‘There’s lots of food on offer,’ Violet looks confused. ‘The snack truck always has a limitless stock of fresh veg. I’ve been pigging out on carrots all trip!’
The wordspigging outandcarrotsdon’t seem like natural bedfellows to me.
‘And you can get a spinach smoothie from the bar whenever you like.’
‘But Vi, I don’t want to “pig out” on smoothies, or two pieces of rocket, or a small bowl of quinoa. I need some bloody carbs!’ I sort-of shout, gripping our table in a frenzy.
‘Can I help madam with anything?’ asks a slice of grilled halloumi. Wait, no, it’s a waiter dressed all in white.
‘I need some carbs!’ I plead.
‘Okay,’ he smiles, attempting to diffuse my meltdown. ‘Don’t panic. Chef has some pearl barley in stock for this very situation, he can make a barley risotto for you?’
So, I wolfed the ‘risotto’ down like a woman possessed and, guys, I can tell you that it did not hit the spot. When I said carbs, I was hoping for something a little bit more. . .absolutely massive burger. And now I’m lying awake fantasising about burning down the vegetable snack truck using nothing but the fuel of my rage. I’m just not the kind of person who finds a handful of radish will stave off those mid-morning munchies, especially after hiking up the alps and swimming a zillion lengths (in an admittedly beautiful fresh-water pool) all before ‘breakfast’ (chia porridge. . . I can’t even.) Violet is snoring in the bed next to mine. All I can think about is getting to the airport and doing a smash and grab around the food stores there, but we don’t fly home until tomorrow which means I’ll have to endure an entire night of rumbling tum.
Tum. What a funny word! I say it over and over in my mind until it loses all meaning. Tum. What’s it even playing at?
Shitting hell I’ve lost my mind in the middle of Switzerland and all because my pre-Swiss diet consisted mostly of chips, burgers, noodles, pastries and anything delicious, basically. Perhaps now would be a good time to reflect on my diet. Maybe make some healthy lifestyle changes?
Or. . .
I’m pulling on my jeans and sneaking out of the door within seconds. That waiter said something about a chef, which means there must be a kitchen, which means I must be able to find it and bloody well make myself some food. I tiptoe across the room and am out the door. After lights out! I have very little idea, because there are no clocks in this place, but it must be pushing 9pm by now. I am so naughty! I am on a mission! I am—
‘Can I help?’
Balls. I am busted.
Ispin around, racking my brains for excuse for being out of myprison cellbedroom. In front of me stands a member of staff I’ve not seen before. He’s tall and lightly tanned with cheekbones so angled they look like diamond edges.
‘I was, um, going to do some meditating?’
A pause. A raised eyebrow. ‘After lights out?’
‘I find it really helps with my. . . chakras.’
The hint of a smile. Then that deep voice again. ‘Would you like me to show you to the meditation room?’
My face crumples. ‘I don’t actually want to meditate. I’m just so bloody hungry!’ I blink through the dimly lit hallway at the name badge on his suit jacket. ‘Ralph, I need some carbohydrates.’
‘I hear that chef has some pearl barley. . .’
‘Let me stop you right there, Ralph. I’ve already eaten as much pearl barley as your tiny bowls would allow and it has done nothing. NOTHING, I TELL YOU. Please, you have to help me!’
He looks stern and not a little displeased that I’m pawing at his pristine shirt. And then he says, ‘I could take you out for supper?’
‘Huh?’
‘Supper. Out.’
‘But I’m not allowed to leave this place,’ I hiss, terrified. What if the walls have ears or whatever that phrase is. What if Ralph is testing me and the wrong answer lands me in Greedy Pig classes all day tomorrow?
‘We’renotthatstrict,’ he says with a little laugh. ‘I was going to a place in town to pick up some food, but why don’t you join me and we could eat in? The restaurant is well known for its traditionalrösti.’
Röstias in potato cakes?!
