Shaddap-a-yo-face

I like food. No, really I do. Mexican, Italian, Portugese, sometimes Chinese, always biryani.
But my two ferocious pet hates are food related.
The first one is one I believe I share with many people. All sane people anyway. That would be the noises emitted from certain digusting individuals whilst they eat, nay devour, their food. This is usually the result of a poor upbringing that results in the mouth being open during their meal. But now it expands beyond these ill mannered folk. I think that my hate has now influenced my hearing to evolve into an acute ‘munch, crunch, I’m eating lunch’ sound capturing apparatus. I can hear you masticating from across the room. You over there nibbling politely on your cereal bar with your mouth respectfully closed? Thanks but I can still hear your teeth grinding together. And mum, I love you, but please stop eating that banana right now.
I also despise those who talk about food. Okay, I don’t mean I’m going to shoot you for asking me what I want for lunch. I mean the people who deliberate over their food. Those who explain in great (agonising) detail what they are in the mood for right now. I hate it because I know they are going to use food describing words. Succulent, juicy, delectable…. Why do I hate these words? Because I picture drool associated with them. I imagine lack of self control. Going ga-ga over goose, silly over spring onions, crazy about cannelloni. Of course, there are books, programmes, sites and even weblogs discussing food in great length. I loathe it.
And you know who’s to blame for all this hate, don’t you? Lloyd bloody Grossman.