Nothing is so unwelcome as artistically overdoing it. I would much rather witness someone forget their lines than run through the gamut of embarrassing on-stage exuberance, from too many swear words to too many encores. The disease is particularly rife in live art, where audiences tend to be visually and mentally assaulted by performers who have been taught that it is worthwhile to make the same brain-numbing point three, four or even five times.
Ali Zaidi's culinary performance Cooked with Love was all the more welcome because it was underplayed. To mark his parents' 45th wedding anniversary, Zaidi, director of the multicultural theatre company Moti Roti, had used 45 ingredients to cook a 45-course banquet for 45 people. Food-wise, the night was gargantuan; but the artistic intervention was souffle-light and ideal for Home, a house in south London that doubles as a venue for live art. It is run by Laura Godfrey Isaacs, who lives there with her husband and their two daughters, and I am a member of the board.
The 45 people, many of whom had never met Zaidi, turned up in various shades of blue to mark the sapphire anniversary. Zaidi - Indian by birth, Pakistani by migration and British by choice - was dapper in narrow trousers, white thonged sandals and sapphire nail varnish. "This is my dad," he said, introducing a PowerPoint display of archive shots of his parents. Mr Zaidi, a Bollywood film director, died about five years ago, but no matter. "He is floating around somewhere," said his son. Mrs Zaidi, who now lives in Croydon, wasn't there either, although she had cooked 20 of the 45 courses.
The presentation continued, showing pictures of elegant Indians laughing and eating at the wedding reception in a Bombay hotel on 1 October 1959. There were a few shots of Zaidi's mum and dad in post-Partition Pakistan, and even fewer of Zaidi and his brother as boys, then that was it. We toasted Mr and Mrs Zaidi and started eating the 45 dishes.
After about 30, I waddled up to Zaidi to ask if there was going to be any further presentation - tips for a happy marriage, perhaps, or suggestions on Indian-Pakistani harmony. He looked at me as if I were mad. "The food speaks for itself," he said. "I am so bored with live performances which go on and on. Why string it all out? I've said what I had to say. If I was to go to something like this and someone laboured the point, the food would curdle in my mouth. Listen to everyone! All their inhibitions have fallen away."
Fair enough. Like the recent arrival of the 90-minute play, the 15-minute live art piece combined with feast seemed a rather jolly invention. Everyone continued talking and ploughing through aubergine, potato and tamarind, semolina, mushrooms and cinnamon. We all wrote messages to Zaidi's mother in a book. Not many of us had ever met - or were ever likely to meet - the woman photographed as a beautiful bride, laughing in a demure headscarf. Her wedding party had been made to resonate across the world and on to a dinner table in south London, travelling 45 years as if lightly dropping, like a flake of confetti, through a time-related wormhole.
The "Culture of Cooking" series of performances continues at Home, London SE5 (07957 565 336) until 10 December
