(Breakfast)
I told myself, together with my two travelling companions, that I’d be healthy. I’d just have
some cereal with sliced banana, coffee and juice, and perhaps a slice of wholemeal toast.
But then I clocked the churros and chocolate sauce, the mini doughnuts, the pancakes, the
pastries, not to mention the individually wrapped Magdalenas and María breakfast biscuits —
Spanish after all — better to at least sample something authentic to the country in which one
is holidaying. Which is why I went all out on the tostadas — ladlefuls of pulverised tomato
drenched in olive oil with a generous sprinkling of salt — all lovingly spread over a slice of
toast. Delicious!
Oh, and talking of toast, the bread section was to die for — both bog-standard and artisanal:
buns, baguettes, brioches and bagels, rolls and rusks infused with raisin and rye. The toasting
conveyor belt thingamajig, however, was ever so slow, at which point the juice dispenser
made itself known to me. Heck, why stop at just orange when peach and pineapple are
available too? A fruit-juice fiesta for one at the continual press of a button! Simples!
The actual fruit section was equally enticing, together with the poached apples and pears, and
an array of nibbly bits. Mountains of small plates were conveniently placed nearby — it felt
rude not to! After all, you never know whether that low-season Costa Blanca climate will be
sufficient or not in bolstering immunity for us feeble Brits. Better to be safe than sorry and
have a bit of a boost! A fruit boost.
And on to the cooked section…the hash browns, the beans, the mushrooms. Though, being of
vegan persuasion, the cold meat cuts, the black pudding, bacon, eggs and sausages were
fortunate in their escape from my culinary assault.
Breakfast…the most important meal of the day. And judging from the enthusiastic line of
fellow food foragers, a belief upheld en masse. The justifications? Fuelling up for the day,
lining one’s stomach, building strength and stamina for the day ahead of sun worshipping and
souvenir hunting. No need to fork out on snacks throughout the day — a hearty breakfast will
see you through.
Though, just in case, there was the surreptitious sliding of a food item or two into handbags
and pockets before exiting the dining area. (Mine included.) Always good to have something
at hand when feeling peckish or beginning to flag — should the hotel afternoon snack bar not
meet your requirements. I say snack bar, but I’m not quite sure whether burgers, hot dogs,
chips and onion rings quite meet the definition of the word snack. Not in my book, anyway!
But, when in Benidorm…
(Dinner)
And now we come to the evening feeding frenzy. Suitably hyped and dressed for the occasion
in loose-fitting garb, we hovered around the bar with the other hungry hippos, awaiting the
grand reveal. Anticipation growing, stomachs rumbling, mouths salivating at the thought of
the evening’s offerings — the day’s reward! Before us, countless stainless-steel serving trays,
lids firmly in place, tantalisingly concealing the gastronomic goodies within. Then came 7.30
p.m. The moment we’d all been waiting for.
A maze-like spectacle, section upon section, row upon row of, well…fooooooood. Almost
dancing down the aisles in ecstatic abandon, overcome by the sensory onslaught of sight,
sound and smell! The term ‘eyes bigger than bellies’ had never seemed so appropriate. There
were simply too many dishes to mention, and a discernible lack of hesitation in going up for
seconds, thirds, fourths or even fifths.
But what struck me most was the dessert section. Mostly unrecognisable works of art in
fluorescent shades and peculiar shapes — oozing colourants, preservatives, additives and
God knows what else. Here, I am glad to say, I exercised some restraint — owing to my near
obsession with ‘clean eating’ — albeit a bit too late to this particular party!
Nevertheless, the satisfaction was undeniable. Satisfaction, that is, followed closely by shame
and self-loathing. Not to mention the inevitable indigestion, followed by the less-than-
flattering flatulence. I had fallen victim to the curse of the all-inclusive holiday buffet.
Any semblance of a moral code had been well and truly tossed from my Costa Blanca
balcony. All those misguided notions of instant gratification, false economy and entitlement:
I’m on holiday! I bloody well deserve it! I’ve bloody well paid for it!
Concerns about starving children in faraway countries became less of a concern, never mind
issues of overconsumption, the environment or health. Or could it be that the primordial urge
to hoard — the hunter-gatherer mentality, if you like — simply reared its ravenous head
beneath that baking Benidorm sun?
Whatever the case…I told myself, together with my two travelling companions, that the
following day I’d be healthy. Just some cereal, sliced banana, coffee, juice, and perhaps a
slice of wholemeal toast…
© emmalumsden 06/10/26