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Some of us complain about regional stereotypes. Others just reaffirm them.
Pizza, chips, kebab, pasty – YOU DECIDE!
You’ve been to the match, you’ve had a couple of beers and you’re on your way home…
But what do you stuff your face with before you stagger through the door and get told off by the missus?
That’s the subject of our web poll today, inspired by news that Greggs plans to open a late-night bakery in Sunderland.
Use the panel on the bottom right of this page to have your say now.
I went along to the Evolution Festival yesterday. Specifically the Baltic stage area.
All very good. Lots of very very young people in skinny jeans that made me feel old. But anyway…
What struck me most were the row of tents alongside the stages.
In order, this is what they sold: doughnuts, beer and spirits, burgers and cigarettes.
Now don’t get me wrong I had both a beer and a burger so there is no moral high ground here. But really, that was the entire choice. Nothing healthy. Nothing ethnic. Nothing veggie. Nothing spicy. No water fountain if you preferred to save your liver and your pennies.
And a cigarette counter? At an event where the average age seemed about 14? Whose idea was that?
I don’t want to be the aging grouch on this one and I know you can lead a kid to cous cous but you can’t make him eat.
But…
Oops. Not sure how I missed this in the post below but, in the Guardian article that inspired it, MasterChef winner James Nathan comments (on Delia’s cheating):
My one real comment on all this, is that not everyone lives in London, not everyone can drop into their local deli to buy fresh ingredients on their way home from work.
I’ve stayed with friends in the provinces, they both work, they both have two-hour commutes, they have two kids, they have to shop at big supermarkets and they have to buy for a month or so at a time.
You utter utter twat. Yes, head five miles out of London and all you can buy is black pudding and that’s what we stuff our fat kids with. What an absolute utter nob.
“I’ve stayed with friends in the provinces..”
Gosh, really. Have you? What it soooo awful? What were they like? Did they make you eat awful food from those nasty big supermarkets? Wow, you are sooo brave.
James Nathan – Mastertwat
More tales from the Guardian of London folk peering down their noses at the fecking “provinces”. Utter arseholes.
First off – cards on the table. I’m no foodie.
Okay let’s break that down. I like food – my generous frame alone is evidence of that.
But food is for eating – not talking about. As for TV chefs, while I can stomach old blokes like Stein and Floyd, I can’t watch mockney tosser Jamie Oliver without getting angry.
But anyway… growing up, Delia was out on her own.
At Sunday lunch if the Yorkshire puds were complimented then the cook would say: “Ahh yes..they’re Delia’s recipe”.
In the ensuing conversation my Gran would list all the Delia creations she had made that week. She adores her.
Years later I saw her, obviously in her role as Norwich City chairman, at a Newcastle United reserve game looking very cosy and flirty with Bobby Robson. I can imagine she was angling for a new centre forward while Bobby was probably dreaming of a steak and kidney pie.
Anyway, Delia, it turns out, has a new TV show. As Mockney Toss Boy fights obesity with healthy school dinners, Delia is reverting to processed food. Really. This despite writing in an earlier book:
“…my personal belief that we may be in danger of losing something very precious, and that is a reverence for natural ingredients and the joy and pleasure they can bring to real life … The sensual pleasure of eating belongs to everyday life as well, and it’s not always to be found in the vast amounts of mass-produced, easy-cook fast foods that we’re subtly persuaded to eat …”
Hmm.
Apparently it hasn’t gone down well. Alex Renton at The Guardian burnt all Delia’s books and accused her of going over to the dark side.
Later, in the same paper, a panel of the great and the good got a top chef to follow her recipes and gave their verdicts on the taste:
“This is like having a pig piss in your throat. It tastes of freezer and plastic. I don’t understand. If you can’t cook and you can’t afford to go out, eat a cheese sandwich.”
***
“This is supremely awful. Terrible beyond belief. It’s a crime against aubergines. They’re such beautiful vegetables, and to see them treated like this. It’s appalling.”
***
“Why would you eat tinned mince? It’s like a lamb shat in a tin.”
Indeed. Why>
Food columnist Giles Coren has his own theories:
I think she’s jealous of Jamie and Nigella and Hugh. It’s like old footballers who bemoan the fact there was never any money in the game when they were playing: Delia was a food star when food stars weren’t big. It’s like some old boxer coming out of retirement, Rocky Seven up for one last slugging match.
But what she doesn’t realise is that the rules have changed, that nowadays people are motivated by different things: the environment, quality ingredients, nutrition. She’s come back for her slice of the pie – that’s her motivation.
For me the best quote came from a Guardian Blog commenter:
She showed me and millions of us how to cook simply, healthily, with good fresh ingredients, and now she wants to show us how not to. What’s up? Need another football club?
Seriously, why does “Britain’s Best-Selling Cook” needs to squeeze more money out of her franchise? And she is milking it: have a look at www.deliaonline.com and you’ll see what she’ll get from this blatant advert on the BBC: there’s the book and already over 100 products in Waitrose and Sainsbury’s branded with the “A Delia Cheat! ingredient” label on them. that includes “Mr Crumb fresh breadcrumbs”, for god’s sake, and no less than six of the McCain processed potato products she plugged on TV last night.
And why – given that the BBC must have paid gazillions for the show – are the “recipes” not up on its food site, as is normal? Nor can you see the show on iPlayer. Not that you’d want to.
In it for the money. Sure. Of course. That’s why I go to work.
Can’t blame her for that.
But the loss of dignity? Following the mockney into that whole branded product horribleness? Why does everyone sell out so easy now?
Even fecking Keith Richards is doing adverts for Louis Vuitton.
And why does the BBC allow her to do this? This blatant profiteering is as sickening as it is blindingly obvious.
Meanwhile, my gran, now in her nineties, still cooks up the occasional “Delia”. No doubt we’ll catch up over a family Sunday lunch soon.
God, I hope she didn’t see the show.
Sometime, way, way, way ago – I blogged that I had quit smoking.
If the tone is somewhat smug then it shouldn’t be. The truth is it didn’t last.
On my last night in Vietnam I smoked again. Then again in Nicaragua and back in Newcastle too.
Certainly I rarely smoked again at levels close to my earlier days in Hanoi when I was sucking down well over a pack a day. In fact, half the time in Central America I didn’t smoke at all. At one point I rationalised that just one cigar a week wouldn’t be too damaging.
No real hardship there – I found I could easily make the foot-long local specials last a week.
Also as someone who’d always been on the somewhat hefty side, being overseas was at first a blessing. In Vietnam I found that an upset stomach might not be pleasant but was an effective method of weight control. Couple that with a rice-based diet and the pounds just fell away.
But then, about the same time as my belly adapted, my taste buds we’re compelling me to seek out richer food. While my initial weight loss was stalling, I didn’t worry too much about weight gain. Surely the next bout of sickness would take care of it.
Vietnam ended and Nicaragua began. Boiled rice gave way to fried rice and beans and lots and lots of cheese. I must say I didn’t really notice it but I guess the weight started to really pile on. When you’re wearing sloppy shorts and t-shirts every day you’ve some way to go before they start to feel tight.
Before too long I was back in the UK and all those comfort foods I had missed. British food might be considered comparatively bland – but have you any idea the sheer quality of the ingredients compared to those in developing countries? It all tasted so good.
I was back to Embassy Number One cigarettes too after three years on local tabs and Marlboro lights.
Then there was something of a dawning. A bit run down I went to the doc’s. Occasionally dizzy and frequently breathless, paranoia made me wonder if I had brought back some horrible tropical lurgy.
After a stack of tests the answer was much more simple – I was just very unhealthy.
Certainly a step on the surgery’s scales made my eyes pop out. In all the time I was away – nearly three years in all – I hadn’t weighed myself. Ouch.
Christmas and New Year was the cut off. I haven’t smoked since January 1st. I know I’ve said this before but I feel like I have smoking licked. While I still have occasional cravings, they’re slowly giving way to a real revulsion at tobacco.
Weight loss has been slow – my dodgy scales suggest half a stone lost but their lack of accuracy might actually mean I’ve lost half that. But my diet has changed and I am feeling better for it. More fruit and veg – no more cooked brekkies or bacon sarnies from the staff canteen.
My holiday was tricky and I was far from well behaved calorie-wise but could have been worse. I arrived back Sunday and sat down with the diet books with the aim of getting serious.
In the meantime, while I have been regularly walking home the two and a half miles from work, sport remains too scary for now. I’d like to start playing five-a-side again sometime soon though.
For the record this isn’t the start of some sort of horrible diet blog. Don’t expect any weight-loss updates – well not unless I am really successful and want to be smug about it. You won’t be seeing any pics of me demonstrating the new found roominess in my old trousers.
But, in between my rants, I also want this blog to continue to be something of a personal narrative and this feels like something I should bookmark.
And as far as life goes, mine seems to be at a crossroads healthwise. If I fail this time then it feels like I’ll shortly be too far gone to ever get it right.
Hopefully, the acceptance of this fact should be enough to ensure I succeed.
