Politics
Goodbye to all that boiled cabbage
Published 22 January 1999
After many centuries of indifference, the British have suddenly become obsessed with their food
Food standards? Fine. But just what are "food standards"? The government thinks it knows: it's about to publish details of the new Food Standards Agency. For ministers, high food standards means, quite simply, selling the people food that won't suddenly kill them - no more BSE disasters, no more salmonella scandals, no more cringing apologies from the despatch box.
This is good politics: the Tories were badly damaged because they were - or at least gave the impression of being - in the pockets of the food industry. That's why, after an on-off drama about the new bill, it is after all going through parliament (revolting Lords willing) when time allows.
For the public, though, food standards means a lot more than "this won't poison you". As civil servants brush down the regulations, the rest of us are living through a food revolution, which is far more wide-ranging and significant than anything coming from Whitehall. The final death of the much-derided boiled-cabbage culture will go down among social historians as one of the most significant changes of our time.
Millions, it is true, are still forced by poverty to subsist on low-quality junk food. Awful British food has traditionally been blamed on early urbanisation - the growth of fat in our diet was rocketing from the beginning of the century, caused mainly by cheap margarine made by various disgusting processes, rivalling anything in the BSE saga. Today the hamburger cult still dominates most high streets; where once being thin was an indicator of low social class, now being obese is often a sign that you are poor. We still spend less on food, as a proportion of income, than most European countries. Many people spend more on pet food than on quality food for themselves.
But none of this should disguise what the middle-class majority is up to. For them, better food has become a true national obsession, in ways that would have amazed previous generations.
The evidence is piling up everywhere. Take, for example, the cookery-book phenomenon. Yes, as Mrs Beeton admirers know, a few have always sold well. But things are now on a different level completely. Books about food and drink currently account for more than 10 per cent of all non-fiction titles sold. Delia Smith's How to Cook is still top of the hardback best-sellers chart, even in this supposed month of abstinence after the Christmas excesses. So far it has sold an extraordinary 900,000 copies.
Her cookery titles over the years have passed the 10 million mark and there's no sign of any slackening off. From the perfectly boiled egg to twice-baked Roquefort souffles, Smith makes it sound so easy. Glistening pictures of mouth-watering spinach and ricotta lasagne with pine nuts and perfectly formed peaks of meringue on petits monts blancs get the taste buds singing as she patiently explains how it can be done.
Then there's Nigella Lawson's How to Eat, featuring crepes parmentier with marinated smoked haddock and braised dried shitake mushrooms with soba noodles. Hard enough to pronounce, let alone cook - but we're lapping it up, apparently. The list goes on: Rick Stein, Antony Worrall Thompson, John Tovey . . . their books are sumptuously produced, indulgent and sensual creations.
Turn next to television. Like publishing, it has been invaded by the foodies. From morning till night, there's a programme for every taste. Good old Food and Drink, now in its 15th year, still draws in an average 3.5 million viewers each week for its recipe of food news and wine tastings.
But now there's a whole new menu on the box. Can't Cook, Won't Cook sees two "kitchen disasters" shopped by their nearest and dearest, then transformed into Marco Pierre Whites in the space of half an hour. Celebrity Ready, Steady, Cook (more than 6 million viewers) has an equally simple formula: two showbiz types buy a fiver's worth of food, which - hey presto - two TV chefs instantly transform into a gourmet meal.
For those who like their food shows more sophisticated, there's Rick Stein's Seafood Odyssey, Ken Hom's Chinese Cookery or Antonio Carluccio's Passion for Pasta, not to mention Jennifer Paterson and Clarissa Dickson Wright of Two Fat Ladies. The spin-offs from these series, such as books and videos, as well as overseas rights, have netted more than £24 million for the BBC over the past two years - serious money.
Celebrity chefs are even making it into Who's Who - this year Paterson and Carluccio have joined Smith, White, Michel Roux and Anton Mosimann in that bible of the establishment.
Eager gourmets flock to their restaurants - in London they think nothing of splashing £100 or more on dinner for two. They are even prepared to suffer the indignity of being ushered out again two hours later so that a second sitting can be squeezed in. The top restaurants boast waiting lists weeks or even months long.
There's no doubt the customer has become pickier in the shops, too. Organic food is another ingredient of the food revolution. Once the preserve of a minority of health nuts, it's now well represented in most supermarkets - invariably more expensive, but satisfyingly mud-covered. According to the Soil Association, which promotes this pesticide-free grub, sales of organic food rose from £100 million in 1993 to £260 million in 1997 and are still on a fast upward curve. Within the next three years organic produce is expected to account for 8 per cent of the total food market.
So can it be that we, the British, the inventors of stringy liver and lumpy mash, are finally wising up about food? Well . . . up to a point.
In one sense, all this obsession with food is just voyeurism. The serious students of our eating habits insist there's no evidence that the British are cooking more or better - any more than watching Sky Sports is turning us into a nation of sporting heroes. Indeed, Tim Lang, director of the Centre for Food Policy at Thames Valley University, says we're consuming inexorably more processed and pre-cooked food: "It's all part of a cultural schizophrenia, where those in work rely on instant food all week, and then indulge in orgies of exhibitionism at the weekend." He may have a point - we look, we watch, we salivate . . . but when it comes to preparing the evening meal each night are we really knocking up a little wet polenta with chicken stock and cavolo nero?
Peter Bazalgette, owner of Bazal Productions, which makes most of the popular television food shows, claims that "Cookery is becoming not a necessity, but a leisure interest. When I sit round a lunch table I don't want the brown rice and bicycle brigade. Food is entertainment, and I make no apologies for that."
We are not yet French. We have no tradition of cuisine handed down from one generation to the next. But for the first time since urbanisation and the industrial revolution, the quality of food has become a central British obsession. Whether it is additives, genetic modification or fat content, we know, and care, more about what we consume.
Early days, maybe - but good news nonetheless. Beside our quiet food revolution, the new Food Standards Agency may come to be seen as a welcome and belated sideshow. In the end, it will be the food programmes and books, the popular chefs and glossy magazines, that are judged to have made the real difference, and turned a nation notorious for its miserable attitude to food into one that knows how - and what - to eat.
Post this article to
We want to encourage people to comment on our content and to exchange views with other readers and hope this will be done on a courteous basis. However, if you encounter posts which are offensive please let us know by emailing comments@newstatesman.co.uk and we will take swift action where necessary.
