18 June 2025

Politicians are what they eat

Their food choices tell us more than speeches and sound bites ever could.

The baked beans have been haunting me. Tiny, watery eyeballs staring back at the Prime Minister’s tiny, watery eyeballs. This was the bleak breakfast of a pescatarian in the Navy, as was revealed in last week’s magazine. It is the perfect vignette. Keir Starmer keen to be joining in with the rank-and-file sailors, yet unable to stomach the red meat his shipmates demand, he stares at his untouched plate of beans.

If an army (or navy) marches on its stomach, then our politicians really are what they eat. Starmer is the first non-carnivore in Downing Street. Pescatarians are the only people even vegetarians can look down on. It’s the most Keir Starmer thing you can think of. It even has “pesky” in it. He went on Channel 4’s Sunday Brunch and cooked salmon. Nobody wants salmon. You have salmon not because it’s on a menu but because it’s on a prescription from the doctor.

At a Labour Party conference a couple of years ago I bumped into Starmer at breakfast and asked what he was having. “A little bit of fish, a little bit of cheese.” Fish and cheese: they just don’t go. This was not smoked salmon and a smear of Philadelphia. No. It was thick peppered mackerel steaks and a slice of Swiss stuff with holes in. I tried it. It was not nice. In fact the fish repeated on me so much it’s now got its own series on Dave.

I now have a theory that you can divide all politicians into one of two camps: fish or cheese. The sensible, healthy, bland, tiny bit sanctimonious fish. Or the cavalier, colourful, big, fat flavours of cheese – great at parties but might give you nightmares. And they do not go well together at all.

Starmer is fish, obviously. Kemi Badenoch: cheese. Ed Davey: fish. Nigel Farage: cheese. Then there’s Carla Denyer, Adrian Ramsay, Ellie Chowns and… er… Siân Berry. Like my gran always says: it’s important to finish your Greens. They are all fish – or would be. Non-fish-based fish-flavoured fish shapes, perhaps. You’ll now be playing this game with every politician. Angela Rayner: cheese. John Swinney: fish. Joe Biden: fish. Donald Trump: cheese. So much cheese.

Badenoch has prided herself on not making big policy pronouncements since becoming Tory leader. Her single most significant intervention came when she denounced sandwiches (she hates them). Considers them not “proper” food. According to YouGov, this is a view shared by 1 per cent of the British public. That’s the same proportion of people who said Liz Truss had been a “great” prime minister. There is no coming back from 1 per cent. That’s not underdog, or even niche. That’s proper weirdo territory.

In 2015, 1 per cent named George Lazenby as their favourite Bond. George Lazenby isn’t even George Lazenby’s favourite Bond. In 2016, 1 per cent of people said that Tuesday was their favourite day of the week. And 1 per cent of Lib Dems said they were “very cool” at school. I mean, come on.

When Badenoch came on my BBC Radio 5 Live show I asked her how she eats when she’s campaigning around the country. When I’m on tour next month, I’ll be about 90 per cent petrol station sandwiches. She revealed: “The team know that if there is a Toby Carvery en route, that we can stop at the Toby Carvery and it’s very quick, the food is ready.” Yes, because they cooked it a week ago and it’s been sitting under a hot lamp ever since.

And she rowed back on the anti-sandwich stance. Slightly. “If a sandwich makes an effort… you know, like a burger.” Now there’s a question of identity politics. Can a burger be a sandwich? One for the Supreme Court to sort out.

In fact the sandwich was invented by a politician. John Montagu, the fourth Earl of Sandwich, had a patchy career serving under five prime ministers (further proof of my hobby horse that today’s “crazy” politics, which everyone gets so breathless about, is actually not so unprecedented). He also loved playing cards. Really loved it. And on one occasion was reported to have played for 24 hours, “so absorbed in play, that, during the whole time, he had no subsistence but a bit of beef, between two slices of toasted bread, without ever quitting the game”. And the sandwich was born. And soon after he’d finished sitting in a chair eating sandwiches for 24 hours, he also invented the chocolate log.

What politicians eat, or say they eat, tells us so much about them. Tony Blair told his northern constituents in Sedgefield that his favourite meal was fish and chips from the local chippy. But when he was asked in trendy north London to provide a recipe for an Islington cookbook he replied: fettucine with olive oil, sun-dried tomatoes and capers.

Gordon Brown’s premiership descended into such spasms of indecision that when asked by schoolchildren he couldn’t even pick a preferred plate, fearing another round of front pages of confected offence. “Traditional things, like steak and all that. I love spaghetti bolognese. And carbonara and all these things. I like Chinese food… I like Indian food… I like English food… British food… and French… I like almost anything.” Pressed, Paxmanesque, by a student, he just went back to the beginning. “I think it would be steak.”

David Cameron, asked the perennial political question about the price of a loaf, said he didn’t know because he has a bread maker (he didn’t give its name) and went on to plug “Cotswold Crunch”, which turned out to be an artisan flour and not a nickname for a particular vicious move during a rugby scrum at Eton.

Nigel Farage has taken to demanding “proper bloody milk, not left-wing options”. “Oat milk!” he raged on TikTok. “What on Earth is that when it’s at home?” I googled it. “To make oat milk simply add 1 cup rolled oats + 4 cups water to a high-speed blender. Then strain through a clean T-shirt.”

Sorry, what? Oat milk is basically what happens if you spill your porridge through your pyjamas. And let me tell you, that takes some explaining at the dry cleaner’s. The other day I went to one of Reform’s endless press conferences and what was on offer? Yes, left-wing options, and not just in the economic policy.

Ed Davey might present as a normal Everyman, but asked by Mumsnet what his favourite biscuit was he replied “fig roll”. The pervert. No such depravity at the weekly meetings of Lib Dem MPs, where the best performing MP (most questions asked? Most leaflets delivered? Most bungee jumps?) is presented with the “KitKat of victory”. Not the first time someone in politics has given a colleague two fingers.

You see, food is everywhere politics. Even in the language politicians use. Have your cake and eat it, cherry-picking, red meat, bread-and-butter issues, banana republics, hot potatoes, oven-ready deals, salt of the Earth, gravy train, storm in a teacup, fruitcakes, nutters, kippers. And everywhere you look, a dog’s breakfast.

Although even a dog would probably turn its nose up at a plate of just beans.

Matt Chorley is on tour with his new stand-up show “Making a Meal of It” from 30 June. For a list of dates see mattchorley.com

[See also: What Keir Starmer can’t say]