Dan Brown. Really? Photo: Getty
Show Hide image

Could you go out with a Dan Brown fan?

 How online dating has turned singles into perfectionists.

Renowned online dater Eleanor Margolis staggered through the plentiful profiles in OkCupid’s grand gallery. To her delight, a message soon appeared in her inbox, as suddenly as a seven-figure advance on an atrocious novel that 3.5 billion people will nonetheless probably read.

This is the story of internet dating and the (not so stealthy) Dan Brown fan. On the likes of OkCupid, a new message is always a bit thrilling. I’d put it on about the same level as spotting Trevor McDonald at McDonald’s, or finding a quid on the pavement. With every new message, there’s always the hope that it will be the most promising you’ve ever received – or the least, and therefore entertaining in its own way.

This one seemed fairly promising. She’d clearly bothered to read my profile, and had even taken the time to send me a well-written and mildly funny message, rather than the standard “Hey, how’re you”. Her profile was appealing, her self-description witty and succinct; her taste in music and films matched mine (though find me one lesbian in her twenties who isn’t into Kelis and Woody Allen).

Then it came to books. Donna Tartt: nice; Jeanette Winterson: again, an obvious lesbian choice, but nice; Kurt Vonnegut: nice; and Dan Brown: oh. Not, “And, I have to admit, I don’t mind a bit of Dan Brown”; no, this woman had casually placed the man who wrote the following sentence – Overhanging her precarious body was a jaundiced face whose skin resembled a sheet of parchment paper punctured by two emotionless eyes – next to the man who wrote Slaughterhouse-Five. Instantly, I knew I could never let her touch me.

Online dating is turning singles like me into utter bastards. Had I met this Dan Brown fan in a bar, maybe we would’ve got talking (like I’ve ever just “got talking” to anyone in a bar, but still). Maybe we would’ve dated – we have plenty in common, after all. It could have been weeks or months before the Dan Brown thing reared its renowned head.

But when someone’s entire personality is laid out in front of you like one of those laminated menus with pictures of the food, it’s tempting to whip out a pair of tweezers and prepare yourself for a sneer.

This precious attitude towards meeting a partner is dooming snobs of my type to a life of forlorn onanism. I don’t doubt for a second that women have made snap judgements about me based on my dating profile. I can hardly hold it against them.

The internet has turned singles into perfectionists, in a world where perfectionism can only lead to loneliness. Then again, I’ve avoided dating someone who takes Dan Brown seriously. And for that, I’ll always be thankful.

Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose "Lez Miserable" column appears weekly on the New Statesman website.

This article first appeared in the 08 May 2014 issue of the New Statesman, India's worst nightmare?

Show Hide image

Ukrainian cooking shakes off the old Soviet fur coat

Forget the stereotype: Ukranian cuisine is about more than just borscht, as a new cookbook shows.

“Potatoes,” Olia Hercules fumes. “Everyone thinks I’ve written a book about bloody potatoes.” It must be said that there is the odd spud in Mamushka (Mitchell Beazley), her surprisingly colourful celebration of Ukrainian food (after all, how could you have an eastern European cookbook without borscht?), but potatoes are far from the only thing to thrive in the country’s famously fertile black soil.

In fact, Hercules – young, slightly built and rarely seen without a slick of dangerously red lipstick – bears as much resemblance to the archetypal babushka as her homeland does to the bleak, grey landscape of the popular imagination. Born close to the Crimean border, she spent many holidays at the beach by the Sea of Azov, “the shallowest in the world”, where the kids ran around smothered in kefir to soothe their sunburn and everyone feasted on mountains of home-made apricot doughnuts.

Southern Ukraine, it turns out, is a land of plenty – during its long, hot summers anyway. There are prickly cucumbers picked straight from the vine, “aromatic and warm from the blistering sun”, sour cherries that “just drop off trees in the streets in June”, and the best watermelons you’ve ever tasted: “huge, firm, stripy beasts”, Hercules says.

What isn’t eaten straight from the garden will be preserved carefully to see the household through the region’s mild winters. The conserves include some rather intriguing fizzy fermented tomatoes that promise to blow your mind and your taste buds. In Ukraine, she says, “Tomatoes are king!” Fresh curd cheese and barbecued catfish, warm, flaky pumpkin bread and saffron-spiked rice all sound a blessedly long way from that old Soviet favourite, herring in a fur coat.

Nevertheless, this sunny childhood was still spent under the rule of Moscow, with its power cuts and queues, and Hercules retains to this day a nostalgic fondness for margarine, a legacy, she says, of the USSR’s “perpetual credit crunch”. A family favourite of slow-cooked goose brings back memories of bribes her surgeon uncle received to grease the creaking wheels of an ageing Soviet health system, while the home-made silky egg noodles underneath were a necessity, at a time when the local shop stocked only the occasional packet of grey macaroni.

The Soviet Union can also take some credit for the diversity of Hercules’s family, and hence the food on which she grew up. When you have a Siberian grandmother, aunts from Armenia, an Uzbek father and relatives in Azerbaijan, impossibly exotic asides such as “My grandmother picked this recipe up when she lived in Tashkent” just come naturally.

In answer to my geographic puzzling, Hercules snorts that “Ukraine basically is eastern Europe”, but the country’s culinary horizons stretch far further – there’s even a significant Korean population in the south, which, in the absence of Chinese cabbage for kimchi, has contributed a pickled carrot dish to her book.

For most of us, thanks to long memories for those tales of endless queues and dismal canteen cooking, the curtain is yet to rise on the culinary delights of the former Soviet bloc. The television producer Pat Llewellyn, the woman who discovered Jamie Oliver and was
food judge for the 2015 André Simon Awards, described it as “a much-underrated food culture” when praising the shortlisted Mamushka (the author’s childhood nickname for her mother, which has come to signify, she says, “strong women in general”).

It’s anyone’s guess whether that means we’ll get to see Hercules, resplendent in one of her signature knotted headscarves, showing off her Moldovan giant cheese twists on screen any time soon. But we’ll be seeing a lot more of her beloved “mamushka cooking”, one way or another. Just don’t mention the P word.

Next week: Richard Mabey on nature

Felicity Cloake write the food column for the New Statesman. She also writes for the Guardian and is the author of  Perfect: 68 Essential Recipes for Every Cook's Repertoire (Fig Tree, 2011) and Perfect Host: 162 easy recipes for feeding people & having fun (Fig Tree, 2013). She is on Twitter as @FelicityCloake.

This article first appeared in the 11 February 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The legacy of Europe's worst battle