Miliband must name this new, insecure era

New analysis suggests British society is prepared for a substantial shift in political orientation.

The Institute for Public Policy Research has published a very interesting pamphlet ahead of Labour party conference on the changing face of the British electorate.

It is a detailed analysis of what the author, Graeme Cooke, calls the "new political sociology" (it's a think tank pamphlet, so allowed to wear -ologies and -isms with pride). The kernel of the argument is that New Labour achieved political success and dominated the national debate by owning the optimistic national mood of the late '90s and early '00s. Cooke calls it the "modernisation era" and excavates some of the sociological and demographic changes that lay behind it: increased participation in higher education; changes in family structures; accelerated permissiveness in personal morality etc. (There were lots more students and they took lots of drugs -- my shorthand, not Cooke's, and clearly there's a lot more to it than that.)

It is certainly true that in terms of the lexicon, this was a time when "modernisation" and "reform" became the default imperatives and highest moral accolades that could be stamped on any political project. (No wonder conservatism was in the wilderness.) Cooke's contention is that this era ended with the financial crisis and that the centre-left (i.e. Labour) has to grasp what the equivalent sociological and demographic forces are that will shape the new era -- and harness them for a political project.

A lot of this chimes with Ed Miliband's focus on the "quiet crisis" unfolding in British households squeezed and disoriented by stagnant incomes and inflation, leading to a steady decline in living standards. Cooke's analysis also fits fairly snugly with some of the arguments made by Stewart Wood, an important strategic thinker in Miliband's shadow cabinet, in a short essay for the latest edition of the magazine. Lord Wood argues that the financial crisis signals the obsolescence of the neoliberal economic model and that the government's difficulties in responding to the crisis reflect Tory and Lib Dem inability to conceive of an alternative way of structuring capitalism. Ed's plan is to define that new structure and sell it to the country. "Building an alternative to the neoliberal settlement should be the frame for the debate within our movement" is how Lord Wood puts it. "Ripping up the rule book" is Miliband's distilled version.

The IPPR analysis offers some grounds for thinking that British society is in some ways prepared for quite a substantial shift in political orientation -- since I'm in so deep with the think tank wonkishness I'll go all the way and call it a paradigmatic shift.

In my column this week, I talked about the way coalition, by solving the technical problem of a hung parliament, has obscured the underlying issue of hung politics. None of the main Westminster parties has yet found a compelling language for addressing people's concerns about the way society and the economy seem to be drifting into a long, scary crisis. The coalition's message of "painful but necessary" austerity will wear very thin as it becomes clear how unevenly and unfairly the pain has been allocated.

Miliband needs to give a name to this new, insecure era just as he put the notion of the "squeezed middle" into general use. Then he has to portray a happier destination for the country -- a route out of the crisis -- and convince people that he has the strength and imagination to lead the country there (while hoping they forget that his party was in government when we plunged headlong into the crisis in the first place). In case that isn't enough, Labour conference delegates and the media are kind of expecting him to do this all in one speech next week. No pressure then, Ed.

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

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With the BBC Food’s collection under threat, here's how to make the most of online recipes

Do a bit of digging, trust your instincts – and always read the comments.

I don’t think John Humphrys is much of a chef. Recently, as his Today co-presenter Mishal Husain was discussing the implications of the BBC’s decision to axe its Food website (since commuted to transportation to the Good Food platform, run by its commercial arm), sharp-eared listeners heard the Humph claim that fewer recipes on the web could only be a good thing. “It would make it easier!” he bellowed in the background. “We wouldn’t have to choose between so many!”

Husain also seemed puzzled as to why anyone would need more than one recipe for spaghetti bolognese – but, as any keen cook knows, you can never have too many different takes on a dish. Just as you wouldn’t want to get all your news from a single source, it would be a sad thing to eat the same bolognese for the rest of your life. Sometimes only a molto autentico version, as laid down by a fierce Italian donna, rich with tradition and chopped liver, will do – and sometimes, though you would never admit it in a national magazine, you crave the comfort of your mum’s spag bol with grated cheddar.

The world wouldn’t starve without BBC Food’s collection but, given that an online search for “spaghetti bolognese recipe” turns up about a million results, it would have been sad to have lost one of the internet’s more trustworthy sources of information. As someone who spends a large part of each week researching and testing recipes, I can assure you that genuinely reliable ones are rarer than decent chips after closing time. But although it is certainly the only place you’ll find the Most Haunted host Yvette Fielding’s kedgeree alongside Heston Blumenthal’s snail porridge, the BBC website is not the only one that is worth your time.

The good thing about newspaper, magazine and other commercial platforms is that most still have just enough budget to ensure that their recipes will have been made at least twice – once by the writer and once for the accompanying photographs – though sadly the days when everyone employed an independent recipe tester are long gone. Such sites also often have sufficient traffic to generate a useful volume of comments. I never make a recipe without scrolling down to see what other people have said about it. Get past the “Can’t wait to make this!” brigade; ignore the annoying people who swap baked beans for lentils and then complain, “This is nothing like dhal”; and there’s usually some sensible advice in there, too.

But what about when you leave the safety of the big boys and venture into the no man’s land of the personal blog? How do you separate the wheat from the chaff and find a recipe that actually works? You can often tell how much work a writer has put in by the level of detail they go into: if they have indicated how many people it serves, or where to find unusual ingredients, suggested possible tweaks and credited their original sources, they have probably made the dish more than once. The photography is another handy clue. You don’t have to be Annie Leibovitz to provide a good idea of what the finished dish ought to look like.

Do a bit of digging as part of your prep. If you like the look of the rest of the site, the author’s tastes will probably chime with your own. And always, always, wherever the recipe is from, read it all the way through, even before you order the shopping. There is nothing more annoying than getting halfway through and then realising that you need a hand blender to finish the dish, just as the first guest arrives.

Above all, trust your instincts. If the cooking time seems far too short, or the salt content ridiculously high, it probably is, so keep an eye on that oven, check that casserole, keep tasting that sauce. As someone who once published a magic mince pie recipe without any sugar, I’m living proof that, occasionally, even the very best of us make mistakes. 

Felicity Cloake is the New Statesman’s food columnist. Her latest book is The A-Z of Eating: a Flavour Map for Adventurous Cooks.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad