests of character that you either pass or fail. Yes, you will be judged. But others are open to debate.
Take breakfast. Are you tea or coffee? Are you jam or marmalade? Corn flakes or muesli? White sliced or sourdough? Think carefully about your answers. This is the start of the day we’re taking sides on here. These things matter. Of course, some choices are more to do with origins than taste. Tell me whether you are mushy peas or garden peas, or chips with curry sauce rather than chips with gravy and I’ll have a strong sense of where you’re from.
Given eating and drinking is something I often do in public, it would be fair, I think, if I now made some of my votes clear. For example, as I’ve written before, I am very much vodka over gin. Gin really is just too characterful, too idiosyncratic to be enjoyable. Give me the blank canvas of vodka every time. I am most definitely sparkling over still. Why would I want to waste a water-drinking opportunity on something as literally flat and characterless as still? Yes, I will drink red wine. If I must. But I know deep down, in the very centre of my metrosexual, flowery-shirted being, that I am a white wine man. I prefer crisp and bright and mildly acidic to deep and round and tannic.
However, if the choice is between wine of any hue and beer, I am wine every time. Beer is just relentless, a sloshing assault course of volume which marches in lockstep with exhausting bantz. Away with your food and beer pairings. You’ve got the wrong fop. I am very much ribeye over fillet, for fat is where the flavour is. I suppose there’s a place for back bacon, but generally it’s in your sandwich not mine. Give me streaky. Give me skinny chips over chunky, lazy wedges; salted over unsalted butter; cheese and onion over salt and vinegar.
And if I’m standing on a high street and it’s late and I’m starving, quite possibly drunk and nobody’s watching and all the choices are there, yes, of course it’s Burger King over McDonald’s. I’m not an idiot.
Across the years in this column, I have attempted to use subtle argument and fluid, lissom prose to describe who I am. But in these 10 or so choices here I’ve probably told you more about myself than any winsome memoir ever could. I’ve picked a side. I’ve cast my votes. Surely, it’s time for you to cast yours?
