Poisoned By Carbonara and Saved By Whisky

November 3, 2018

I was at a dinner party last week, it was a male only affair, so slightly less twee than the statement would suggest.


A friend's wife was away, and he chose to use that freedom to host a group of us for dinner and drinks.


I was quite surprised on arrival,  I had assumed the food was going to be Kettle Chips with the focus of the evening being squarely on the job of drinking. I prefer that type of event to be honest, food often gets in the way of drinking and the flow of a good evening. Clearly I am not against food, but tend to prefer to eat at the end of the evening with a raid of the fridge at home. I believe this dietary regime is called "feasting". It is not as popular as fasting and may explain my rotund shape.


Anyway, I digress, rather surprisingly the host had prepared what on first viewing looked to be a delicious Carbonara. Long gorgeous strands of spaghetti coated in a rich creamy sauce and sprinkled with bacon. While I was not expecting a meal, I did not wish to be rude and did what I always do with pasta, literally hoover it down within seconds. I am, alas a glutton, and find pasta impossible to chew more than once and incredibly enjoyable to eat. The end result is a tsunami of carbohydrates being digested within seconds. 


It was only when I reflected on the meal that I had, only moments earlier, finished, that I started questioning what type of bacon was used in the dish itself? It was neither crispy nor did it taste like bacon. As I started to think about it, I began to recall what I had assumed was bacon was uncooked, cold and chewy.....surely not?. Surely my good friend and host would not serve uncooked pork to his guests? Why would he wish to give us food poisoning? 


I chose to shake off these thoughts of culinary espionage and proceeded to move onto my preferred drink of choice, a whisky on the rocks. And so the evening continued, a highly enjoyable one, from which my thoughts never returned to the thought of my friend deliberately trying to poison us all.


That was until the next morning. As soon as I woke, I received a flurry of messages from the other guests. It appears people were throwing up and feeling impossibly unwell. I myself, while not feeling great, had at least avoided the extreme symptoms that seemed to have befallen my friends. The only explanation that made sense of my comparative wellness was that I was the only person drinking Whisky, a strong wonderful drink that has a history of being used medicinally for centuries.


And so it seems that I had sidestepped the worst of the symptoms that had befallen my pals as a result of the Whisky I had consumed. I apparently owed my relative health that morning to the intoxication of the night before. A quite novel state of affairs. 


Food for thought.


And so the moral of the story, is beware a dinner cooked by the renowned chef Rotheram. And drink copious amounts of Whisky. 


A motto to live your life by.



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