Sainsbury Centre, UEA

8 March

The thrill of playing chicken with the rain passes midway round the UEA broad, as we are belly-punched by the sort of hunger found only in the great outdoors, at least twenty minutes from the nearest cake. Torn between the Sainsbury Centre or a gobfull of bulrushes, we take the path more trodden.

With only three sandwiches to choose between, I grab one round of Norfolk Dapple and chutney, and, despite myself, one of prawns with lemon and dill mayonnaise.

“Why the reticence?”, you may ask. The answer is simple: after estate agents and people with exceptionally small eyes, there is nothing I distrust more than prawn sandwiches.

Unlike Mrs Wifey’s fear of aviaries (ie the birds will tunnel out and batter her) or her fear of convertibles (ie they all flip upside down), this prejudice is quite rational. Statistically speaking, I’ve just had too many dodgy experiences (ie with estate agents, prawn sandwiches, and people with exceptionally small eyes).

In the event, however, the prawns are fresh and meaty, while the tartness of the lemon prevents the mayonnaise from getting richly out of hand. Likewise, the sweetness of the chutney checks the umami of the local cheese, again making a perfectly balanced sandwich.

Of course, man cannot live on bread alone. Before I’m ready to face the elements once more it’s going to take (a) sugar (a whole bunch of) and (b) caffeine (a clinically dangerous dose).

I slug back an Americano. Mildly bitter, like the memory of a history detention circa 1987, it doesn’t just pep me up, it hits like a battering ram made of Jackie Chans. My pulse races as my veins swell with electricity and I become slightly panicky about something indefinable.

Mrs Wifey’s hot chocolate, meanwhile, is a work of art: hot creamy milk in a cup thickly lined with a dark cocoa-rich fondue, topped off with a cappuccino-like froth and chocolate powder. Other café proprietors could learn much from this.

Bolstering the beverages we choose two coaster-sized squares of shortcake (not too sweet, not too dry, not too greasy) and wad of date flapjack (again, a possible contender for best in class).

As the coffee and cake hit the digestive system during the subsequent march around the cloth and culture exhibition, I realise that while I may not know much about art, I certainly do know what makes me nervous around textiles.

Keywords: biscuits and pictures
Eat here: hearty arty lunches