Culinary Crossovers
It can be difficult to pin-point what British food is. Some would justifiably choose the adjectives ‘bland’ and ‘stodgy’. Others would likely point towards Manchester’s inimitable Curry Mile - it is an accepted fact that our national dish is far from authentic chicken tikka masala, after all. Ancient trade and migration routes, and latterly Colonialism, have always influenced the food we eat. Still, a combination of social media and increasing global migration mean this process of culinary evolution and cross over is accelerating.
In increasingly globalised and diverse countries like the UK, are traditional notions of national cuisine not obsolete? Or, by absorbing a culture’s food into ‘British cuisine’ are we appropriating and capitalising on something that’s not our own, yet again? The answer may be a bit of both.
Whilst foody culture is fluid the UK, in France notions of cuisine are enshrined both in law and national psyche. So entrenched is their perceived queen of cuisine status, that a French colleague, who liked to eat a croque monsieur for lunch most days, once commented that I must be ‘relieved’ to be in France. French cuisine had apparently gallantly spared me from my staple British diet of spam, smash, and baked beans (yum).
But I’d just arrived from Bristol, home to Chilli Daddy’s Szechuan noodles. I’d been feasting on Roman-style Pizza at the White Rabbit, and Thali Café tarka dahl for years. Back in Bristol, I had been turned away for a Sunday roast at the Bank Tavern pub an embarrassing number of times but experienced the genius of the out-of-town garden restaurant, the Ethicurean.
Weeks later, the same chic Parisienne described her experience of eating hot le crumble au pomme with cold vanilla ice-cream as ‘in-croy-able’. We aren’t exactly famed for our cooking, but I did wonder whether she knew apple crumble, curiously popular in France, had its origins in British wartime kitchens.
Similarly, a British friend with French heritage once roasted a delicious chicken for her girlfriend’s family in Brittany. Her kitchen prowess was chalked up to French DNA - everyone knows British people cannot cook. The French dismissal of British food brought up a totally unfamiliar patriotic defensiveness in me, but maybe they were right. Was everything I loved eating in the UK just… nicked?
Few countries have institutionalised their national cuisine quite like the French, who are masters at codifying everything from grammar to croissants, (at a state-regulated price). It was François Pierre La Varenne, the revolutionary father of modern French cuisine, who blessed the world with the first roux, the first fond de cuisine, bouquet garni, mille-feuille, and hollandaise, all of which remain at the forefront of modern European cookery. So entrenched is French culinary dominance that MasterChef contestants often respond to Marcus Wareing with a muscle-memory ‘oui chef’.
Granted, there is fabulous food in Paris (French and otherwise). However, so many of the bistros the line the main Parisian tourist drags seem complacent; content to capitalise of their nation’s reputation. They serve up €19 worth of wizened confit de canard, and oily pommes de terre sautées. Disappointing, when you’ve been promised the best cuisine on earth.
In the end, I spent as much time in Paris eating incredibly tagine in le Marché des Enfants Rouge, Vietnamese bún bò in Belleville, or falafel in the Marais, as I did at patisseries or queuing for a table at the adored Bouillon Pigalle, a modern French brasserie. Food in France is as influenced by imperialism and migration as it is in Britain, but perhaps just a little less embraced.
The food of neighbouring Italy is so beloved for its gorgeous produce and simplicity: pasta, olive oil, tomatoes, and citrus fruits. The reality is that none of these sumptuous ingredients has its origins on Italian soil. Pasta, synonymous with Italy, is thought to have been brought to Italy from China in the 13th Century by Marco Polo. Tomatoes, potatoes, and capsicums, now integral to Italian kitchens arrived following Spanish Colonialism in South America, in the 16th century. Similarly, the citrus fruits so loved in southern Italy and Sicily were introduced by the Persians in around 300 BC.
In the intervening years, Italians have taken these borrowed ingredients and cultivated an international beloved national cuisine. Before Covid-19 times shut restaurant doors, pasta destination Padella had queues snaking through Borough Market. Of course, no one is arguing cacio e pepe is British, but there’s no doubt an adoration of Italian food is as embedded in our culture as our spag bol.
Central Asia is another part of the world whose cuisine maps years of foreign influence, from the Silk Road to Soviet rule. Central Asian ‘plov’, an adored celebration rice dish, has its origins in Iran. Passed along the silk road, the original rice dish has also evolved into Spanish paella and Indian pilau amongst others. In turn, thanks to Kazakh and Tajik immigration across the border, plov, along with shashlik (kebabs) and manty (steamed dumplings) are increasingly popular in Siberian cities.
Jamaican cooking combines native ingredients like cassava and the red-hot scotch bonnet with African ingredients, such as the ackee fruit. British Colonialists brought Cornish pasties which morphed into spiced patties. Chinese and Indian techniques and ingredients have had a culinary impact there, too- soy sauce is a mainstay. Bristol-based broadcasting couple Sherrie Eugene-Hart and Patrick Hart have recently drawn upon their combined heritage to bring us their Caribbean- Asian cookbook. It is an inconceivable privilege that in some parts of the UK we can sample Ethiopian injera one week and Georgian khachapuri the next.
The debate surrounding food cultural appropriation and cultural ignorance is on-going. Recently, The Great British Bake Off attracted online criticism and derision for including Chinese bao in their ‘Japanese week’. While I think we can all agree Jamie Oliver’s microwaveable jerk rice venture was a grim move, lessons can be learnt from the culinary stagnation in France.
When left alone, cooking evolves. As many have said before, it’s perhaps a case of appreciation not appropriation, learning not stealing. Giving credit where it’s due, rather than capitalising on lazy imitations of culturally significant dishes.
Written by Laura Liberty
Bristol languages graduate turned Journalism Master’s student, currently based in Buckinghamshire. Freelance writer.