A friend in England tells me that peacocks are fond of cauliflower. Who would have guessed? And apart from being beautiful, it's probably the only thing they have in common with my darling dog. This may seem strange to you and me, but it's one of the few vegetables -- along with peas, corn, and green beans, basil and parsley -- that she really likes. Raw carrots lost their appeal some years ago: she will only eat them boiled or roasted. Apples used to be liked, in puppyhood; now they are poma non grata -- unless grated and served with a meal. Lettuce is an alien non-food to her. Broccoli also raises no interest, even though we're told that it's the same species as cauliflower, differently cultivated. She'll eat it green, white, purple or orange, but cauliflower it must be.
That brings me to my next thought, which is that when you have a dog, you develop funny unexpected habits. I'm thinking of the fact that I never, these days, just plonk down her meal (whether it's breakfast or dinner). I always announce it like a waiter: 'sardines with peanut butter and parsley'; 'fish with cheese and hot sauce', 'cauliflower cheese with chicken and hot sauce', 'egg with tallow, peas, and basil', 'tallow, chicken broth, and fish', 'yoghurt, gelatin, and beefburger', 'meatloaf!'. It's as if I've come to believe that the advert for the tastiness of what she is about to eat must be frank and enthusiastic. If it's not good enough to say aloud, in the slightly superior and triumphal tones of a posh waiter, then it's not good enough to serve in the first place!