Sharing Is Wearing

Last week the United Nations Peace Keeping Forces were busy so I had to solve a crime against humanity without any help from them. The Schoolgirl is putting in more hours in school these days than many civil servants do in the office. She has a packed school timetable plus extra sport a few days a week, so she’s gone early and home late. To fuel these long days, she needs a decent lunch. I still labour under the delusion that we only do a weekly shop. However, to keep up with her brother’s ability to clear the fridge within days of it being filled, top-up shops are becoming more frequent.

My mother faced this predicament too, but was much firmer about the rules. The shopping was done on a Friday, allowing us to eat like Lords at the weekend. Things got a bit thinner as the week went on, and by Thursday you could find yourself with a quare concoction staring up from your plate. No matter how bare the cupboards got they weren’t refilled until the following Friday. The Brother reckons some gastronomic delights were discovered under this regime. Savoury Rice is one such favourite that I have introduced my brood too. A bit of leftover rice can be transformed with an onion, some corn, a bit of red pepper, and peas. If you happen to have some rashers, tinned pineapple, and a dash of soy sauce, you’re onto an absolute winner.

All this talk of food is making me hungry, as hungry as a young Manchild coming in from a feed of porter and in need of a little sustenance. I would have thought that a meal in Tupperware in the fridge was safe from savagery as it was clearly portioned off and belonging to someone else. Sadly, hunger overtook reason on this occasion and The Schoolgirl arrived down the following morning to find her assigned lunch had been demolished. It didn’t make for a happy start to her day, or anyone else’s for that matter.

When I put it to The Manchild the next day that it was glutenous and inconsiderate, he offered a solution to the problem rather than an apology. Now when I bring home the weekly shop, I label all the important items before they get put away. The fridge looks like a scene from Alice in Wonderland in reverse. Instead of ‘Eat Me’ or ‘Drink Me’ tags, packets say ‘Don’t Eat Me’. Then I thought I’d introduce a bit of variety so a few say ‘Ah, Ah!’ or ‘For sharing not scoffing’. Ambiguous items like sausages, which a hungry student might see as a hearty brunch before lectures, now say ‘I’m needed for Tuesday’s dinner’, or a fresh block of parmesan begs ‘leave 50g of me for Thursday’s dinner’ The biscuit tin gets filled but now wears a badge saying, ‘make me last the week – I dare you’.

Me and shared fridges have run into trouble in the past. As a compulsive tidier, using an office fridge was never going to be good for my nerves. We were a small team with a small fridge. It was only ever meant for daily deposits and withdrawals but not everyone saw it that way. Jars of relishes filled up the door, smelly cheeses seemed to live there. Packed lunches got forgotten when someone suggested we all go out to lunch. Every now and then it would all get too much for me and I’d do a clear out. I’d use a series of tests to determine what should stay or go. There was the smell test, the date test, and the ick test. A black banana didn’t pass any of these tests one day and I ditched it, only to discover that it belonged to my colleague Judy who’d brought it in that morning. Despite this Judy and I are still great friends, although there is sometimes a tension in the air when we refer to banana-gate, she maintains it was only brown, not black, I have learnt to say nothing on the matter.

I think it’s got something to do with being from a small family, I’m just not good at sharing. When it comes to ordering take away and someone inevitably suggests we get a selection and share, I find myself siding with Joey from Friends. Like Joey, Maggie doesn’t share food. Why would I want to give away three quarters of my lovely sweet and sour chicken for a hodge podge of black bean sauce, Singapore noodles, or other muck. Surely the whole delight of ordering take away is that everyone gets what they want instead of the usual communal pot. I have attempted to have this argument many times with both family and friends and each time I’m told its about being sociable. I think they’ve watched too many jaunty ads of shared meals with people stretching across one another saying things like ‘wow, this is delicious, you have to try it’.

You share among yourselves I tell them while guarding my meal like the hungry hound I am. If that doesn’t work, I might try the United Nations number one more time.