A load of chop

You are what you order

Perhaps it’s a lost chapter in Freud’s The Ego and the ID, but what he or she is ordering, is a greatly underused insightful tool into someone’s personality. Obviously.

Recently I was sitting alone at the the bar in The Gilbert Scott. Next to me was a guy and with a face I’ve seen thousands of times before. For some reason, in a Debrownian moment, I decided I’d be able to guess what he’d order from the menu. So I did, and every time he ordered something else, I got it. His face told me that he’d have steak with béarnaise sauce, chips,  glass of red, average flirt with waitress, double espresso, Marlboro red to finish. You know, that kinda guy. Voilà.

So here’s my foolproof and highly useful guide to who’s ordering what:

Oysters

You’re a lothario, you think you’re Mick Jagger. But you’re not as fertile, so reign it in. You enjoy Roxy Music, mostly wear a blue blazer and ice white jeans.

Ceviche

You’re a player. Keep your game tight. You’re pretty fruity too. All are welcome.

Ribs

You write for The Guardian. You have a good beard and a strong collection of checked shirts.

Croque Moisseur

You are a multi millionaire Jonathan Ross type. You’ve no idea how you made all your money and neither does anyone else. You wears Crocs to the theatre and pyjamas in bed.

Lasagne

Delia's Lazagne

You are a mummy’s boy.

Onion Soup.

You are French and excellent in bed. Take people home, share your talents, then say.. ‘Non, Je ne regrette rein’

Lamb Cutlets

You are pale white due to your job in The Mafia.

Burger

You are a DJ.

Steak Tartare

You work at a Hedge Fund.

Prawn Cocktail

BBC Good Food Prawn Cocktail Image

WOW. Where to start? You’re a member of Mensa. You’re the missing link. You transcend class, you cockney-toff. You’re on Kofi Annan’s and Craig David’s speed-dial. You’ve got the Midas touch and you’re clumsy. You order prawn fucking cocktail and you don’t even care.

Club Sandwich

You are having an affair. Finish the sandwich, leave the hotel, then finish the affair.

Pizza

You write a blog. Get a life.

Quiona Salad

You are Sting.

Images:

BBC, Bon Appetit, Delia Smith

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2 thoughts on “You are what you order

  1. Well you sailed close but just managed to clip the stern.

    You see I love lasagne almost as much as I love my mum.

    However, on prawn cocktails, you’re way off. Less James Bond, more James Beattie. They’re so treacherously safe if I see one being wobbled towards me, distracting me from my stream of thought of how I can fake being pleased for these newly weds when I always hoped I’d get to shag the bride, my heart sinks.
    They’re so distinctly average and severely undangerous. Less J-Pax, more Nicky-Campbell. A safe bet for a Sunday morning interview but never going to tell the Archbishop Desmond Tutu to f*ck off.

    Keep up the good work.

    Rump

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