It wasn’t always like this. A good 30 or so years ago I could walk into any eatery and someone would exclaim: “Isn’t that Andrew Cunningham? The food critic from the radio? I’d recognise that gait anywhere.” Indeed, I was the talk of the town(s) and the fear that lurked in the hearts of unskilled chefs everywhere. The nation would come to a halt, eyes fixed on the radio every Tuesday and Sunday from 6:45 to 7:15 for my latest exposé of some unsuspecting fool. I was direct, relentless, even cruel at times. And by God did they love it. These days, everyone’s a critic. No more listening to the reasonable one in the room. Now we “think for ourselves” or whatever people born in this millennium think they have to think. Authority is at an all-time low, and its starting to show.
‘Cunning Andy’ my classmates called me. Respected from day one at West Scunthorpe Public School for Boys. Within hours of arriving on my first day I was overheard complaining about the schools choice of milk brand, the rather haphazardly named “Mὕller Milk and Ingredients”. ‘What are these other unspecified ingredients! Does milk not count as an ingredient!’ As indignation coursed through my veins and self-righteous wit throbbed from ear to ear I knew my fate lay in the pursuit of food, or at the very least dairy, criticism.
Despite my barrage of minute complaints my mother forced me to eat the school lunches because they were free and she couldn’t afford to provide on her own. Had no problem making her own lunch though. After informing me that food criticism was a dead-end career, I aimed to prove her wrong by running away and never speaking to her again. That in itself was more of a means-to-an-end. After faxing a couple reviews of binned or out of date food to The Guardian (they’ll print anything) my foot was in the proverbial kitchen door, the kind that swings both ways and has a cubby hole in it. Boris Becker (not that one!), owner of what once was The Kitchen 92.4FM, loved the pieces and understood that deep down all I ever wanted was some proper food in me.
I mention all the above because I’ve had some major changes in my life recently. My wife, partner and best friend has left me after years of attempts to rectify our love. All that work for nothing (I don’t even think she really tried, to be honest). On top of that, my manager Fatima got needlessly angry for the dozenth time over my nickname for her and fired me. Somewhere in the midst of all this my mother passed on, but I don’t really care about that. Economically speaking I could also be doing better. Right now, I’m surviving off sales from any leftover Cunning Corner merch I can find (www.cunningcorner.org) however my box of polos is running lower by the day. I’ve begun to question how I ended up in this state. I am NOT a man who questions himself. Not easily anyway. I believe my dedication to providing honesty and taste makes up for any perceived shortcomings, emotionally or in other departments for that matter.
However, since reaching what some would described as rock bottom I have decided to embrace my newfound freedom and explore avenues I would’ve never considered in the past. Splat! has allowed me to host these gastronomic columns on their website for the generous sum of only 14.99 a month, as well as carte blanche to free meals across the city within ‘reasonable limits’ . I am hoping this speech-to-text software can also be considered a company expense.
So strap on those bibs and unfastened your belt a couple notches. Because I guarantee if you stick with me this will be an engaging, thought-proken and well edited adventure through the life and times of this die hard food fan.
