Confessions of an E-queen: rubber cheese and other delicacies

Over the years, I have heard a multitude of protests against the phenomenon of ‘rubber cheese’, presumably the produce that comes ready-sliced and packed in plastic boxes. The company of these Stilton-addicted epicureans always makes me uncomfortable because, you see, I love rubber cheese. I love it, Lidl’s Schmelzkase being a particular favourite. I just love the sensation of the creamy, tangy, tasty stuff, melting on toast slice and tongue. And now that my low tastes have come out of the larder, be warned, there follows a confessional dossier of other excruciating addictions.
From my earliest days I have craved tomato ketchup, have thrilled to the sight of globs of the red stuff glistening atop golden chips and crispy fish. A youthful craving for Tuc biscuits, those salty, fatty slivers of sawdust and e-numbers left me with skin akin to Freddy Kruger. But this pales in comparison to my love of Pot Noodles, sauces dried in bags and, indeed, absolutely anything that required reconstituting. I was fascinated, and still am, by the notion that food could have the moisture squeezed out of it, be kept in suspended animation in foil packets and then be brought back to life when the consumer requires. Even the re-hydration process is alluring; the sudden rush of hot water, the gentle fizzing and popping as wizened husks of vegetable matter spring into being as green pea, orange carrot and red pepper – bless the scientists!
Any epicurean waxing lyrical about the ‘natural’ and the ‘organic’ can go bury himself in a pile of manure. And my (lack of) tastes do not stop at savoury, oh no. I love the sweet, too, every Frankenstein’s monster of tooth-rotting confection that the taste-chemists can come up with, please send gift-wrapped to me…

How Much Does Your Building Weigh, Mr Foster?

I have just watched the DVD How Much Does Your Building Weigh, Mr Foster? (Norberto Lopez Amado & Carlos Carcas, 2010), and all I can say is that it is a beautiful little movie about an outstanding architect in his twilight years, but who is far from declining in output, quantity or quality. That Norman Foster, who has already had one brush with mortality, won’t be with us forever, is a sad enough thought. More sad again, is the thought that I may never live in a place like Masdar City, the zero-carbon, zero-waste mini-city in the desert near Abu Dhabi.
As I watched the CG imagery of this place-to-be, a feeling of déjà vu crept over me. Many years ago, in my hapless beginnings as a creative writer, I wrote a sc-fi story – what aspiring writer hasn’t? – about a group of people in a zero-carbon, zero-waste city, where the streets were made for people, where cars were left outside the city walls and pedestrians, when they wanted to move from one side of the town to the other, travelled on an automated system below the level of the raised streets – aaah! By the same token, my futuristic city also embraced the shady streets and oases of green as Foster’s Masdar. My town was no utopia, however, nor a ‘totalitarian’ society, neither. There was still rich and poor, still deep class division, but rich and poor alike lived in an unpolluted atmosphere. Yes.
Too bad that I will never live the Metropolis dream, and it probably wouldn’t be a good idea, but there are some things worth salvaging. We have long trounced the notion of architect as social engineer, but I believe the idea of living in an unpolluted atmosphere, is one worth striving for. Nor is it an ‘impossible dream’. It is not that long ago since non-smoking employees were routinely exposed to the fallout of their smoke-happy colleagues. They don't get away with it, now. The zero-carbon city will happen, but for my generation and upwards, I fear it will be all too little, too late. What do other readers think?