It Was Better Then

27th May 2011 Friday

I feel odd standing in the lunch queue at Cranks restaurant at the Cider Press Centre in Dartington. Thirty years ago I was on the other side of the counter. I would have been bringing out a huge dish of steaming lentil curry or black eyed beany bake from the kitchen which I’d made that morning. I would have been wearing a blue and white flowered cotton dress and white apron - feeling all proud and excited to be the cook at Cranks - living my dream.

Today I’m with a dear friend who knew me then, who worked at the Cider Press too. The young woman serving us on the other side of the counter is about twenty years old wearing a black t-shirt and piling our plates with baked potatoes and salads. To her we are just two forgettable middle aged women passing through on a Friday morning. She doesn’t know that the food was better then - brimming with life and love and passion - with the flavour of joy.

I arrive home way past 7pm, the car laden with shopping from Riverford Farm and Tesco’s. My husband arrives at the same time carrying huge bags of bitter leaves from the allotment - mustard greens, chicory and raddiccio which he likes but I don’t - except in small doses. He starts the supper - scrubs the Jersey Royal potatoes and baby carrots while I unpack the bags and tempt the pussy cat with tuna. He’s not hungry and I find he has been sick in the bedroom. Three times.

We sit at the table, the sun still bright in the sky at 8.30 and catch up with our separate days. Finding a way for him to remember the people we both know but whose names don’t have faces until I can paint them for him. One stroke at a time.