Glancing at the menu for the French Presidential visit last week, I saw that among the Filet de Barbue Beatrice (what”s that all about?), washed down with Premier Grand Cru Classe, Margaux, 1961, M. Sarkozy had to endure the indignity of eating rhubarb.
Dredging up terrifying memories of school dinners, rhubarb was my all-time loathed food, narrowly beating prunes and custard to take top hated spot, but it seems that the French had no qualms about chewing on it.
It helps I suppose that there was also Krug 1982 en Magnum, to take away the taste, but the visit got me wondering; just how on earth do you get invited to a State Banquet?
Among the rather splendidly titled Lieutenant-Colonel Siegfried Ursal, Air Chief Marshall Sir Jock Stirrup and Professor Sir Basil Markesinis et al, were a couple of Mrs Williams and Mrs Garnies. I”m just plain old Mr Warburton. Do I stand a chance of having an invite to the next bash?