We’ve all been there.
Ten hours of work behind you, still trying to shrug off the tension of last minute tasks made worse by the stress of a rush hour journey across town, you shake hands and exchange pleasantries with an exhausted glaze over your eyes.
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Awkwardly, you adjust your name tag and finger the glass of wine you picked up when you came in, taking too-big gulps as you scan the entrances and exits to the room.
A pang of hunger shoots through and you try to settle it with another gulp of wine, its acidic tang refreshing your parched throat and momentarily reviving your cotton-wool tongue.
Acquaintances and strangers flit around you, looking as fresh-faced and networking ready as you are not.
In your desperation you mutter under your breath to no one in particular, hoping perhaps the gods will hear: "Where are they?"
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By GlobalData"Where are they?
"Where are the canapés?"
Lunch, that measly, limp sandwich you ate at your desk, was five hours ago. Since then you’ve been subsisting on caffeine, nicotine and grim determination.
Now, with friends to speak to, connections to make and gossip to hear and then surreptitiously repeat, you need food.
Then they arrive. The angelic heralds in clip-on ties, silver platters held aloft, march into the room.
Eagerly, you eye them over the shoulders of those gathered around you, trying not to seem too keen, too greedy.
Others at the edge of the room have sampled the wares so liberally plied by these demi-gods of hospitality.
"What is on offer?" you jealously wonder, craning your neck as far as you can while still pretending you are listening to the conversation.
Your eyes land on one of the waiting staff who seems to be waltzing towards you. Tantalisingly, they weave in and out of the besuited crowd with their back to you, slowly circling around.
Not long now.
Time slows. The second hand of a clock on the wall you never noticed before thunders into silence, a voice to your left deepens to a low rumble, a bead of sweat meanders down your back.
You ready your clammy hand for some canapé platter quick-draw, just as your waiting-staff saviour turns around.
And there they are; arranged in perfect equidistance from each other, uncanny miniature burgers the size of satsumas. You reach out and move one into your mouth with all the grace, subtlety and poise of a front-hoe loader going at a spoil heap.
It has begun – a torrent of tiny food is flooding into the room, and the pains and weakness of hunger fade away as you begin to ruminate on these imitation meals before you.
When did canapés become whole dishes in miniature?
There was a time, you remember, when the food at such gatherings was cubes of yellow cheddar and pickles on sticks; cocktail sausages; frozen and oven-reheated sausage rolls; plain, rock-hard breadsticks. You knew where you were with this stuff even if you’d never eat it otherwise.
When did it change? Now it is a thumbsized piece of beer-battered cod skewered to a single chip, one or two lumps of beef stew and a table spoon of mash potato in a teacup, a stick of tender chicken breast and green beans in a Thai green curry marinade.
You don’t exactly pine for a return to cheese on cocktail sticks, but there is something disconcerting about minuscule gastropub food.
Uncertain what is troubling you; you consider the tiny burger in your hand. It looks big. Looking around, everyone’s hands, grasping bite-sized meals, look big.
That’s it, you realise. No one wants to feel small in this room, crowded as it is with colleagues, friends, professional contacts and rivals.
And no one can feel small with a tiny burger in his hand.
At a corporate hospitality industry meeting not so long ago, probably in a bunker under the Alps, men and women sat in conference. They realised hunger, fatigue, nerves and pressure were stifling the success of the networking drinks around the globe.
These noble captains of nourishment saw a way they could satisfy hunger and the more sophisticated palate while at the same time giving everyone the boost in confidence only feeling like a giant could provide.
People could laugh, shake hands, drink wine, eat nine hamburgers and some fish and chips, and feel big about it too.
Basement Talk raises a glass and a burger to these wise people. Horsemeat.
It has come to our attention recent articles published by Leasing Life contained traces of horsemeat. LL apologies unreservedly for this serious error and wishes to assure readers it is working to ensure all future articles are horse free.
