British Gastronomy

There is such a thing. While any overview of the habits and customs of Great Britain would mention that their gastronomy is poor, this does not mean it is entirely bad, although it rarely comes close to what British people think of it. One never feels like touching some piece of culinary art when eating a fish and chips, and while the typical cheddar is good in a potato, even hunger hardly makes it palatable by itself. With all due respect to Wallace, British cheese comes second to virtually any other type from any other country. The crackers, nuts and fruits are however a creative, although mistaken, addition, since cheese should always go with bread, which is another big void of their gastronomy, except for things that don't need it, like pasta. The Sunday roast can actually be delicious, as my friend Dean Read once demonstrated by cooking it himself, on an actual Sunday. Sadly, I've never been able to repeat this experience. In a pub, it is systematically terribly dull. Cakes look good but this is their main asset. Wine is not worth speaking about, many would even be surprised it exists at all. Finally, even the English language does not have a proper word for dégustation.

There is, however, the British pudding, so rich as our friend Tom Taylor puts it. The ceremonial is fantastic. Prepared over months, possibly over years, you set it on fire at Christmas before burning your tastebuds with bitter sugar. All things sugary in general are in the mouth what the British people are in character: unexpected, exuberant, arrogant, delightful. Their ale is the best in the world. The tea is admittedly awful, at least by the Russian standard, but there is the Cornish version and the English ceremonial, the tea party, the tea breakfast, the scone and the clotted cream, as a compensation for this lost wisdom.

In fact the truth of the matter is that most English people don't know how to make tea any more either, and most people drink cheap instant coffee instead.

Douglas Adams in The Salmon of Doubt, see also [1].

There are also those ingredients only commonly used by the British, like the wonderful parsnip—the savour of a fruit in the delight of a potato—or the rhubarb—the rapture of sourness in the delectation of a fruit. This is an enduring mystery for me as for the reason of their neglect in popular French cuisine.

And the best thing of all, the English mustard... a simple but compelling demonstration of domination, in the things that matter.