Dave likes to imagine that he’s both a talented chef and a real foodie. He also thinks he’s deeply multicultural, and likes to bang on about the diversity of Hackney, where he lives. Yesterday for example, over a thai meal, he talked about the meal he’d had the previous night (we’d finished a project, and he’d gone out “with my mates to get bladdered”. Another colleague had just mentioned the range of worldwide foodstuffs available in Kilburn.
“I went out last night and had ‘Jerk’ chicken,” Dave replied, “which is a Caribbean delicacy.”
To put this in perspective, Jerk chicken seasoning is £1.39 at any decent-sized Tesco’s.
I mentioned to Dave that I’d like to visit an italian cafe near his flat. It’s a beautiful old thing and I said I couldn’t imagine any better way to spend an afternoon than whiling away a few hours there, over the paper, chips and coke.
Dave’s response? “But in a cafe I can’t have my comfy chair. I’d rather stay home, drink red wine, and listen to Beethoven.”
Sometimes it’s hard to pin down what’s wrong with what Dave says; and yet it is, without question, utterly wrong. Take, for example, his critical appraisal of Control, Anton Corbijn’s understated but powerful biopic of doomed Joy Division vocalist Ian Curtis:
“It’s dealing with really difficult subject matter, but it manages to be entertaining and quite funny while giving a really good portrayal of this guy’s descent into mental illness”