We’d be fools to surrender the pleasure of open conversation

I once briefly entertained thoughts of a career in the law, and had the good fortune to spend a short time as marshal to Judge Anthony Babington. He was a remarkable man; having overcome the effects of a grievous wartime head wound, his charm, wisdom and humanity were such that the time I spent with him remains one of the most memorable encounters of my life.

Not the least impressionable aspect of it was taking lunch in the judges’ dining room. Surrounded by figures of striking appearance and trenchant opinions, I felt as though I had strayed into a Gillray cartoon. It was an experience that might not have met with the approval of Sir Geoffrey Vos, the current Master of the Rolls.

Speaking at the Legal Services Board conference, Sir Geoffrey warned of the conversational errors into which “white, male lawyers [who] like the sound of their own voices” are prone to fall. These include droning on about football, cricket, Oxford and “the latest operatic product at Covent Garden” – subjects likely, he warned, to make “women, ethnic-minority lawyers and those from less privileged backgrounds… feel excluded”.

All these potentially marginalised groups may have knowledge of these supposedly triggering subjects quite sufficient for them to hold their own in the droning-on stakes. But perhaps more interesting is the question of what constitutes conversation.

The Reverend Sydney Smith called it “one of the greatest pleasures in life”. But over the centuries the joy of wide-ranging discourse has proved vulnerable to mass media and what Macaulay called the “periodical fits of morality” that assail the British public.

We are currently undergoing such a fit which, combined with the solipsistic seductions of the online echo chamber, makes the prospect of a free exchange of ideas seem as critically endangered as the Yangtze finless porpoise. Attempts to revive it, such as the School of Life’s Table Talk Place Cards (£14.99, with questions such as, “In what ways is your family especially odd?”) seem more like amateur psychotherapy than enlightenment.

It is, of course, both expedient (in today’s volatile climate of huff) and good manners to avoid being either a bully or a bore – and here, perhaps, we have the essence of Sir Geoffrey’s advice. Rather than listing subjects to avoid, he might have reminded his audience of Dr Johnson’s view, that “the happiest conversation” involves “no competition, no vanity, but a calm, quiet interchange of sentiments”. 

What is an egg yolk omelette? 

Ever since the hoo-ha at New York restaurant Balthazar, where James Corden was accused of making a tremendous fuss about his wife’s “egg yolk” omelette, I have been wondering what such a comestible might be. My confusion is shared by US media types, who set themselves the task of exploring the novel culinary concept. Their verdict was an unequivocal thumbs down: “dull”, “tough”, “chewy”. You get the idea.

To spare Mr Corden the stress of making any more public protestations, here is the secret of a proper omelette, as revealed in Elizabeth David’s French Provincial Cooking. In 1922, the restaurateur Annette Poulard, renowned for her exquisite omelettes, shared her recipe: I beat some eggs, then tip them into a frying-pan with a knob of butter. “An omelette,” David adds, “is nothing to make a fuss about.” I’m sure James Corden would agree.