Making a meal of it
Trevor Plumbly

Making a meal of it

March 17, 2019 Trevor Plumbly

What used to be a pleasant event has become the subject of much family debate. 'Let's eat out!' was a popular proposition. We would get into the car and cruise the local eateries until a decision was reached. From memory, there was never a unanimous vote, so it was quite common for one of us to sit at a table yearning for Chinese whilst the others plundered the pasta: family democracy in working order. Sadly though, failing eyesight has now placed me in sole charge and the venue is selected to suit my limitations.

 

Restaurants and bars are now chosen for two distinct qualities: access and lighting. Generally speaking, street access isn't too much of a worry, but steps and stairs should be given a bit of respect, as they have the ability to reduce your culinary adventures to semi-cold takeaway pizzas.

 

Once inside, seating decisions must be made. Do we (A) sit near the front door, or (B) towards the rear? Option A seems quite logical, it’s lighter and usually less crowded, but what about the toilet? A fair few of us slid past the age of consent some time ago and frequent trips to the loo are part of the dining experience. Others might regard this function in a somewhat casual light but those of us with a white cane find that ready access to the facilities is essential and at times crucial. So (A) has its problems. And do you tackle the toilet trip solo? This isn't for the faint-hearted. Someone much wiser than me once said, 'always treat obstacles as opportunities'. He should try going for a pee in a crowded Chinese restaurant with his eyes shut. Your destination, the waiter says, is "over there and down the hall", scary but reachable with the help of the fellow diners you haven't upset en route!

 

Some places offer 'Ladies and Gents' options as a sort of extra handicap, so I tend to go for the first one I come to. I return to the table, mission accomplished, flushed with new-found confidence.

 

Option B is close to the toilet and the kitchen, dark enough to be 'vampire chic' and what little vision you had while still out on the street is gone. A steady stream of waiters and toileting diners makes conversation somewhat stilted. It’s tough enough when you can’t see who you're dining with, but when you can’t hear them either the semi-cold takeaway pizza doesn't seem such a bad choice.

 

Menu selection is an important part of the ritual, and whilst I like to have some input it’s not a good thing to get too ambitious. The days of merrily twirling spaghetti in tune to Dean Martin or wielding chopsticks with surgical skill are gone. I now believe plastic tablecloths and over-sized serviettes should be compulsory in all Asian and Italian restaurants.

 

At Asian restaurants everybody gaily agrees to get "lots of little things so we can all pick". Great! I've got enough trouble finding what’s on my plate; now I'm supposed to navigate a table-top full of the stuff! I rarely capture too many interesting mouthfuls but nevertheless compete to the extent that the meal starts to resemble an unsupervised boarding school lunch. If fellow diners end up with the odd oriental morsel in their laps or wine glasses, then so be it. Dining out with me is an adventure and fellow-diners should accept the risk.

 

Italian food, whilst not as elusive as Asian, can still be quite tricky. I tend to stick to ravioli. It’s usually compact and easy to handle. I like spaghetti but until some kind soul invents a non-slip variety, the laundry bill wins over personal desires. My other problem with Italian restaurants is that Italian waiters don't transport themselves quite like the rest of their counterparts. In my experience Italian waiters are dangerous. They glide, silently - and more importantly at breakneck speed - whilst carrying on a raucous conversation over their shoulder. This adds to what most people call 'atmosphere' but does nothing for those of us short of sight and desperate for the loo, but terrified of being hit by one of these human cannonballs in full flight. For the half-blind with weak bladders, half-cold pizza takeaways are easier, safer and toilet friendly.... Bon appetit!

 

UK-born Trevor Plumbly, a retired arts and antiques dealer and former owner of Plumbly’s Auction House in Dunedin, was diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa 15 years ago. In 2008, when sight loss put a stop to the antiques dealing, Trevor and his wife Pam relocated to Auckland to be closer to family. This is his fourth column for NZ Optics.