I’ve been tasked with eating as much interesting and surprising food as I can in 24 hours at Glastonbury. Ideally, I would plan to do this without having to visit the dubious compostable toilets too often, although I play fast and loose with this possibility with some brave orders and ambitious combinations. My first meal after arriving on site on Thursday afternoon is blackened shrimp and cajun fries from the ever-busy Bayou, swiftly followed by Taste Tibet’s momo (a Himalayan dumpling) – all washed down with an orange and lime cider that tastes like a cross between sangria and shampoo.
After a series of beverages, including a frozen lagerita (a traditional margarita topped with beer) and a strawberry and watermelon daiquiri, thoughts of food disappear for a short while … until my friend makes what proves to be our first major culinary error – ordering a giant Yorkshire pudding with gravy and sausage at 3.35am. It’s the dictionary definition of debased behaviour and yet somehow – despite all three of the meal’s components tasting of cardboard – we manage to chow it down before collapsing into our tents.
Friday morning starts with a salmon kedgeree from the Goan Fish Curries, a West Holts institution, with a homemade plum soda. There are fascinating delights aplenty – lollipops made from horchata (a Mexican sweetened milk drink) with chilli lime sprinkles, for instance, or what one colleague swears is a “beef burger served with strawberry jam”. The food at the festival is these days so diverse and delicious that nobody would restrict themselves to just one thing. Food truck culture is firmly embedded in British culture these days – and Glastonbury replicates it on a gigantic scale.
The one thing that does unite the eating experience here, though, is the people you meet while scoffing it – all of whom embrace conversation and food-sharing in a way you would never experience in a Michelin establishment. People like Jessie, the smiliest ice-cream vendor in all of Somerset. Shepherds Ice Cream has been running at Glastonbury for over 30 years now and has built up a loyal following thanks to their niche use of sheep instead of cow’s milk, which produces a lighter gelato. While I demolish a Vietnamese coffee ice-cream with Biscoff topping, Jessie tells me how she has seen children who she once served return to the festival as adults.
She also recounts perhaps the most committed foodie anecdote of the weekend, one that makes my challenge seem like small beer (or small frozen lagerita, at least). “The man who used to run the disabled campsite loved our ice creams so much he would travel the whole way across the festival site and then eat two double cones of it when he arrived,” she says. “When his disability made it too difficult, he sent his family for his double cones and they would transport it back using a freezer box. Now that’s dedication!”
Does all this leave room for the fine-dining experience at Glastonbury? It certainly does – in The Rocket Lounge, not many hours after ska band the Trojans have brought their raucous set to a climax.
Cornish lobster ravioli with brandy bisque and crispy leeks? Lamb, sweetbread and morel wellington? Roasted sea trout with Devonshire crab velouté? It would, frankly, be rude not to try them. But although on Sunday they will be serving 436 roast dinners in 55 minutes, you still have to plan ahead. Unlike most of the food options at Glastonbury, diners can only eat here if they’ve booked the immensely popular tables in advance. The food is stunning, the accompanying Romanian folk band atmospheric, and the company divine – I am on a table next to Caroline and Steve, who have travelled from Amsterdam. They first ate here 10 years ago and have returned to The Deluxe Diner for every festival since. Head chef Andy and restaurant manager Leo tell me in the massive kitchen area how there have been frequent birthdays and engagements here. One punter even books in for each day of the festival so they can sample every item on the menu.
Does such swank fit in with the festival’s essential spirit (a starter and main is £45, two or three times the price you would pay for a similar-sized meal elsewhere on site)? Or is it all a bit like that time the Manic Street Preachers arrived on site with their own personal toilet? Having met the dedicated kitchen team – a brilliantly motley crew of old ravers and tattooed punks – and tasted the fruits of their labour, I’m an unapologetic convert.
