Food For Thought Part 2

I love markets, especially French ones. They are a feast for the senses. Bold primary colours adorn fruit and vegetable stalls. Spices and cheeses compete for ‘nasal’ attention and any amount of honeys and jams are there to be tasted. My mouth fills with saliva at the thought of it.
 And the sounds! Although the language may not be understood its purpose is clear. ‘Come and buy my produce. It is the best that money can buy!’ British markets fall short of these ‘horns of plenty’. They seem dowdy and lacking in colour by comparison. In spite of the slight disappointment I feel I do enjoy a ‘mooch’ around the many and varied stalls. I suppose it is my optimistic attitude to things that makes me think that I will find something new and unusual.

I felt a slight thrill of anticipation as I went through its old peeling doors. Its cracked and broken windows staring down in an uninviting way. I was so relieved to get out of the monsoon that was still raging outside that it took me a few seconds to get my bearings. When I did I was so disappointed that I was almost ready to take my chances with the elements. Stalls were arranged around the walls with another bank of them down the centre of the building. The overall colour, and feeling, seemed to be grey; walls, floor and ambience.
 
My spirits were raised a little when I rounded a corner and came upon the pet stall. Full of brightly coloured treats for pets of all kinds. I was drawn into its inner sanctum by the sounds of chirping and scrabbling. Budgies singing and calling to each other; mice breathing as one in a great heap in the corner of a cage and tiny baby rabbits with that ‘buy me’ look. I pushed my hands deeper into my pocket knowing that it would be very easy to buy one of these delightful creatures. All of them clean, happy and contented-looking. The owner gave me a big smile and said, "Can I help you?"

"Oh no, I’m just looking thank you!" With a final backward glance I continued my voyage of discovery.

It was depressing to see so many signs saying, ‘to let’, ‘for sale’, ‘to rent’ or ‘closing down’. I found, hidden in a corner someone specialising in ‘designer’ handbags. Even their adornment of ‘bling’ did nothing to alleviate my depression. I looked at my watch and realised I still had a couple of hours before the bus came, and I was starving. Of the few people who ventured into this cheerless place most had the appearance of the proverbial drowned rat and I assumed that the weather had not improved.

One more corner of the building remained to be investigated. Before I even set eyes on it I knew what it was. It was not a place offering goats cheese with red onion and rocket salad and a dressing of balsamic vinegar accompanied by a glass of Chardonnay. No it was an ‘All Day Breakfast’ and a mug of instant coffee or tea bag tea. A Greasy Spoon! Any pleasure I had gained from the day had completely dissipated. I looked out onto the watery world and realised that I didn’t have a choice. How I wished that I’d opted for the machine coffee and crisps at the exhibition.

I went in and my glasses were instantly fogged up with the steam coming out of the hot water boiler. When I eventually had the advantage of sight I was able to take in my surroundings. To sum it up, seedy! Wonky tables covered in oil cloth with sauce bottles adorning them, mismatched plastic chairs, that I knew would make my bum ache, and a motley collection of, what looked to be, itinerants. I went up to the counter and ordered an All Day Breakfast and a mug of tea. I suppose I could have gone for the cheese sandwich but I wasn’t too sure which birthday it was celebrating. The lady serving - bleached blonde hair, vampire red lipstick and an accent so thick that you could almost cut it with a knife – gave me a beaming smile. "Would you like tomatoes or beans with that luv?" I decided on beans.

"And would you like toast or bread and butter?" I knew that the butter would be a greasy spread so I opted for toast. Another beaming smile.

"Go and find yourself a seat and I’ll bring it over when its ready." I gave her a watery smile and a very faint ‘thank you’.

I found a corner table and tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. If there had been any chance of the rain stopping I would have willingly lost the two pounds fifty that the meal had cost me and have disappeared through the door never to return. I sat huddled and miserable hoping to find fault with everything. I surreptitiously ran my hand across the plastic tablecloth expecting to find grease and crumbs. Nothing. The table decoration, which I had assumed was plastic, was a sweet smelling fresh flower. From my vantage point in the corner I could see the whole of the ‘caff’. It was called Rosie Lees, the name being at the top of the whiteboard, which declared the menu of the day. The walls seemed to be freshly painted in a quite pleasing shade of blue and the floor was a very serviceable concrete. My eyes were drawn to the kitchen area behind the counter, again I had expected ‘seedy’, but it was neat and very clean.

My feelings of dismay were beginning to evaporate and when my meal arrived any thoughts of making a rapid retreat disappeared. A white plate containing perfectly cooked bacon, sausage, egg and beans was laid in front of me. None of it swimming in a lake of oil and something of which even Gordon Ramsay would be proud.

"I’ll bring your toast in a few minutes chick." I was again given a broad smile, which I returned with a very positive "Thank you".

It was the best breakfast that I had eaten in a long time, and the toast was crunchy and covered in real butter. I was now rather pleased that the storm had driven me here and prevented me from having lunch at ‘Perfecto’, the new deli.

I sat back smiling contentedly and looked at my fellow diners with a much more charitable eye. It had been very unkind of me to call them itinerants. There was a group of builders sitting at one table. One almost completely covered in plaster dust with panda rings around his eyes from the goggles he must have worn. He caught me watching and gave me a cheeky wink. If this had happened in ‘Perfecto’s’ I would have returned this with a frosty glare but instead I gave a smile. At another table there was a couple of my ‘beloved pensioners’. They were obviously enjoying their meal and the occasional bits of conversation I heard was about grandchildren. A mother and a toddler sat enjoying their lunch.

I looked at the large clock on the wall, obviously put there for shortsighted customers, and realised I’d just got time for another drink. Rosie Lee, I assumed that was the name of the lady who was serving, must have been a mind reader. She brought another large mug over to me, "You won’t want to go out in this yet chick. Take your time." I smiled my thanks and was just about to take a sip when I heard a voice,

"You don’t mind if I join you do you dear?" An elderly lady with shopping bag and walking stick was standing and smiling down at me. "It’s pretty full today and it’s so much nicer to have company isn’t it?"

This would never have happened in a ‘posh’ restaurant, people are rarely expected to share with other customers. I smiled my agreement and moved my bags to make room.

"What a dreadful day. Typical of our English summer isn’t it? I usually come here and have a bite to eat. It’s such good value and Rosie’s such a dear. We used to come and do our shopping at the supermarket every Wednesday and then give ourselves a treat and have lunch here. It’s hard to break habits isn’t it so I still come and treat myself."

I noticed the sad look in her eyes and assumed that her husband had died recently.

"I’ve not seen you here before dear, it usually fills up with regulars."

"I came in to get out of the rain and decided to stay for lunch. It’s very good isn’t it? I didn’t know it was here till today."

"I come for the company as much as the food," and here she lowered her voice.

"It saves me a bit on the heating bills as well. Rosie doesn’t mind how long you stay. I even help with the clearing up sometimes. I know most of the regulars." The cheeky builder saw her and shouted over,

"Hello me old duck! How are you today?"

"Not too bad Bill. Haven’t you finished that job yet?" He shrugged and went back to his bacon and egg doorstop.

Rosie had brought over her drink whilst she’d been talking to Bill. It was in a nice china cup and had a matching saucer.

"She does look after me. Saves that cup ‘specially for me."

She took a sip of her tea, peered up at the clock and then out through the grimy windows.

"The rain seems to be stopping. I’m not having my dinner here today, my grand daughter’s taking me to her house so I must get going."

She drained her tea in one go, got painfully to her feet, smiled down at me and said,

"Thank you for you company. Hope to see you here again."

"Bye! Take care. I might see you next week."

As she walked slowly away and shafts of sunlight worked their way through the almost opaque windows I realised how much I had enjoyed my lunch. I collected my belongings together and left, Rosie called over,

"Thanks luv. Do come again!" I smiled my agreement.

My lunch at ‘Perfectos’ would have been a very different matter. No doubt the food would have been good but the atmosphere would have been cold and clinical.

The rain had stopped and the reflection of the sun in the puddles made them glitter and sparkle like polished silver as I made my way towards the bus stop.