Always, when watching a movie, I find myself identifying with one or another of the characters. Last week I took my daughter to see 'Ratatouille', and my heart fled out to the character of the critic, Anton Ego, voiced beautifully by the divine Peter O'Toole. This pitiful man, grown skeletal from the lack of anything good to eat, and hardened and cynical from the death of his hopes and dreams of fine food is finally served up a meal that satisfies.
The little rat chef, who's name I have forgotten, decides to cook ratatouille, and as Anton takes his first bite he is plummeted back to a childhood memory where, running in from the fields of Provence, his mother serves him just such a dish.
I am ashamed to admit, dear reader, that tears sprung to my eyes and I was a mess for the rest of the film. Is this not why we love food? The way it can transport us to the happiest of moments, evoke the exotic, prise open the doors of our heart when nothing else can.
Oh hang on, there is music, of course.
This puts me in mind of a new list. My ten all time favourite meals, perhaps.
But for now, work.
Salut, and good eating to you all.
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