I have always loved singing. This despite the fact that my reports from pre-school read something like: ‘Carina is a robust and enthusiastic singer. However she is seldom in tune.’
Later, in boarding school, I was mortified when the singing teacher pointed me out in front of the whole class, and in her terrible accent said: “Carreeena Truyts. See me ofter class- you con’t sing.’
Just like that. She smashed a ten-year old girl’s ego to bits.
Stubborn chit that I was, I refused to see her after class. I purposefully sang louder and more off- key than ever. I rumpled up her music pages. After school I sat on the roof of the music building, and pelted her with cherries and ripe, bursting mulberries as she exited, then scurried over the other side before running for my life.
These exercises have meant that I am under no false impressions as to the character and tune of my voice. I try not to burden anyone with having to listen to it
There is a lady who works with us who reckons she is quite the opera singer. She’s very sweet, and means well, but I am afraid that even I can tell that there is no potential here. Considering my history, I am sensitive to her plight and thus I say nothing. I allow her to break off in her hymms and choruses with no comment.
I turn to my precious i-pod, smiling and slipping it into my ears. It doesn’t quite drown out the sound, but at least it distracts me. Thus I have started to give some thought to different music for different foods. Don’t laugh, but I seriously consider my playlist options when tying on my apron.
I recently decided to debone a saddle of lamb. (A labourious task to say the least; if you’re smart you will just ask the butcher to de-bone it before you buy it). Quite daunted, I tried The Postal Service but that was a bit boring, not enough pace. I changed to Imogen Heap- but it sounded too feminine and romantic. Then I hit on Razorlight and have decided that it is the perfect soundtrack to de- boning. I lost track of time, trying to move my knife smoothly against the bone, not hacking. I made my last cut to that final line in ‘Los Angeles Waltz’- Telling my now bone-less lamb saddle fiercely: “You’ve met your match.”
You should try match food and music. It’s harder than pairing a white wine with artichoke and truffle salad (Which is a challenge). But it’s easier than listening to a drone and smiling as if the new Susan Boyle has just been discovered.
*The lamb I was making was a Gordon Ramsay recipe that can be watched here and read here It looks nice, and the stuffing is delicious. But it cooks for too long- so the lamb isn't pink anymore. And there's too much fat on, I think try cut some fat and the skin off so you can at least get a crackling sort-of effect. And roast it maybe half an hour and then check.