WHEN I first lived alone, eating fast-food seemed like the ideal way to survive – quick and easy.
Slide off the cardboard sleeve, puncture the membrane, heat for the recommended time, and voila – from freezer to oesophagus in 10 minutes flat. And it tasted okay, so what’s not to like?
The problem was, the more I got used to fast-food, the more I hated it, and the more I hated it, the more I craved proper home-cooked food.
It was like consuming fresh strawberries when you’ve had only tinned.
However, there was one thing I couldn’t give up to save my life. (Please don’t laugh) It was Besta Beef Risotto. (And yes, I’ve deliberately changed the manufacturer’s name for reasons which might become clear later).
It came in an attractive box containing two packets of dried ingredients and a list of instructions. It involved frying rice in butter, adding powdery sauce, dried beef chunks, tiny peppers, a pint of water, and then mixing it all together as it simmered. Soon, a pan full of the most amazing beef risotto emerged. The savoury smell and taste was exquisite. The beef, in particular, tasted so superior to the sirloin or brisket that I normally preferred.
Chewing on it, almost took me to paradise for a few moments (I wish they had sold it separately. It would have been delicious with spuds and veg). Then, to reach perfection, I would add oven-fries and a large glass of Italian red.
Even as I write, my mouth waters.
But then a problem arose. One day in Morrisons I couldn’t locate the blooming boxes of Besta Beef Risotto.
“Excuse me,” I asked the shelf-stacker, slightly anxious. “What’s happened to my Besta Beef Risotto?”
“Aisle seven, left hand side, next to the Besta Curry.”
Under his breath, the shelf-stacker muttered, “My Besta Risotto. Who does he think he is? Anybody would think...” But his voice trailed off as I disappeared around the corner.
There was not one single box of risotto to be found on aisle seven. I checked the aisle number again to make sure it was, indeed, number seven, and the voice in my head kept repeating, “Stop over-reacting. It’s only a boxful of dried, processed food, for goodness sake. Deep breaths, it’ll be here somewhere. Deep breaths.”
Later that same day I drove down to Tesco because they were sure to have plenty. But the sign clipped to a barren shelf said, TEMPORARILY OUT OF STOCK. SORRY.
From that time on, no matter where I searched, Besta Beef Risotto did not exist. It was like living in a scene from Orwell’s 1984 – my favourite fast-food has been erased from history, vaporised, a non-food.
In 2015, Janet and I toured Italy, mainly to lay flowers on my Uncle Ron’s grave, and I spotted risotto on the restaurant menu. “Oh, my goodness! Thank you, God! Thank you! My boat has finally come in!” I was so overjoyed I started singing, “Just one Cornetto...” Embarrassing others, to gain a laugh, is one of my serious faults.
“I’ve told him it’s not the same as Besta,” Janet told our new holiday friends. “But he refuses to listen. Look at him, smiling like the cat with the cream. Wait until he tastes genuine Italian risotto.”
When the dish arrived, it looked and tasted like rice pudding minus the pleasant flavour or sweetness. Yuk! I’d not felt as disappointed since Germany beat England in the 1970 World Cup.
Back in Blighty, I refused to give up hope and begged help from Facebook friends, as well as undertaking many internet searches.
Leads there were a-plenty but they all turned out to be blind alleys – every one of them.
“I think I’ll have to abandon my quest and accept I’ll never, again, enjoy my favourite dish,” I told Janet, feeling miserable.
“I think you’ll just about survive without it. Incidentally, one question has been puzzling me. When was it that they first stopped selling your Besta Beef Risotto?
“Hmmm, let me think,” I replied, closing my eyes in order to access the deep recesses of my frustrated brain. “It could well have been 2011 or 12 or even 13. I can’t tell you exactly but I’m certain it was round about the time of the horse-meat scandal...”
