As readers know, my favourite restaurant is … my car. Like nothing better than to get a pack of sandwiches, crisps, juice and a paper, and to sit in admittedly tight comfort, undisturbed by waiters and other persecutors of humanity.
However, I also like to smuggle food into hotel rooms. I’m not entirely sure you have to smuggle food into hotels.
High-end ones, yes. I don’t think it would be done to be clocked by the receptionist with bottles of beer clanking in your Lidl bag and a stick of French bread peeping out the top.
Budget hotels are like cruises
I stay in budget or just above budget hotels – not sure there are any budget hotels left. They’re like cruises: “from £699 per person”. Actual lowest price: £3,600.
And that’s for a hammock in the engine room.
Budget and semi-budget hotels are also like Ryanair. There are extra charges if you want wi-fi, breakfast, a bed.
But at least most of their clientele are riff-raff like your columnist, and you do see less self-conscious customers breenging in bearing supermarket bags.
I try to hide my supermarket-bought dinner in a backpack. These are good for culinary secret missions.
The spine-tingling moment
But there’s still that spine-tingling moment of excitement when you walk past the receptionist (when there is one; I believe you must pay extra for these in some hotels).
Sometimes, I assail them with a voluble and confident “Good evening!”, which I then spoil by adding: “There’s nothing suspicious in my backpack. Oh no.”
Fish suppers and curries can be hidden in a backback but, of course, they have the added problem of aroma.
In particular, I pray that no member of staff comes close to engage in conversation with me (“We’ve had complaints about your kazoo-playing”), when they’ll doubtless catch a whiff.
Dining in the car
Of course, I can and sometimes do eat take-aways in my car but, as I dislike eating without watching something on a screen, I rarely find this satisfactory.
There can also be a problem when you forget to ask for a wooden fork and have to eat the curry with your hands.
In hotel rooms, I have become adept at using the teaspoon from the tea-tray for take-aways. You just have to shovel the food in faster.
I’m sure all of this worry is needless. When I asked the hotel if they were cool with me hanging around my room working every morning, they said: “Yep. It’s your room to do with as you please.” So I put in some decking and a small shed.
‘I gave up eating in restaurants alone’
You say: “Why don’t you eat in a restaurant, ken?” But I gave up dining alone in restaurants.
You always get these couples with nothing to stay to each other staring at you relentlessly. And it’s not just the other customers.
In a Chinese restaurant once, all the staff came out to stand in a line staring at me. I stared back irritatedly, but they never blinked. Weird.
During my recent stay in the city, I dined out a lot with pals, but the whole ordering thing is never comfortable. And you have to use plates.
Also, my pals don’t know how to behave. Throwing potatoes. Being sick. No wonder I never invite them to dine in my car.
