Is there a Welsh national cuisine?

From seafood to stews, the country has a distinct culinary identity.

First of all, what is a national cuisine? Is it a collection of dishes that are prepared regularly by indigenous people or a series of recipes that represent an area based on locally sourced ingredients? Do the dishes need to be contemporary and what if the ingredients are not exclusive to the region? Perhaps a "national cuisine" simply adds a culinary identity to the country. If so, then Wales can do this extraordinarily well.

Let's start with the flavours associated with Wales. First there is lamb. Not just any lamb, but most of it reared on the uplands where it eats natural herbage, matures slowly and due to its breed, tastes so very good. Welsh Black beef is renowned for its flavour too. Sea trout, or sewin have a delicate flavour, and there are large cockle beds along the south coast and delightful queenie scallop and mussel beds around Anglesey. Talking of the sea, laverbread is one of Wales' more unusual ingredients. It grows around the Pembroke coastline as does samphire and seakale, and the untamed landscape inland offers flavours of whinberries, rosehips, ransoms (wild garlic) gibbons (spring onions) with leeks and potatoes still being the main cultivated vegetable crops. On the dairy front, brined cheese such as Caerphilly, which was once the mainstay of dairy farmers, has been joined by a host of quality goats', cows' and ewes' milk cheese.

Geraldus Cambrensis, the twelth-centure scholar who toured Wales in the company of Archbishop Baldwin in 1188, wrote in his journal. "Almost all the people live upon the produce of their herds, with oats, milk, cheese and butter. The greater part of their land is laid down to pasturage: little is cultivated, a very small quantity is ornamented with flowers, and a still smaller is sown".

When it comes to recipes, then there are two traditional Welsh methods of preparation and cooking. If you visit St. Fagans Welsh Folk Museum on the outskirts of Cardiff you'll see that the main feature of the early Welsh kitchen was the open-hearth fire and the bakestone or griddle, a flat pieces of iron set over the fire, on which were cooked oatcakes and pancakes. Then there would be a large iron pot suspended above the fire. Boiling and stewing were the most important methods of cooking meat and cawl. This all-in-one soup/stew is still a popular dish and can be made out of bacon, beef or lamb with root vegetables and leeks.

The bakestone, which is called a planc or maen in Welsh, still plays an important part in everyday life. Oatcakes, Welsh cakes, tinker's cakes, pancakes, even loaves of bread; traditionally, all were cooked on the griddle, and with a degree of skill too. Today Welshcakes are served at any time of the day and the Welsh, well, they have a passion for crempogs or pancakes.

The Welsh painter, Kyffin Williams who grew up on Anglesey, once told me how as a child he was taken to visit the local farms for crempog teas. He could never eat more than six, much to his humiliation and to the amusement of the farmer's wife. 'Well, well, you are no good, complained one old lady. Your father could do twenty and your grandfather twenty-four'.

But what of contemporary cooking - does it show a flavour of Wales? What would you find in a top class Welsh restaurant? I suggest that you should be prepared for some exciting food. Many a fine chef has sought the peace of rural Wales, where the local ingredients are top quality, fresh and unusual. Combine these with modern culinary skills and the menu will reflect delicious creativity. Could you be tempted by a bowl of Cawl of Welsh Shellfish or Whinberry and Oatmeal Icecream?

Gilli Davies's most recent book is "Flavours of Wales" (Graffeg, £16.99)

The New Statesman's food issue is in shops now

Show Hide image

Do the abusive messages sent to One Direction members reveal a darker side to fandom?

Incidents like this are often used to characterise all young female fans, but this isn’t about fandom. It’s harassment. 

One Direction’s Niall Horan is the internet’s favourite innocent blond goofball. He spends his days tweeting platitudes about golf and the weather, Snapchatting his reactions to whatever is on his TV, and thanking his fans for everything they’ve done for him. His social media presence is generally one of cheerful bemusement.

So, last night, the web went into maternal #ProtectNiall mode when he took to Twitter to highlight the darker side to fame.

A group of “fans” got hold of Niall’s number, and started frantically texting, WhatsApping and calling him. After two weeks of constant abusive messaging, despite requests to stop, Niall tries to use his platform to get them to stop.

Around the same time, screenshots of the supposed messages started to circle online. (I certainly can’t prove whether they’re real or not, but they first surfaced before Niall’s tweets and feel genuine.) The pattern that emerges seems to be one of frantic, attention-seeking messaging, extreme shock and surprise when he writes back, and, when Niall only requests that they stop messaging him and respect his privacy, the really nasty stuff starts. Messages range from “You invented cancer” to “If [your nephew] was my kid I’d sell it”; from “You’re so stupid and r*tarded” to “I hope your house blows up”.

Niall’s responses are extremely Niall in their politeness. “Why do I deserve to have a bad day?” he asks one. “You guys are bullies,” he tells them. “Go away please.”

As soon as the screenshots emerged, so did suspicions about the identity of the individuals in question. A set of five or six Twitter handles were circled by fan accounts, encouraging people to block and report the usernames to Twitter. Some of the owners of these accounts themselves claim to have been part of the conversations in question, to varying degrees. These account owners are seemingly women, under the age of 18, who have supposedly been involved in other recent One Direction harassment incidents.

One of those incidents came just days before Niall’s tweets. A person suspected to be a member of this group of “fans” got hold of another band member’s phone number: Louis Tomlinson’s. You can listen to a recording of the phone conversation between them that leaked online. After telling him her Twitter handle, Tomlinson asks the caller how she got his number. “You’re a fucking bitch and I hope your baby dies,” she says. Louis responds with a variation on the ancient proverb, “Lawyer up, asshole.” He seemingly tweeted about the incident later that day – and Niall retweeted him.

Fan accounts insist that the same Twitter users were also involved in hacking the iCloud of Anne Twist, Harry Styles’s mother, and leaking hundreds of photos of her son online.

The whole situation is a complicated mess. Parts of the messages feel as though they have been influenced by the style of accounts desperately trying to get the attention of celebrities on Twitter. If you look at the top reply to any tweet from a celebrity with millions of Twitter followers, the responses are calculated to shock the most in an attempt to get noticed. Maybe it’s a weird combination of sexual and violent imagery, or a sexist or racist slur. This is harassment itself, but its ubiquitousness can make it seem less offensive or extreme. Perhaps this kind of behaviour is easier to ignore on Twitter or Instagram – if you have millions of followers, you presumably can’t be notified every time one of them interacts with you online. When it moves into your private sphere, I can image it becomes more terrifying than annoying. Maybe these girls were simply swept up in the cultural moment, and failed to grasp the consquences of their behaviour.

Is it a damning indictment of the hysteria of teenage girls? The scary state of twenty-first century fandom? The problems of anonymity offered by the internet? It’s true that the internet has offered new ways for fans and celebrities to have a more direct connection with one another: for the most part, a mutually beneficial arrangement.

But the revelation of the internet has also been that it is a tool through which fundamentally human behaviours are expressed. Over the last few decades, we have learned that aggressive behaviour online is not limited to largely non-existent stereotypes of spotty virgins in their mothers’ basements, or teenage girls developing “dangerous” sexuality. Grown men and women, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons all do it. It’s also not a behaviour that is inherently connected to online spaces: children and teenagers might experiment with moral boundaries through cyberbullying, but they also might do it via anonymous notes in lockers or whispers in school corridors. People of all ages, professions and genders harass others.

The real problem is not celebrity culture or the concept of teenage fandom or social media. As Louis Tomlinson rightly identifies, it’s that our laws have failed to catch up. If we continue to treat harassment as harassment, in all spaces and by all perpetrators, we’ll have a better chance of minimising it.

Anna Leszkiewicz is a pop culture writer at the New Statesman.