in fancy restaurants and paying high prices for someone else to do the washing up.
Yes, I know. I am odd. Most people seem to enjoy the idea. They don't mind paying an enormous sum of money for a piece of meat and a dribble of gravy artfully around the edge of the plate. You pay still more for vegetables of course.
And if it is all given fancy descriptions - often in French.
The Senior Cat will stare suspiciously at menus and then ask me, "What's this mean?"
I explain as best I can.
I like to know where my food is coming from, what sort of kitchen it is prepared in. I slink off at the sight of vinegar and alcohol. I loathe mayonnaise...and why ruin a perfectly good bit of lettuce with "dressing". It is an insult to the lettuce.
It was "boy's day out" yesterday. The Nephew Cats took their grandfather off to lunch "somewhere". I did not inquire as to what they had in mind. The two of them know eateries all over the city - none of them expensive. It isn't their style either. They don't believe in "wasting" money on fancy service. They want actual food. They want it in reasonable sized portions and well cooked. Their paternal grandmother, a Greek-Cypriot woman of small village origins - "peasant" if you will, was a superb cook. It has taught them to appreciate "proper" food.
I wondered where they would go this time. I knew it wouldn't be the sort of thing any of them usually eat for lunch.
Eventually they arrived back here and I waited. The Senior Cat sank into his chair.
"Well, what did you have for lunch?" I asked. Eldest Nephew Cat smirked.
"Pizza," the Senior Cat told me.
Oh, right. Maybe there was a change of plan or they had to do something else or the place they were planning to go to wasn't open on a Monday or...
No, it was pizza. It was a deliberate choice of pizza. I looked at Nephew Cat. He smirked again, took the book I was handing over and scurried off.
"Tell me," I said to the Senior Cat.
"The place looked like a garage."
I nodded. It sounded like one of the "interesting" places the two young cats have found over the years.
"And what was the food like?"
The Senior Cat is not fond of what passes for "pizza" in most commercial establishments.
"It was good, really good - nice and hot and tasty with not too many ingredients on it. It was the right size too."
"Good," I said and started to think about his tea.
And then he said,
"I think it was proper pizza - like you make."
Now is it any wonder I adore the Senior Cat?