Glad you liked it,’ Petal says. ‘We’ve been taste-testing it for a couple of weeks now, so I’m delighted to see it’s come out so well.’
‘Mmmmm,’ I agree, picking a bit of the crispy nothingness out of one of my molars. I notice that Mordred is looking at me with narrowed eyes. The hedge has gone from being angry to deeply suspicious. He clearly knows I’m faking it.
Petal then whips off the last white cloth to reveal my third and final challenge. ‘This is our brand-new beetroot, spelt and lentil chilli,’ she proudly tells me as she does so.
In the bowl is indeed something that resembles chilli. It’s a bit redder than I’m used to, but it doesn’t look half bad at all. It sadly doesn’t smell of much, so I’m expecting to now be required to eat runny nothing, after enjoying crispy nothing to its fullest.
There’s a small spoon stuck in the chilli, which I pick up and use to scoop some of it. Without another thought, I pop it into my mouth and start to masticate once more, safe in the knowledge that this is vegan food and will therefore be about as potent as—
MY FACE EXPLODES.
Sorry to startle you like that. I simply have no choice in the matter.
If crispy tofu is the negation of food, then this chilli is the unequivocal reinforcement of food as a concept. This is the most food I have ever had in my mouth. My entire being is instantly consumed by it. There is now only the vegan chilli and my poor, poor taste buds in this universe, locked in a dance of death.
‘Jesus Christ!’ I splutter, sending chilli fragments splattering across my carefully prepared notes. While this looks embarrassing, it’s a good thing, because at least it means a majority of the chilli is no longer in my mouth, where it can continue to burn like the wrath of a thousand suns.
‘Hmmm . . . maybe your palate isn’t quite ready for that,’ opines Mordred from behind his big grey bush, as I choke to death on this evil concoction he’s created.
This vegan wizard-man is not like kindly old Gandalf. He’s the other one – the one played by Christopher Lee. You know who I mean . . . had a big, dark tower and a penchant for monologuing.
‘Oh dear! Let me get you some tissue!’ Petal cries, and she reaches under the coffee table to produce a box of tissues.
Tissues made of fucking hemp, it appears.
Oh, my days.
Still, what choice have I got?
I snatch a wodge of the tissue from the box and spit the rest of the chilli into it. I’m afraid that this probably isn’t creating the best impression of my feelings about Veganthropy Foods, but right now I’m more concerned with my ability to taste food in the future. I don’t want everything to taste like Tofu Crispies until the day I die, thanks to the fact that my taste buds have permanently shrivelled.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I intone as I ball up the tissue. ‘I’m sure the chilli is lovely. It’s just a bit too spicy for me.’
‘Don’t worry, dear,’ Petal reassures me. ‘Mordred was insistent on the level of chillies used . . . but I’m sure he now realises that we have to rein things in a bit.’
‘Hmmph,’ Mordred remarks, arms still folded.
If we do end up working with Veganthropy Foods, I will make it my job in life to ensure that Mordred is not featured in any promotional work whatsoever. I’ve only been in the man’s company for an hour or so, and I want to go out and eat a raw steak just to spite him.
. . . we’ll make sure Petal’s plastered over everything, though. Let’s face it, anyone who looks that much like Joanna Lumley will have no issues helping to sell the products. The Lumley is British brilliance distilled into one seemingly ageless celebrity. I’d buy anything from her. And so would you.
Petal actually looks quite upset at her husband’s attitude. ‘We must get it to work for everyone, Mordred. Our food has to appeal to as many people as possible. You know it must!’
This was the general thrust of their questions during the sensible part of the meeting. Petal and Mordred made it very clear to me that they want to sell their ready meals to as broad a cross section of the public as possible.
Mordred gives her a dark look.
Petal rolls her eyes in frustration. ‘We can’t