The non-existent benefits of eating less

Do you have a friend you’ve never met and will likely never meet, a friend who doesn’t know you exist? Well, I do: her name is Gina Kolata, she lives in New York and… but wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me backtrack, and tell you first about the perfidy of another friend, Rahul, who I have known since boyhood.

A few days ago, my wife and I met Rahul and his wife for dinner. After we exchanged the usual how-are-you, is-the-back-better and has-it-been-raining-or-what, I got down to business.

“Just because he is a waiter, we shouldn’t keep him waiting,” I said and addressed the good gentleman myself. “For starters, how about a plate of samosas, some paneer tikka masala and papadi chaat?”

“Hello!” said Rahul, “That’s way too much food for the four of us…” – actually I had only ordered for myself – “and on top of that, it’s loaded with calories. Here, let me take over.”

He beckoned the waiter over to his side of the table, instructed him to get a large plate of green salad and while I was still recovering from the shock, dismissed him (“That’ll be all - we’ll give you the mains’ order soon.”) He then turned to me and began a lecture on over-eating, calorie consumption and the evils of fried food.

“I’ve been researching health,” he said. “You should go to this site, www.mayoclinic.org. At your age, Paddy, you should be…”

“I’m the same age as you,” I reminded him. “We went to school together.”

Getting more sophisticated about drinking

In a previous column I explained how gracefully Indians have been climbing the social staircase, exhibiting particular elegance when it comes to drinking alcohol. And as in other walks of life, the woman has begun to walk side-by-side with her man on the alcoholic alley, imbibing the stuff with equal relish. With alcohol inside her, she can no longer be relied upon to drive the happy husband home after a boisterous party. She may sportingly agree to a coin toss to decide who wins the right to drink and be driven (but if she loses the toss, she may simply order a taxi and close the argument).

But while both sexes may sip whisky shoulder-to-shoulder, dispensing drinks is still the man’s domain. Showing kindness and grace, the woman allows her man freedom to choose the liquor-stocking furniture; arrange it in a strategic location; buy all the accompanying dispensing equipment – wine-openers, corkscrews, ice-picks, soda-makers and cocktail mixers; ensure their maintenance; select the right array of glasses to serve beer, whisky, wine and juice; keep them all immaculately polished; stock sufficient quantities of liquor to meet the needs of a wide variety of thirsty guests, including the unplanned ones (“My cousins were in town and were dying to meet you”); ensure availability of ice and soda; and finally, serve each drink precisely as ordered. The woman looks on with benign indulgence as we do all this fun stuff.

A few weeks ago, I observed the suave aplomb of the male host as he offered his guest, a portly banker, a drink.

“Name your poison.” He said it grandly but the statement's splendour was slightly diluted by the fact that he had employed it on his three previous guests.