FOOD FOR THOUGHT

THE FOOD RIOTS THAT RAGED throughout Portugal on Tuesday the 1st of May have given many of the good and great in the country something to think about other than the abstract figures and graphics that they usually turn to in order to gauge the state of the nation. The fact that, when questioned by journalists on the evening news, not one of the political leaders or members of the Portuguese national parliament had a clue about what had happened the length and breadth of Portugal on Tuesday shows just how cut off they are from real life.

WHAT HAD HAPPENED was that the nationwide supermarket chain Pingo Doce decided to make a one-day-only special offer of 50% off all shopping over the value of €100. Nobody – not least the hapless managers of the supermarkets – were prepared for the outrageous scenes that followed as soon as word was passed around. (The announcement had only been made on popular radio stations.)

THE SUPERMARKETS AND OUT-OF-TOWN megastores became naturally overrun by shoppers eager to benefit from this special offer. The chain had innocently imagined that people would shop “normally” (whatever that is) and would be pleased by the discount. Instead, people descended on the stores in transit vans intent on buying, say, fifty bottles of whisky or twenty mega-packs of children’s nappies.

AS ANY INTELLIGENT PERSON would have been able to tell the owners of the chain, fights would ensue, bottles would be broken, nappy-bags would be ripped to shreds, police officers would be called and shops would be closed down for the day. And even the “peaceful” stores would run out of stock sometime during mid-morning.

THE FACT THAT IN FORTY CASES police intervention led to arrests and a large number of people were injured and needed to undergo medical treatment shouts facts about the parlous state of the Portuguese economy; the fact that all of this took place without the attention of the nation’s leaders shows how the financial crisis (and indeed daily life in general) bypasses the political classes.

BUT THE MOST UPSETTING EVENT of the whole sorry affair involved my good self. Having decided to make Ossobuco for dinner, I innocently walked down the avenue to my local branch of Pingo Doce to buy a bottle of Napoleon brandy and a small packet of walnuts for the sauce. I assumed that the broken glass and liquid on the floor of the almost empty shop was due to a shelf-stocking accident, and proceeded to the drinks area.

WHEN MY LIFE WAS THREATENED by two swarthy ruffians who were “guarding” the strong spirits shelves “for a friend”, simply because I had attempted to take a bottle of brandy from among the bottles, I realised that my custom might better be granted to other purveyors.