There is a prevailing sentiment around the world that British food is stodgy and bland, that it is largely built on cuts of meat thrust into pies and slabs of beef cooked until grey. The French call us “les rosbifs”. God knows what the Spanish and Italians say, but chances are it isn’t kind.
An enjoyable piece in the i newspaper recently detailed this. It proclaimed our well-trodden culinary lodestone of “meat and two veg” uninspiring. There is some truth to the piece: British gastronomy can be singular, tepid and flavourless. Why, the author argued, sit down to jellied eels when bowls of calamari exist? To that end, fair enough.
But there is a much bigger issue. It is not so much that our food is terrible, but that we British folk, by and large, cannot cook. And we are lacking in food culture.
Now sure, you might read this and question it. I’m sure your risotto is sophisticated and barbecue technique on point. But I think it’s fair to say that compared to so many nations, food here is often an afterthought. Do we, as a country, sit down each mealtime and discuss the quality of the produce at hand? Do we regale guests with tales of our soups, criticise friends for using too light a red wine for the coq au vin? Spend hours scouring aubergines at the market, prodding, probing, smelling? Some of us do, but really these practices are not part of the fabric of British life.
Look at the fundamentals of British food and there is majesty to be found
All this might be changing. Thanks to people like Nigella Lawson and Jamie Oliver, greater status is given food here today. But evolution is gradual and priorities are hard to shift. After all, Britain is home to the meal deal. It is where Turkey Twizzlers were born. Most pubs still serve roast chicken so dry you’d think it had spent half its life in an airing cupboard.
As for value and quality, I’d suggest we have the best beef in the world. Wander out onto the pastures of Devon or Yorkshire and admire the cows we have lowing about us to see for yourself. There’s our seafood — Cornish fish, Scottish shellfish. Such ingredients are sought after and admired the world over.
As for our famous meals, well, sure, many of them are beige, and no they do not always deliver complexity or a hit of umami. Fish and chips is straightforward, so too a steak and ale pie. A roast dinner is only the sum of its parts, rather than an amalgamation of layering spices .
But each of these dishes, done properly, is a fine and noble thing. Artful? Possibly not. There is beauty in simplicity, though. Consider a pearly white piece of freshly caught Cornish haddock, jacketed by the crispest of batters, sitting on a portion of golden chips and mushy peas and curry sauce. I defy anyone to think this superlative.
Look at the fundamentals of British food and there is majesty to be found. Even in a bacon sandwich there is glory. It is not a steaming bowl of ramen. It is far detached from a basket of dim sum. Give anyone the very best pork, in the fluffiest white poppy seed bread, all of it buttered up to the max — with Shirgar Welsh butter, perhaps — and there we have it: true culinary magnificence, worthy of a place at the top table.
