eating for england
With London (and Scotland) on the cards in the next few weeks, I have been steeling myself for the horrors of British cooking by reading Nigel Slater's very wonderful Eating For England, in which he writes little vignettes and personal anecdotes about British food culture. Before delving into the book, first let me run through a couple of Top Three lists:
Top Three Loved Cuisines (I could eat it almost everyday):
1. Japanese
2. Indonesian
3. Singaporean (or SE Asian)
Top Three Detested Cuisines (perhaps I would eat it once or twice a year, max):
1. Indian (I got scared off after my Pakistan stint)
2. 'International' (a misnomer if I ever heard one, but basically anything like a meat/fish entree with a potato and sad veggies)
3. Mediterranean (I don't really enjoy tomatoes, herby flavours etc too often)
The British are supposedly notorious for bland, unimaginative food, curries (argh!) or modern 'new' cuisine that has been criticised as overpriced and underperformed. The last time I was in London was a decade ago; I can't really remember what I ate because I was so poor at the time I probably ate very little beyond the homemade sandwich or takeaway. Hopefully this time round, J and I will have slightly deeper pockets (and the pound a little more to our favour) to eat a little better and to experiment a bit more with the food.
Mr. Slater certainly makes it all sound a bit more intriguing, even if he doesn't necessarily defend the foods.
On stews
The basics are familiar in every place; it is only the details, or lack of them, that introduce into the British version the unmistakable air of culinary poverty. [French and Mediterranean] stews are the colour of mud, blood or ochre pigment, and taste of thyme and garlic, orange and almonds, basil and lemon. Ours is the colour of washing-up water and smells of old people.
On Toblerone
Whatever way you try to tackle it, a Toblerone is an obstacle course. It can take a few attempts to break a triangle from the nougat-speckled bar without actually hurting your knuckles, and then, when you finally do, you have a piece of pointy chocolate slightly too big for your mouth. You bite with your front teeth and find the chocolate barely gives, so you attempt to snap it with your fingers, and find that doesn't work either. The only thing left is to pop the whole lump in your mouth and suck.
The pointed end hits the roof of your mouth, so you roll it over with your tongue, only to find it makes a lump in your cheek. It is as impossible to eat elegantly as a head of sweetcorn. The only answer is to let the nut-freckled chocolate soften slowly in the warmth of your mouth while rolling it over and over on your tongue. The nutty, creamy chocolate suddenly seems worth every bit of discomfort, and you decide to do it all over again with another piece.
On cakes
The Continental cake is slim, shallow, understated. It may be flavoured with almond, pistachio, bitter-orange or rose, and its sugar-almond-coloured box will be tied with a loop of the thinnest pink ribbon, from which it can dangle elegantly from a begloved Parisian hand. English cake is fat, thick and cut in short, stubby wedges; there will be sticky cherries, swirls of buttercream, and sometimes royal icing. What it lacks in elegance it makes up for in enthusiasm. . .
British cakes have a certain wobbly charm to them, and what might be missing in terms of finesse is there in lick-your-fingers stickiness. Fruit-laden Genoa, chunky marmalade, Irish seed cake and glorious coffee and walnut are not delicacies you eat politely with a cake fork, they are something you tuck into with the enthusiasm of a labrador at a water bowl.
I love how he balances sarcasm with affection. Now I actually am looking forward to checking out British cuisine (at least for the first two days, after which I stab myself with a fork whenever the word 'pork loin' appears in a menu).
Top Three Loved Cuisines (I could eat it almost everyday):
1. Japanese
2. Indonesian
3. Singaporean (or SE Asian)
Top Three Detested Cuisines (perhaps I would eat it once or twice a year, max):
1. Indian (I got scared off after my Pakistan stint)
2. 'International' (a misnomer if I ever heard one, but basically anything like a meat/fish entree with a potato and sad veggies)
3. Mediterranean (I don't really enjoy tomatoes, herby flavours etc too often)
The British are supposedly notorious for bland, unimaginative food, curries (argh!) or modern 'new' cuisine that has been criticised as overpriced and underperformed. The last time I was in London was a decade ago; I can't really remember what I ate because I was so poor at the time I probably ate very little beyond the homemade sandwich or takeaway. Hopefully this time round, J and I will have slightly deeper pockets (and the pound a little more to our favour) to eat a little better and to experiment a bit more with the food.
Mr. Slater certainly makes it all sound a bit more intriguing, even if he doesn't necessarily defend the foods.
On stews
The basics are familiar in every place; it is only the details, or lack of them, that introduce into the British version the unmistakable air of culinary poverty. [French and Mediterranean] stews are the colour of mud, blood or ochre pigment, and taste of thyme and garlic, orange and almonds, basil and lemon. Ours is the colour of washing-up water and smells of old people.
On Toblerone
Whatever way you try to tackle it, a Toblerone is an obstacle course. It can take a few attempts to break a triangle from the nougat-speckled bar without actually hurting your knuckles, and then, when you finally do, you have a piece of pointy chocolate slightly too big for your mouth. You bite with your front teeth and find the chocolate barely gives, so you attempt to snap it with your fingers, and find that doesn't work either. The only thing left is to pop the whole lump in your mouth and suck.
The pointed end hits the roof of your mouth, so you roll it over with your tongue, only to find it makes a lump in your cheek. It is as impossible to eat elegantly as a head of sweetcorn. The only answer is to let the nut-freckled chocolate soften slowly in the warmth of your mouth while rolling it over and over on your tongue. The nutty, creamy chocolate suddenly seems worth every bit of discomfort, and you decide to do it all over again with another piece.
On cakes
The Continental cake is slim, shallow, understated. It may be flavoured with almond, pistachio, bitter-orange or rose, and its sugar-almond-coloured box will be tied with a loop of the thinnest pink ribbon, from which it can dangle elegantly from a begloved Parisian hand. English cake is fat, thick and cut in short, stubby wedges; there will be sticky cherries, swirls of buttercream, and sometimes royal icing. What it lacks in elegance it makes up for in enthusiasm. . .
British cakes have a certain wobbly charm to them, and what might be missing in terms of finesse is there in lick-your-fingers stickiness. Fruit-laden Genoa, chunky marmalade, Irish seed cake and glorious coffee and walnut are not delicacies you eat politely with a cake fork, they are something you tuck into with the enthusiasm of a labrador at a water bowl.
I love how he balances sarcasm with affection. Now I actually am looking forward to checking out British cuisine (at least for the first two days, after which I stab myself with a fork whenever the word 'pork loin' appears in a menu).