day 24
I am living with lactose intolerance. But I am not defined by it.
As a youth, I thought having tummy aches on the daily was just a natural aspect of being a human being. You sleep, you poop, you shower and you have a tummy ache once a day. A SURGE of lactose intolerance, i.e. an episode is never a particularly glorious thing to experience. It always seems to happen when you’re somewhere incredibly inappropriate and where a toilet is not. On the tube, in the middle of a meeting, walking along a highstreet where all the cafes are closed, in a shopping centre where they’ve hidden all the toilets in the back of the M&S cafe with no sign posting. (WHY??) You’re suddenly struck by an intense tummy gurgling, sharp pain, sweat breaks out down your back and you know that you are moments if not seconds away from all hell breakin loose. It’s horrific. Sometimes, the window closes and you can avoid it, you breathe a sigh of relief, the worst is over, and you can go back to eating your cheese sandwich.
The reason anyone ever goes to a restaurant, is to escape real life for a while… it’s suddenly like the whole universe is in there, and you can see and smell it, and encompass it all in this beautiful, simple, temporary thing.
You may ask, why don’t you just avoid lactose products Tiffany? And I say to you, WhY dOn’t YoU just get in the BIN. It’s all about the cost/ benefit analysis. Is this meal worth potentially shitting out my organs for? And being virtually incapacitated for the rest of the evening? Sometimes the answer is a resounding HELL YES. My brother’s fiancé being the real adult that she is, suggested I cut out lactose products to see if it made any difference. And, yes, you know what, it did. Living without tummy aches and a radioactive bowel regime, was kind of revolutionary but, ya know what, I’m a glass half full kinda person, and sometimes it’s worth the risk.
Have you ever been to an Italian restaurant that you’ve truly, enjoyed sans lactose? Burrata, tiramisu, baked goods, pizza, pasta. I dream about burrata. Cutting a fine line into that glorious swollen ball of cheese, and the fresh central core comes oozing out. Glistening in the glow of the dim restaurant’s lighting Eurgh. Are you turned on right now?? Or is that just me. Circolo Popolare has got to be everyone’s ultimate Italian restaurant in London. It’s like walking into an undiscovered Italian village, where the old men still sit on the corner of the street, smoking cigars, hiding from their wives who are scolding them for going to the cafe, drinking too much coffee and smoking too many cigars. The festoon fairy lights strung up on the ceiling, give you the impression you’re under the stars, not in the middle of Tottenham Court road, hoping to avoid (in normal times) hordes of shoppers and creepy drunk men.
And I suppose the reason anyone ever goes to a restaurant, is to escape real life for a while. In this new limited version of the world, everything has a purpose, rhythm, an easy to follow pattern. Talk to the waiters, order the food, consider cocktails, yes obviously, eat too much bread, but still order enough to feed a small army, consider dessert - get 3, laugh a lot, solve the world’s problems because inside the walls of a restaurant, it’s suddenly like the whole universe is in there, and you can see and smell it, and encompass it all in this beautiful, simple, temporary thing. It’s a moment suspended in time. And sometimes, a night like that is worth a little tummy ache or two.