THE PARSLEY SAGE

I was taking my lunchtime stroll along MacDowell Road, in the leafy suburbs of Newington, when I came across him, completely by accident.  He startled me as I walked past.  He said: “Do you know of a decent electrician around here?” 

He was sitting on a low wall in front of a respectable Victorian terraced house.  He balanced a huge ‘boom-box’ on his knee, to which he had been listening before my arrival.  He was small, and lean, with a foxy look.  He was also extremely unkempt and dirty.  His hair was matted and shot through with grey, and his beard and moustache grew as wildly as Japanese Knotweed.  He had small, spoon-shaped teeth, and they were stained nut-brown.  In his right hand he held an empty jar of what I took to be Vaseline, as he had rubbed some of its contents over his hands.  These were filthy beneath the patina of unguent and his nails had turned yellow as if in protest.  He wore dirty blue jeans and training shoes that looked as if they had been salvaged from a refuse tip.  His anorak, once blue but now covered in patches of black grease, had split in various parts and the once-white stuffing poked through.  

I told him I had no knowledge of any electricians, not being a local.  He smiled amiably at me through his moustache.  He spoke again. His halitosis came at me like a blow-torch.  I stepped back a couple of yards.   He had a surprisingly refined voice. 

“I know what sort of food would best suit you’” he said.  I was puzzled.

“I beg your pardon?” I exclaimed.

“Napier writes well on the best dietary requirements, but I prefer Michael Pollan’s ‘Food Rules: An Eater’s Manual’.  You’ll find it at Fountainhall Library.”

“My very next port of call”, I replied, drily.

“I can tell you what the best vegetable for you is - mooli”

“Mooli?”

“It’s like a giant radish.  You peel off the skin and there’s delicious white flesh underneath.  Yum-yum.”

“Never heard of it.”  I responded.  He rolled his eyes in mock-horror, like Robert Newton playing Long John Silver.

“Seaweed,” he said, with satisfaction.  “You need to eat seaweed.”

“Seaweed?” 

“Something like Kombu, Bull Kelp or Bladder Wrack would be best.” 

“They sound like diseases” I said. “What do I do – wander down to Longniddry Bents, pick some off the beach and devour the filthy stuff there and then?”

“Don’t be silly – you buy it at health shops. In dried form.”  

He was silent for a second, pondering.  “Ginseng” he cried, triumphantly, “That’s the ticket.  It’s good for the digestion.  Or you could try dandelion root coffee.  Make sure you buy the beans, not the instant stuff.  It’s full of toxins.”

“Thank you,” I responded.  “I’ll bear that in mind.” 

“Of course, you could always try good old tarragon – it’s an aphrodisiac.”

“I think not,” I said, and looked at my watch,  “Good Heavens, is that the time? – I really must be getting along.”

“There’s always burdock.”  I became a little more interested, and replied:

“Well, burdock goes with dandelion like Laurel goes with Hardy.  When I was a boy I drank dandelion…”  He interrupted, rudely.

“Do you know the difference between red lentils and white lentils?”

“You use red lentils in lentil soup?” I suggested.

“Good heavens, no, that’s absurd,” he scolded.  “If you take the outer husk off red lentils, you’re left with white ones.  It’s the same with rice.”
"Red rice?"
"No, brown rice.  You can't get red rice."  I ignored his obvious solecism, and replied: “Well, they say you learn something every day.” 

“Zucchini” he said.

“What, the classical musician?”

“No, that’s Puccini.  Zucchini’s a vegetable.  It’s like a courgette, or squash. It’s Scotland’s tenth favourite culinary vegetable. It’s especially good for the heart and stomach.”

“I prefer meat to vegetables” I said. 

“You know the best meat for you, don’t you?” he said.

“Cougar?” I responded, drily. 

“Bison.  It’s full of Omega 3 – great for the colon and liver.” 

I looked again at my watch.  “What a shame – I have to go now. Well, thank you for the culinary tips - saves me from investing in a Mrs Beeton’s.” 

I hurried on.  He shouted down the street after me: “Chick peas.  Don’t forget that you need chick peas.  Make sure you don’t boil them for too long”. 

A blue-rinse walked past me and looked at me in a most peculiar fashion.  I broke into a trot and turned sharp right onto Langton Road.  I found I was perspiring freely.  

When I arrived at the office later, I reflected that I had never eaten any of the Parsley Sage’s healthy foods in my life, and, as I unwrapped a Crunchie bar to consume with my afternoon coffee (Nescafe, not dandelion root), I thought that it was maybe about time I did something about it.