Memory fragment: Oranges and soup – a feast in adversity

‘Feasting in Adversity’ is the title of one of the chapters in a book about feasts that I wrote in 2004. It’s one of my favourites and explores how, when life is very challenging in one way or another, even very simple items of food can take on an extra piquancy. I wrote about this episode with Tim in it.

By the early spring of 2000, Tim had been in hospital for seven weeks and his enhanced cancer treatment had left him unable to bear eating anything. One day he rang up from that sterile ward to say that he would be allowed come out of hospital for a couple of hours and he would like to visit. Maggy said I had to make sure everything was scrupulously clean, and there were to be no food odours in case they made him feel unwell.

When they arrived in the kitchen, just as he had done so many times before, Tim settled himself down in the huge carver at the long table, both of which he had made for us. It felt odd not to be offering anything to eat and drink, and even odder that my kitchen was so clean and tidy with all clutter removed. This is a much more usual view of our table after a visit from the Steads:

But then Tim astonished us by asking for some beer and then proceeded to roll a cigarette to go with it. Two hours came and went, so I offered Maggy some freshly squeezed orange juice, and the zesty smell prompted Tim to ask if he could have some as well, and then he asked for some more. And then a bowl of soup. And another. We watched this defiant freedom feast with exultation, not daring to break the fragile spell. Maggy told me that the next day he had eaten a few chips – could this possibly mark the beginning of a recovery? Alas, it did not. But on that day, the march of time was suspended for a moment.