Dear Peter
27th September 2002
In your introduction to The Sugar Club Cookbook, you write eloquently about the food you ate in New Zealand as a child. You describe helping your mother make an apple pie at the age of four, and your grandmother sending you to the beach to collect seaweed for flavouring the "soups and stews she made from cheap joints." Such memories have stayed with you.
Many chefs have similarly vivid early memories of food. This is no coincidence. A chef must grasp intuitively what tastes good and what does not, which flavours go together and which do not. Good taste, if it is to be learned, has to be learned as a child.
These days, in Britain, we congratulate ourselves about how well we eat. Our cuisine has been transformed in the last 30 years. The shelves of our supermarkets groan with exotic produce from all over the world. New restaurants, serving food from everywhere in the world, open daily. Millions tune in to cookery programmes; more buy the cookbook tie-ins. In culinary terms, we think we have finally made it.
But for a country to eat well, a substantial portion of its population must have had childhoods like yours. They must have been raised in families where cooking and eating are a way of life. Go to almost any town in France or Italy, and you will find a weekly market at which people stand about discussing how to make use of the ingredients on display. There will be a restaurant, probably several, serving traditional food based on local ingredients. The choice will be limited. But when things are done well, who needs variety?
By contrast, our own food culture is shallow and inauthentic. Instead of tradition or taste, our preferences are determined by a system of top-down marketing. Nigella shows us how to cook steak, and we follow suit. Jamie says this variety of micro-plum tomato is "pukka," and no one buys any other. We cleave to definitions of quality which allow us to abdicate from making judgements of our own.
Because we lack feeling for food, we've gone overboard on design and appearance. Much of British cooking is a triumph of form over substance. This is something that televisual cookery encourages: because something looks good, it must taste good.
Our "vibrant" restaurant culture is just as illusory. It is a media shibboleth that London is the "restaurant capital of the world." A few restaurants in the capital do serve interesting, authentic food; these include Moro, St John, the River Caf?nd the Sugar Club (I haven't eaten at your new restaurant, The Providores, yet). There are also a number of excellent haute cuisine establishments. But beyond this expensive elite, quality is thin on the ground. It is hard to find a restaurant where you can enjoy a simple, reasonably priced meal, as you can so easily in Paris or Rome. Instead, there are endless restaurants in the Quaglino's mould: big, brash and buzzing, but where the cooking is sloppy, pretentious and overpriced.
The rest of the country is worse. This summer, I went walking with a friend in the west country. We stayed in B&Bs and ate lunches in country pubs. It was an excruciating experience. Everywhere we encountered the same dismal fare: tough-as-leather meat smothered in gloopy sauces; vegetables boiled to oblivion.
So why can't we do food properly? The reason, I believe, is that we are afraid of it. Mothers exhort their offspring to "eat your greens," but none the less manage to instil in them a deep-seated trepidation. As a result, when we grow up, we can only appreciate food by turning it into camp spectacle: hence Nigella Lawson and Keith Floyd. Either that, or we seek comfort from Delia, whose indefatigable manner and foolproof recipes reassure us that, in spite of our fears, everything will turn out all right.
Yet we do have culinary traditions to which we could, if we wished, return. The recipe books of Jane Grigson are full of old English recipes. And pockets of excellence survive. Rick Stein has documented many in his television programmes. Moreover, we have our immigrant communities. The trouble is, in most cases these have adapted their cooking to British tastes, with disastrous results-witness the travesty that is Indian cooking in this country.
Near where I live in London, there is a small Cypriot restaurant, no more than a caf?where the owner grills a variety of meats-liver, sweetbreads, lamb-and serves them with a simple salad. On the stove is a saucepan of haricot bean soup, or a chicken fricassee, bubbling gently. The cuisine is not spectacular, but it is authentic. Here is a culture to which food is integral. I have never seen another English person eat there.
Yours
Will
Dear Will
3rd October 2002
I did indeed have a wonderful culinary upbringing. My siblings have different views of our New Zealand childhood, but then they were often practising their skills on my grandmother's snooker table while I was rolling out shortbread to her requirements. I loved food and gradually learnt to experiment with its tastes and textures.
However, you claim that good taste has to be learnt as a child and I disagree. You write as though the food of Italy and France is a limitless source of inspiration, as if children there spring from the womb with a boning knife in one hand, some cavolo nero in the other. True, the markets are a source of great produce and there are some fine chefs, but I know for a fact that shop-bought terrines can be found on the carte alongside commercially-produced cr?e caramel in the chic restaurants of St Remy in Provence. This makes me wonder if the traditions of good cooking, learnt at the apron strings of maman, are a mere French myth.
You also write that "when things are done well, who needs variety?" Well, I like variety-but I also like tradition, and here in Britain there is both. I don't like the fact that in Europe, until recently, innovation hasn't been permitted. The chefs of France are only now waking up to the fact that diners' tastes and palates are changing. I have had many bad meals in France; and I have always attributed this to the lack of "moving on," of "modernising" or even of tasting the food before it's been served (because it's too familiar). I don't hold that mainland Europeans can all cook a great beurre blanc. A few can, of course, but then here in Britain there are those who can make an incredibly delicious haggis from scratch, braise a grouse with wild mushrooms to a melting tenderness, or in a more contemporary mode, bake a fillet of halibut with salsify, hijiki and samphire.
What Britain lacks is a history of good wine. Look at any wine-producing country and you'll find a history of creating dishes cooked in that wine, made from game shot in the vineyards. Perhaps it is there, in the towns that surround the great chateaux where food has evolved to complement the grape, that we see where great culinary traditions began. And it is by the Mediterranean that you will find the vegetables that make up such a large part of our European neighbours' menus. Sunny, temperate Provence has always been France's market garden, its warm season lasting far longer than Kent's. So here in Britain, we suffer many months deprived of all but turnips and Brussels sprouts. I think lack of sun has had more to do with England's sluggish culinary tradition than the cultural "fear" you speak of.
However, even that limited tradition has produced its joys. Go to Hampton Court Palace and you can get a glimpse of the food that was once served on these shores, the innovation that was demanded by the court (just like our mainland peers). Or head to Syon House and look at its fascinating confectionery kitchen.
Where Britain is now miles ahead of mainland Europe is in its ethnic foods. I agree, some versions of Indian food being served are a disgrace, but I've had terrible couscous in Montmartre and I've never seen a biryani in Florence. There was once a restaurant in Tuscany, run by Antipodeans, serving grilled baby octopus on black risotto and Thai styled salads with peanuts. The food was great, but it didn't last-because the only people who went there were cosmopolitan Romans or tourists in need of a break from Italian food. Britain is the country where my European friends feel the most excited by the diversity available.
Admittedly, the majority of the "top" restaurants in Britain are French in inspiration, with a few Italian establishments and the occasional Japanese where it's almost impossible to get a table. Yes, it seems that in London exclusivity is often the benchmark of greatness. But this is a global affliction.
As for trying to get a good, reasonably priced meal in Britain, there are several reasons why prices often seem so high here. I was recently in Barcelona, shopping at the Bocqueria market and I was amazed at the low prices at the wild mushroom stall and the fish and cheese counters. The butcher was also seemingly giving away pigs' entrails, testicles and tripe. This, of course, affects the menu prices you find in restaurants.
However, the biggest debate amongst foodies these days is the spectacle of the celebrity chef. I was filming a piece on the television programme Good Food Live recently, and Mary Berry (author of over 30 cookbooks) was asked what she thought of Jamie Oliver. She said she liked him, because he was encouraging a new generation to cook. Surely this is where the next generation of food lovers will come from. Last week, at the British Cheese Awards in Chipping Camden (one of Britain's great culinary highlights, and often ignored) a woman told me how her son couldn't abide Jamie, but loved Gary Rhodes. He aspires to be a serious chef like Gary. Is that a bad thing? I think not.
We are witnessing a gradual improvement of food in Britain. Henrietta Green's Food Lovers' Fairs are found all over the country, promoting great British produce. Borough market near London Bridge station has become the destination de rigueur of any cosmopolitan Londoner. Farmers' markets are springing up all over the country and we are seeing an increase in the production of quality produce, from smoked fish through to rare-breed beasts and a slow return to sourcing heirloom vegetables and fruit. We may be way behind the markets of Spain and Turkey, but we are beginning to see the path ahead.
Jane Grigson was a first-class writer, as was Elizabeth David. Writing during a time of scarcity, looking through rose-tinted glasses towards Europe, evoking wonderful flavours and aromas, they both made us pine for a European sensibility, whilst instilling in us a national pride in the culinary heritage of this country. But some of today's writers are just as skilful as they were. Claudia Roden's prose, for example, is as evocative, describing foods from less familiar and equally inspiring places.
You imply that the British have a fear of foreign food. I disagree. Modern Britain is home to millions of immigrants. I look with wonder at this country that has a relative of the camellia, grown primarily in India and China, as its national drink; whose staple starch is a native of the new world and whose favourite dinner-time sauce (Worcestershire) is flavoured with tamarind.
Yours
Peter
Dear Peter
7th October 2002
We agree that England's culinary tradition is "sluggish." But while you believe standards can be raised by bombarding British palates with the offerings of celebrity chefs, I say this produces a rootless, inauthentic food culture which does nothing to develop a genuine British style.
I am pleased you picked up my point about variety. I have always relished trying new ingredients-the more exotic the better. But I don't think culinary variety within a particular country is necessarily a good thing. Tradition and variety are less compatible than you seem to imagine. Tradition demands a degree of exclusivity. If you adhere to a tradition, then you think your way of doing things is best. In Britain, I don't believe we would be so interested in mimicking other countries' cuisines if we had more robust traditions of our own. I agree it is possible to place too much emphasis on tradition-as has perhaps happened in France. But you can't have it both ways. In order for a country to eat well, a certain culinary nationalism is needed. Tradition and variety can only fruitfully co-exist in countries made up predominantly of immigrants, such as America. Different traditions will cross-fertilise, resulting in new and interesting combinations. In Britain, we like to tell ourselves that the variety of food on offer reflects our multicultural society but, in fact, our immigrant communities have made little difference to our eating habits. Indian restaurants (I'm glad you agree) are often dire; and as for Caribbean food-where is it? What we have instead is a pick'n'mix approach, with the cuisines of all the countries in the world being ours to choose from. In the hands of a skilled chef, such as yourself, this approach can be very successful, replicating the more organic cross-fertilisations of countries like America and Australia. But I don't believe it is a viable basis for a whole country's cuisine.
I accept that my pictures of France and Italy may have been idealised. But the fact that some French restaurants now serve commercial terrines, where they once made them themselves, is a sign of the deterioration in that country's restaurant culture and has no bearing on British cooking. Besides, I think your image of the modern Briton who can whip up a haggis one day and then an exotic fish dish the next is far more idealised than anything I came up with. Possibly the cosmopolitan elite who frequent the (excellent) Borough market cook like this, but I doubt many others do.
I agree that farmers' markets are a step forward-and the fact that they seem to be catching on so fast is a sign of a brighter future. But I can't help being sceptical about any enthusiasm for cooking which results from watching television. The values prized by television (superficiality, showmanship, hype) seem to me totally antithetical to those underpinning good cooking (authenticity, integrity, restraint). If chefs want to improve British cooking, they should try to develop an authentic "British style," based on the best of native traditions, while remaining open to foreign influences. Good culinary cultures are built from the bottom-up, not from the top-down.
Best wishes
Will
Dear Will
9th October 2002
I rarely watch television chefs myself, because personality too often overpowers the food. But as a child in New Zealand, I used to watch Graham Kerr, the Galloping Gourmet, plus the home-grown duo, Hudson and Halls. They made me want to cook, they made me hungry for souffl? braised meat and cream sauces. Once I began to cook, I steered clear of the souffl?and creamy sauces-not my style. Yet, without seeing their antics, I would not have taken the career path I have.
On tradition and variety, perhaps I didn't make myself clear. Classic cuisines have developed through years of slow evolution. These days, jet travel makes the arrival of a new spice or vegetable possible within hours-no more 18-month sea journeys to get a nutmeg from the Spice Islands. Nowadays we can get wattleseed from Australia's outback in a day. Yesterday's fusion meal is tomorrow's classic dish. Of course, too much variety with a never-ending list of new ingredients can be exhausting. Likewise, if all we ate was haute cuisine, it would be even worse-all those souffl?and creamy sauces. We need culinary tradition to serve as a benchmark, but variety as a source of pleasure to stimulate our senses.
The dishes many restaurants in Britain are serving today reflect the state of the nation, a combination of reviving culinary traditions and traditional products (farmers' markets, the British cheese industry, pork pies, smoked eels) with the evolution of new, inspirational ideas. Critics might say this is "messy and directionless," but I disagree. The industry is testing the limits, something which the British are good at.
I like the image of a Scotsman making haggis one day, then whipping up a sashimi the next, but that's not quite what I meant. My point was that in Britain there are experts in different fields, making the most traditional of products, just as there are in mainland Europe. The fact that these traditions are in danger of dying out across the channel is merely an example of the often sad state of affairs throughout the world.
As for the cosmopolitan elite at Borough market, where did they shop before it opened? Where did they buy their Welsh Fells lamb, their salt-cured pork and their New Forest mushrooms? Where they now go, others will follow. Until something inspiring comes along, there is no alternative. Any inspiration, be it a market or a cooking show, if it improves things, is good. Sometimes it comes in a pleasant form, sometimes in an irritating televisual one.
Yours
Peter
Dear Peter
10th October 2002
I agree that something distinctive called "modern British" cooking has developed. It is a style based on "eclecticism" (or stealing ideas from others-something the British have also been good at). It's well-suited to chefs with the skill to borrow intelligently from other traditions. But I can't see many "modern British" dishes being cooked in our homes in 50 years' time. A friend recently told me about eating a rather grand five-course meal in Languedoc-Roussillon. At the next table sat an ordinary French working-class family, relishing the artichokes, langoustine and cr?es. Would this ever happen in Britain?
Best wishes
Will
Hello Will
11th October 2002
You must come and have a breakfast at my restaurant, then we can ponder the state of British food over a Stornoway black pudding fry-up and a soya latte. I'm sure that modern British food will be served in a large proportion of homes in less than 20 years. All over the country people will sit down and break bread over delicious Somerset cured ham, a slab of Wigmore cheese, a freshly picked pear and some cobnuts. They'll look back at those bleak years of bad food when their kids were growing up and give thanks that a farmers' market, a pub serving first class food, and a quality butcher have all just opened locally, run by dedicated people.
Cheers
Peter
