I don’t know how cravings work, but at 5am this morning I woke up wanting a sausage roll. And no, that’s not a euphemism.
Given it was a little early in the morning and I wasn’t meaning a sausage roll of the Gregg’s variety I set about trying to distract my brain with other things that didn’t involve thinking about the yumminess of a piece of meat wrapped in pastry.
Now, I don’t know how you are when it comes to cravings, but me, once I’ve got the idea of a food-stuff in my head that I want, I cannot stop thinking about it. Over and over my brain goes about the details of the deliciousness and before I know it I am salivating just thinking. And the pleasure and the pain and the anticipation builds to such a breaking point that I think I will just, well, break unless I get it! In fact, I think it should be called food crazings rather than cravings because I know for me, the desire just send me loopy!
Fast forward to 11am and I am starving. I’ve had no breakfast on account of not being able to eat the dry washboard feel of a slice of toast or the milky cardboardness of a bowl of shreddies, because, well, it’s not a sausage roll.
Such is the level of my obsession.
At this point, I should now convince myself to eat something else. But given I’m on this new mission to Find More Happy, I decide to build the ‘mission’ into my day and make it the day.
Convincing the Other Half wasn’t difficult, a fellow carnivore, he was up for a random miniscule mission such as this.
So off we jaunt to a pub about a mile away which I remembered from Time Out had gourmet sausage rolls. Pushing open their doors just one minute past their noon opening time, I launch myself on the bartender.
“Hello, I’ve come for your sausage rolls!”
He looks at me uncomfortably.
“Sausage rolls?” He repeats, as though I’ve asked him to chew on my hair.
“Yes, sausage rolls,” I echo excitedly.
“Sorry, we haven’t got any sausage rolls,” he says looking a little downcast.
“Will you have some later?” I ask, not willing to lose hope. “Like maybe when the kitchen is open? Am I too early, is that the issue?”
The manager glides over at this point and shows me a menu. “We have a pop up this month, it’s Mexican food, I can tell you the tacos are exceptionally delicious.”
“But no sausage rolls?” I repeat, just to be sure.
“No,” he says, shaking his head.
I exit the pub. So much for Time Out’s recommendation.
Unsure how to search for outlets selling sausage rolls in the local area, we proceed to wander to a number of different establishments to complete our mission. The sausage-rollness is not forthcoming and in a complete departure to the original mission, the Other Half suggests a French Patisserie around the corner with stellar reviews.
I’m unsure about the choice, but given the amount of time that had already been given over to this mad mission, I am willing to yield…until I spot a pub across the road.
“Shall we just pop in and have a last check of this one before we commit?”
Entering into the coal fire smoked surroundings, my clothes and hair quickly absorb the scent of burnt embers.
“Can I help you?” asks the female bartender, eager to please, given we were the only punters. Suspicious of the empty pub, I ask her if I can look at the menu. She passes me the cream sheet of paper and my heart does a flip as I scan down the list: Pork & fennel sausage roll, onion & grain mustard chutney.
Fearful this is too good to be true I check: “Do you have sausage rolls in stock today?” She says she’ll go and check with the kitchen. Nervously I wait by the bar, will my mission be complete? Will my craving by satisfied?
She comes back smiling, “Yes, we have sausage rolls.”
“Oh thank goodness,” I reply with such happiness and relief “I’ve been looking all over for them.”
She smiles it me with a hint of incredulity and eyes the clock on the wall, Just gone 1pm and already the crazies are in. I think that’s what she thought.
