Bitch on the Blog

February 10, 2014


Filed under: Food — bitchontheblog @ 08:23

Once upon a time we invited one of the directors of the firm which was still in its diapers. The firm FOS  (father of son) had joined in its infancy. The director’s wife, aptly named Diana, didn’t like me. Which I think is the reason she did not inform me, as courtesy expects, that her husband was vegetarian.

In those days there were few vegetarians. And a big man was assumed to eat a lot. Not least meat. So I made a big casserole (Boeuf Bourguignon). I died a thousand deaths on delivery. Ever since I have not trusted women with husbands. Not that he wasn’t gracious about it. He was. Very very very sweet. If I hadn’t been married already I’d have rescued him from Diana.


PS It’s still Monday morning. Or so I hope.



  1. Do you trust men with wives?

    Comment by rummuser — February 10, 2014 @ 12:30 | Reply

    • Please don’t complicate things, Ramana. Most truthful answer I can come up with: I trust myself.

      I also, and you may laugh if you must, on recently sorting through my vast collection of tried and tested recipes, came across copy ofan email from FOS. Now father of son, and this is important otherwise no one will understand him, is not only a logistics expert, he pays attention to detail to an extent I do not recommend. So I found this email (one whole A4 page) as to this American wife’s dietary requirements (I had invited them for dinner). I am not being unkind and, no doubt, bowels have their own hold over one’s digestive system but that was something else. I complied. I complied for years. I basically cooked four/five/six different dinners for the same seating. Call me an idiot. Others have.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — February 10, 2014 @ 16:20 | Reply

      • I would rather call you a gracious hostess. I am often called up by my son and daughter in law to cook for them and their friends as I am considered to be quite a good cook, I am a vegetarian but they would like me to cook a non vegetarian dish. So I end up cooking both. I am not new to your experience. I have had similar experiences with fussy guests some of who simply had to settle for food phoned in for them specially. Their loss, not mine. They would not be welcome again,

        Comment by Rummuser — February 11, 2014 @ 00:58 | Reply

        • Yes, it’s difficult these days. No. Let’s not beat about the bush: It’s awful. I now keep food preference sheets on anyone. Even the Angel’s friends. It’s ridiculous. Still. I do understand if someone doesn’t like mushrooms. On the other hand, an argument proffered by me often: If you never ever taste a mushroom how do you know you don’t actually like it? Still awaiting answers.

          Luckily most people do like the Angel’s mother and think her bonkers – so they don’t even take my questions seriously. Please do come for breakfast, Ramana. Not a slice of bacon in sight. I do do a mean banana sandwich. Not cross referenced with peanut butter.


          Comment by bitchontheblog — February 11, 2014 @ 01:33 | Reply

  2. You are not alone Ursula. A friend of mine hosted a weekend function for her husband’s boss and his waif – I mean wife.

    Anyway, she wasn’t just a vegetarian, she didn’t eat any products from an animal source, including milk and/or eggs. Besides the steaks, she served cheese sauce on vegetables, cake made with eggs, buttered rolls, even the simplest dish she could think of – cereal – needed the accompanying milk. The woman eventually poured water on some bran flakes. My friend was mortified.

    I applaud the diet choices of others, but they should make them known if accepting meal offers from people just trying to please.

    Comment by reneejohnsonwrites — February 10, 2014 @ 16:55 | Reply

    • Yes, Renee, they should. I don’t entertain much these days, not because I don’t want to but because I lack funds. And I don’t mind accommodating anyone’s fancies, their idiosyncrasies. It’s no skin off my nose. Like you I do put myself out for other people.

      Yet, what I do find fascinating is remembering the tale of, say, my grandfather who as prisoner of war would dig out potato peel from a bin. Not that he much talked about his experiences. He literally could not stomach the memory. People now? Dear dog in heaven. Give me a break. Not that I belittle anyone’s whatever agrees with their stomach or not.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — February 11, 2014 @ 01:46 | Reply

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