Life
in
food
Life
in
food
An interview with food historian Laura Mason: palates evolve from when a single sachet of sugar was the greatest of luxuries to an era of dizzying, endless choice and pan-cuisines. Laura has a lot to say, and we have a lot to learn.
By the time I found Laura Mason’s anthologies on the history and wonder of British cooking, my relationship with the food of my forefathers had long soured. I wanted to locate the taste of home in greasy spoons, but it wasn’t going to happen. Except for marmite-laced gravy and Welsh cakes served annually on Saint David’s day, I couldn’t name a single dish I enjoyed.
I had an unusual palette for a primary schooler. Even then, I saw British food through beige-tinted glasses — declining brick-thick chocolate crunch and scorning smiley potato faces and turkey twizzlers. My avoidances had little to do with health anxiety or fussiness and everything to do with flavour. Food dictated my mood with speed and ferocity. A bad cup of tea was a foreboding omen, a soggy cone of chips a sign of impending doom. Tucking into a chalky Brace’s loaf, I dreamt of Italian loaves kneaded by concerned Nonna’s, their aprons dusted with an inflammatory kind of love.
Almost every other country prides itself on its national dishes and their rich history. If you ask our citizens to pick a national dish, they’ll usually cite a meat and two-veg combo, or chicken tikka masala, famously invented in Scotland by Indian migrants — a glowing testament to our rich multiculturalism.
I’d still like to feel connected to my landscape, to be able to whip up a dish at whim — one that contributes meaningfully to the feasts I’ve shared with friends from around the world. I’m not missing nationalism. Food is comfort and identity. Home is comfort and identity. I want to unite them.
Internationally, our hospitality is still the butt of the joke. In 2005, then French President Jacques Chirac said, “One cannot trust people with cuisine so bad.” In 2014, the US ambassador to the UK claimed to have been served lamb and potatoes 180 times in a single year. As Stuart Heritage wrote, “Maybe he should try our colourless tapioca or damp Brussels sprouts instead. Indigestible food is what makes this country great.”
While the Brits excel at self-deprecation, I’m growing tired of this trope. Laura Mason shows us that great British food is A Thing — and it’s not reserved for the realms of olde cookery, where blackbirds jump nightmarishly from pies and diners are ridden with colonial gout. Nor is it simply one of Jamie Oliver’s fantasies. It isn’t for the elite. It’s for you and me.
Things are changing. That the 2015 finale of The Great British Bake Off had higher ratings than anything else on television that year (more than 13 million viewers) is proof, as is the increasing popularity of traditional markets and ethical choices. With open-mindedness and persistence, we can find a host of new favourite foods in Laura’s work.
Laura Mason is perhaps one of the world’s most respected food historians. She had seen our palates evolve from when a single sachet of sugar was the greatest of luxuries to an era of dizzying, endless choice and pan-cuisines. She has a lot to say, and we have a lot to learn.
Sitting in her living room, I find her majestic and wise and heart-warmingly helpful. She’s put the kettle on and carted a staggering number of dusty books down from the attic for reference and context. “I want to stress that it was far bigger than that one book,” she smiles. “It was a whole movement, a whole life’s work.”
