I was homeschooled after that. At Danielle’s house, her mother gave us each a Munch Bunch yogurt for pudding,
and I snuck the empty pot into my school bag so that I could study it afterward.
Apparently, it was merchandise pertaining to a children’s television program about animated pieces of fruit.
And they said I was weird! It was a source of disgust to the other children at school that I couldn’t talk about TV programs.
We didn’t have a television; Mummy called it the cathode carcinogen, cancer for the intellect,
and so we would read or listen to records, sometimes playing backgammon or mah-jongg if she was in a good mood.
Taken aback by my lack of familiarity with frozen convenience food,
Danielle Mearns’ mother asked me what it was that I usually had for tea on a Wednesday night.
“There’s no routine,” I said. “But what kind of things do you eat, generally?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.
I listed some of them. Asparagus velouté with a poached duck egg and hazelnut oil.
Bouillabaisse with homemade rouille. Honey-glazed poussin with celeriac fondants.
Fresh truffles when in season, shaved over cèpes and buttered linguine. She stared at me.
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