I thought the most thankless and debasing task in the country, where royal events were concerned, was poet laureate. You have to be medium thoughtful to be a reputable poet – sensitive, at least occasionally profound, interested in the big stuff – and then someone makes you write a poem about a baby. It’s like the world’s worst copywriting gig: trying to distinguish your product, this baby, from all other products, different babies, which are just as good. Investitures and coronations, even worse: they are already metaphors, and then some poor schmuck has to spin a load of meta-metaphors about them.
That was before Prue Leith, Tom Kerridge and Rick Stein unveiled their coronation recipes. The pressure’s not the same, because these weren’t solicited by the palace, but by a newspaper, and obviously (no offence) in a rush. There is nothing inherently wrong with any of the dishes, which all look fine – a kedgeree from Stein, a carrot hummus from Leith, a cheesecake from Kerridge – if a little underwhelming.
