Epicurean

One of the most frustrating things about Ireland’s schizophrenic weather is the inability to plan a good barbecue. There are few things better than meat cooked on open coals, accompanied by a cold drink enjoyed outdoors in the sunshine. Unfortunately with our climates proclivity to rain planning such an event can be as rewarding as picking the long shot in the Grand National. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.

Quality steaks are the first key ingredient. These should be picked up at a butcher, not prepacked from a supermarket. I recently bought some fine cuts of sirloin from a butcher off Aungier St. He was able to recommend and advise on which type of meat suited my needs, how long the meat had been hung, which farm it came from and the cow’s star sign. Maybe not that one.

Prepped with a rub of olive oil, salt and pepper, it should be cooked on the rare side of medium rare. When cutting into it the meat, you should be greeted with a beautiful pink color. My dad always wants his steak cooked well done. I try to tell him he is missing out.

When the meat is cooked it should be allowed to sit for a bit to let the flavours settle. It should then be enjoyed with a side salad, cold beer or a nice glass of red wine. 60’s and 70’s soul music (Stevie Wonder, Aretha Franklin, Motown) should be playing in the background to give it the perfect summer feel.

Does that make you feel hungry? Do want to run out the back and spark up the steel drum full of charcoal? Are you lusting for food? If the answer to these questions is yes, well then I’m afraid you may be among the thousands of those afflicted with a food porn addiction.

Food porn is a relatively new phenomena but it has spread quicker than facebook and is more addictive than crack. Around the world people cannot get enough of watching celebrity and amateur chefs as they slice, dice, chop and prepare food on TV. Programmes like Masterchef, Come Dine With Me and Hell’s Kitchen regularly have millions of viewers.

They don’t get any actual fulfilment from these programmes. They see beautiful dishes thrown together and are made to feel that they could have it if they wanted. Exotic food, bringing pleasure to people on the screen and making the viewer salivate and desire. It also gives people unrealistic expectations of what food really is.

Most of the time it’s not real. Just like the threesome with top heavy Swedish supermodels from that link you clicked by ‘accident’ is not real. Nobody actually cooks red mullet soup with toasted almonds and basil, or pheasant leg with rabbit saddle and mustard sauce. It’s usually pork chops and chips or a Goodfellas pizza.

The very concept of a chef as a sex symbol or celebrity is something which, ironically, leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Anybody who can think that a foul mouthed arrogant egomaniac such as Gordon Ramsey is attractive clearly needs their head examined and probably has serious daddy issues. They can argue that he is a powerful man in control of a huge empire but he’s still obnoxious.

Anyone who is any doubt that cookery programmes are borderline pornography need look no further than Nigella Lawson. Everything is laced with innuendo and is teased out so seductively that it’s easy to forget she is talking about sticky toffee pudding. Although nothing I can write about Nigella can match this clip.

Dublin played host to the Taste festival this weekend. A gathering of chefs and foodies in the Iveagh Gardens, where people were encouraged to wear their food porn addiction with pride. One of my friends who went said she really wanted to see Gino D’acampo live. He’s a chef. Not a musician or comedian. He’s not even a ventriloquist. You don’t go to see chefs ‘live’ because they cook food they don’t play Smoke on the Water.

The whole event strikes me as being left over from a time when Irish people thought they had money and would happily plonk 90 euro on the table for fancy chips and burgers on a Tuesday night in some restaurant because a spiky haired TV chef stirred a pot of bouillabaisse there once.

Maybe that’s why these programmes are so popular. People can’t afford to dine out so often so there is an increase in dinner parties where the hosts get to pretend they are Jamie Oliver or Hugh Fernley Whittingstall. It’s a cool thing to have your friends over and impress them with your culinary technique.

But you can keep your flash fried goose, sautéed in a unicorns tear (to paraphrase Dylan Moran.) I remember the first time a friend cooked for me. We were both students and the menu was very simple. It was bean and sausage surprise. A bowl of baked beans with two supermarket brand pork sausages sticking out like birthday candles.

The surprise? Hidden in the beans was another sausage.