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The wait for you and me is finally over. A vicar’s wife is the winner of the Waitrose Food Illustrated Writing Competition and a book deal worth £20,000.

Confounding every flowery pinnied stereotype, Elisa Beynon, (who is known to cook in her high heels,) has wowed our judges including Nigel Slater, Waitrose Food Illustrated Editor William Sitwell and Louise Haines of 4th Estate with her submission. They felt that her entry, bursting with mouthwatering ideas from the vicarage kitchen displayed ‘enthusiasm, warmth, gentle humour’ and ‘terrific home cooking.’ You can read her winning entry in the attached PDF.

Elisa says her spinsterhood signature dish was broccoli and tomato ketchup, until marriage to husband Nigel (a vicar) taught her that ‘church and food’ go together like ‘PMT and chocolate.’

But only trial, ‘unsavoury error’, and a delight in the impact her food had on friends, family and her husband’s parishioners, has seen Elisa develop her winning recipes including The Great Chocolate Rescue Remedy (for Hormonal Girls,) Hot Halloumi Salad (for Social girls) and Sunshine soup (for post-baby blues.)

She says,

For me, food is all about ingredients and interaction and planning the perfect dish for the person or people who are coming over. Left to my own devices, I’ll eat from the fridge, but to see others enjoy my food is delicious. Friends encouraged me to write down my recipes a few years ago now, but only seeing this competition on the front of WFI galvanised me in to action and made me realise that writing down my recipes brings together the things I adore— food, writing and people.

Judge Nigel Slater says “Eliza’s entry shone with enthusiasm, warmth and gentle humour. A truly original voice.” Louise Haines adds: “She is a witty writer and a terrific home cook.”

The folk at 4th Estate will now start working with Elisa Beynon to put her book together, and we’ll keep you posted.

Thanks so much to 2500 of you who entered, and – even if you didn’t walk away with the top prize this time – I hope you’ll keep cooking, and posting some signature recipes up on to 5th Estate for us hungry readers.

Click here to view a PDF of Elisa Beynon’s winning entry

Good food for free has been the holy grail of foragers since our ancestors first climbed down from the trees. How ironic, therefore, that it now lies heaped on every street corner, and the primary response it elicits is disgust.

Every week, I heave open a supermarket skip and find therein a more exotic shopping list of items than I could possibly have invented – Belgian chocolates, ripe bananas, almond croissants, stone-ground raisin bread – often so much it would have fed a hundred people. A rummage in the bins of the local sandwich store yields another bewildering array, from granola desserts with honey on top to crayfish salad and tuna-filled bagels.

I can feel the hunter-gatherer in me grunting with satisfaction over another successful forage. But this atavistic reaction is weak alongside the outrage that really motivates my delving into the nation’s rubbish bins. I can perfectly well afford to buy food. “Freeganism” for me is a protest, demonstrating that much of this food should not be in the bin in the first place. There are simple, cost-effective methods of using surplus food for its proper purpose (ie eating it), and there are no solid reasons why these should not be practiced on a nationwide scale.

The food redistribution charity, Fareshare, specialises in collecting high quality food before it passes its sell-by date and passing it on to hundreds of charities that provide meals for the country’s most vulnerable people. Thanks to a £1m lottery grant, Fareshare is rapidly doubling the amount redistributed from 2000 tonnes a year to 4,000 tonnes, with a further 16,000 tonnes that will either be diverted into animal feed, anaerobic digesters, composting, or other modes of waste recycling. Companies as large as Kellogg and Marks & Spencer have climbed on board along with smaller retailers such as Petit Forestier. But this is still the tip of an iceberg. If we redistributed per capita as much food as in the comparatively advanced USA, we would be doling out 50,000 tonnes of free food each year. And with a staggering 4 million people in the UK suffering from food poverty without access to a decent diet, there will be no shortage of willing recipients.

Currently the vast majority of surplus food in the UK is trucked off to landfill sites where it decomposes into toxic effluent and methane, a greenhouse gas 21 times more potent than carbon dioxide. The food industry has to fork out £50-60 for this ecologically disastrous facility, and if it contains animal by-products, under new legislation they could be looking at £200-£350 per tonne. Fareshare, by comparison, will charge an average of £10 per tonne for their services. Food redistribution is economically sensible, ecologically pressing, and socially responsible; it is high time food corporations woke up to it and governments started funding the organisations that facilitate it.

If eating food reclaimed from bins seems like an extreme action to make this point, then sit back and see how mild it is compared to the extremity of the problem as revealed in the latest set of statistics from Wrap, a waste-reduction organisation connected to the government. First a health warning: they are so appalling they might make you sick.

Britain currently throws away an unimaginable 15m tonnes of food every year. Wrap has tentatively calculated, after painstaking studies, that a whopping 5m tonnes of food are wasted annually by consumers alone: that is, more than a quarter of all food we buy goes into the bin.

The author of a similar project in the USA, Dr Timothy Jones, concluded that about half of the wastage could be avoided. Food production currently uses a large proportion of Britain’s dwindling water supplies; our consumption habits are responsible world-wide for driving soil erosion and deforestation. Furthermore, 20% of all Britain’s greenhouse gas emissions come from the food cycle. If we currently waste nearly half of what we produce, and half of that waste can be avoided, then simply by sorting out this one problem we could slash our emissions by 5%.

It provides a free lunch for some, but discarding this precious resource is an insult to the alleviation of food poverty in our country and contributes senselessly to the destruction of the planet.

Tons of food wasted per year in the UK

Agriculture: 3 to 3.5 million
Manufacturing: 4.1 million
Wholesale: 0.2 million
Retail: 1.4 million
Hotel & catering: 1 million
Consumers: 5 million

Total: 15 million tons.

Louise Haines, our non-fiction publisher, reports that entries for the Waitrose Food Illustrated/4th Estate new food writer competition have been coming in thick and fast …. and it’s not too late to pen your own entry. Details of the competition and how to enter can be seen here.

5th Estate has a hot tip that the judges will now accept entries up to 25th March, so if your own entry has been, er, slow roasting, it’s good news.

Borough market is London’s oldest market.

It was established on the south bank of the Thames when the Romans build the first London Bridge and people have been trading on this site for over 2000 years. It’s a beautiful undercover food market and a truly wonderful part of London’s history.

We often visit the market for research, photography and feedback for our books, and many of our food writing authors, such as Nigel Slater, Giorgio Locatelli and Joanna Blythman are fans.

Some bright spark (I would use another term myself….) has decided to expand the railway line running through the roof of the market, which will also involve knocking down 23 of the beautiful listed and unlisted buildings in the closely surrounding area.

They already have planning permission , but are waiting funding and there is a strong local campaign to put a stop to it.

If you know and love the market in its present state, please sign the petition to prevent this from happening.

The plans, photographs and the petition are on the following: www.sabmac.co.uk

Unfortunately not a lot of people are aware of it so please sign it and pass it on to anyone else you know who loves this great bit of London heritage… AND LOCATION OF MONMOUTH COFFEE AND THE BEST MOZARELLA IN THE WORLD and that’s only two perfect things about Borough!

3 months in at 5th Estate and one of our consistently hot subjects is ‘real food’. So the question is, do you want to translate your love of good food into lip-smacking published literature? Waitrose Food Illustrated and publishers 4th Estate are announcing a nationwide hunt for the UK’s next culinary wordsmith with the launch of a £20,000 book contract competition.

Budding Nigels or Nigellas can pick up a January issue of WFI in order to win the chance of a contract with our imprint, Fourth Estate, and the prospect of future gastronomic greatness.

Click here to see more information about how to enter the competition and where to send your entries.

Fourth Estate non-fiction editorial team say:

The competition invites candidates to impress the judges with an original piece of prose on food and cooking. Aspiring authors are being given wide scope to share their food passion, whether that is Christmas culinary creations or re-creating family food favourites, all of which must be written in an innovative, engaging and original style of not more than 1500 words. The competition is open to anyone who has been dying to share their culinary thoughts and experiences.

The judging panel sounds like an impressive line-up – exactly the people by whom you’d want to get your writing seen, kind of the epicurean equivalent to Simon Cowell and Sharon Osborne:

renowned cook/writer Nigel Slater,
WFI editor William Sitwell
literary agents Janklow & Nesbit
head of non-fiction at Fourth Estate, Louise Haines.

Says Nigel Salter:

The best cookery writer is inevitably one who sends you off to the kitchen to chop, stir, grate and slice. Their words are what gets you to the stove and gives you sweet, cinnamon-scented dreams at night.

The judges urge entrants to don their aprons and get scribbling in time for the new extended closing date of 25th March 2007 with the lucky winner being announced in the June issue of Waitrose Food Illustrated and on 5th Estate.

Good luck – here’s hoping a 5th Estate reader bags the contract.

Next time you visit your MP, you should ask them their policy on fat rascals and tarts. If they’re with David Cameron, they should be right behind them.

I’m talking of course not about members of the Tory cabinet c.1980s nor more recent members of government, but about David Cameron’s call today at the Oxford Farming Conference for a bit of ‘food patriotism’.

As I’m sure we’ll hear on this evening’s news, the leader of the opposition said today that Britain should follow the lead of other EU countries which had stood up for local producers more effectively than these shores:

While we were obliterating our local food heritage – often by heavy handed government diktat – countries like France and Italy were preserving theirs … People elsewhere in Europe are far more likely to treasure – and eat – food that is produced in their home region. Britain needs a revolution in our thinking to recover that habit.

We couldn’t agree more, Dave.

We’re pretty proud of our Sweet Stout here at 5th Estate (no that’s not the cuddly new Conservative nickname for him, it’s a dark headed beer from Guernsey).

Which is why we brought out The Taste of Britain this autumn. Feeling all patriotic and revolutionary at once, I sent him a copy of the book along with a letter today:

You might be interested to hear that this book first emerged out of an EU sponsored survey in the mid 1990s. Whilst the British volume remained a modest project…the French version ran to some 26 volumes and was a national bestseller. The hope is that we can now redress the balance a bit.

Hope he replies. Or even better, can now tell Mr Paxman the difference between a knob from Norfolk and one from Dorset.

The significance of the recent, very public fallings out at the Soil Association should not be underestimated. When highly respected organic pioneers who have been part of the bedrock of the Soil Association- such as Lawrence Woodward and Peter Kindersley- say that the Association has lost the plot, then this needs to be taken very seriously.

Over the last two decades, the Soil Association had managed to build itself a credible image as the gold standard for certifying organic food. By sticking to tight, rigorous standards, it had managed to distinguish itself from ‘Rent-A-Cert’ organisations less committed to deep green organic principles which operate a much less demanding, weaker set of organic standards. The Soil Association stood for integrity.

Recently, fearful of being left behind in the rush to get organic food on the shelf, the Soil Association seems to have lost its nerve and has made the mistake of relaxing some of its standards. The drift away from the Soil Association’s once core principles is exemplified by its decision to certify farmed fish as organic. All it has done here is to lend its name to a slightly less malign version of intensive aquaculture. This is the sort of muddled, compromised, pragmatic approach one expects from bodies like the RSPCA’s Freedom Foods, not the Soil Association.

Why is this ? Perhaps the Soil Association has become unhealthy flattered by its growing influence. It seems to measure this in terms of volumes of organic food sold and is pleased to see organic food being accepted into the mainstream. But the pursuit of mass distribution means getting into bed with the supermarkets. Their interest in organic lines is purely commercial. It makes them money and it greens their corporate image. They want organic food because it sells, but they want it on the cheap. Dealing with the traditional, high-minded organic grower with smallish quantities of product is a pain in the backside for them. So they put pressure on their conventional producers to diversify into organic lines. Then these opportunist producers, who share few or none of the organic movement’s founding values, simply shop around for the most dilute set of organic standards they can find. Make no mistake that when Tesco boss, Sir Terry Leahy says that the organic movement has got to become more ‘professional’, that is shorthand for dropping standards.

Worldwide, the industrialisation of organic food is speeding up. Organic food production is gradually being moved away from principled people who believed that organics was an all-round radical alternative to a globalized food system predicated on pesticides, environmental damage and animal suffering, to Johnny-Cum-Latelys who want to get in on the organic act.

This is why the Soil Association should stick to its cherished, fundamental principles. Consumers need the Soil Association to stand by its founding ideals and operate irreproachable, clear-cut standards that differentiate it from the organic stampede. If it doesn’t, it throws away all the goodwill and trust that it has so carefully nurtured in the organic brand. Already, that old Groundhog Day chorus, ‘Can we REALLY trust organic food?’, has started up again, a chorus that the Soil Association will now find harder to answer than ever before.

Jacques Chirac may have brought things to boiling point in 2005 when he joked to Vladimir Putin and Gerhard Schröder about the untrustworthiness of the British and their food, but now the British are serving up a masterful second course.

At the global summit meeting in Russia, the French president noriously declared that the only thing the British have ever done for European agriculture is mad cow disease, and he reportedly added “You can’t trust people who cook as badly as that. After Finland, it’s the country with the worst food.”

Now any visiting diplomats to the British Embassy in Paris will find it is fully armed with a copy of The Taste of Britain, a celebration of regional British produce such as red grouse, gulls’ eggs, and native oysters.

John Holmes, the British Ambassador, commented today to our Publishing Director, Arabella Pike, “I applaud your initiative, and my wife will be particularly interested, having published two books in France recently on British cuisine and the art of a good sandwich”.

Chirac said at the time “I don’t know English – or Scottish – cuisine well enough that I could really talk as an expert.” We’d say now’s his chance to find out more.

In Italy everyone understands that a proper Italian pizza (not what we call pizza al taglio — the thicker-based one that has come in from America) has to have the perfect balance between a thin crisp base and a softer garnish, which means that you have to eat it within 5—6 minutes of it coming out of the oven, or it will be soggy and spoilt. So you buy pizza in the baker’s shop, or from the guys who sell slices of it on the streets, straight from big wood-?red ovens — not from the chiller cabinet of the supermarket, or delivered from a takeaway. In Italy, we don’t think of pizza as something cheap that can be packed into boxes and driven around town. Not even if they threatened you with six years in prison, would you eat a takeaway pizza delivered on a motorbike!

The perfect pizza oven is a work of art, heated to 500? Fahrenheit, designed to give a combination of air rolling over the top of the pizza, while the bricks underneath seal the base immediately and it becomes so crisp that when it comes out of the oven and you cut a slice, it will be completely ?rm. I’m not saying anything that has a thick base of dough topped with tomato and cheese is bad — in fact, the kids love it; it’s just not pizza.
I am very proud of the pizza we introduced to London when I worked at the Red Pepper, and later during the time I was at Zafferano, when we launched Spiga and Spighetta, and though we don’t serve pizza at Locanda, we often serve these little pizzette to our guests with aperitifs, while they are waiting for their table. If you want to make big pizza instead of little ones, this recipe will make three — just bake them for about 10 minutes.

Bagna càôda (anchovy sauce) is a very typical sauce in the North of Italy. Not everyone likes anchovies, I know (in which case, serve the pizzette without the sauce); but, if you do, you can make up bigger quantities of it and store it in a squeezy bottle in the fridge, then just shake it up before you use it and drizzle it over pasta, or toasted bread rubbed with garlic, whatever you like … Though I would normally say buy anchovies in salt, this is one recipe that is traditionally done with anchovies in oil.

Pizzette

Makes around 24 small pizzette for serving with drinks, or 12 larger ones

  • 375g Italian extra-strong flour or equal mix of Italian 00 flour and strong white bread flour
  • 200g water at 20?C
  • around 60g (about 4 tablespoons) extra-virgin olive oil
  • 10g fresh yeast
  • 10g ?ne salt
  • For the bagna càôda:

  • 3 garlic cloves
  • 3 tablespoons milk
  • 1 small tin of good anchovies, drained
  • a little extra-virgin olive oil
  • knob of butter
  • For the topping:

  • 15—20 cherry tomatoes, sliced
  • a handful of good olives, stoned and sliced
  • Put all the ingredients for the pizzette, except the salt, into a food mixer with a dough hook. Mix for 3 minutes on the ?rst speed, then add the salt and mix for 6 more minutes on the second speed. The dough should be very soft and sticky. If working by hand, mix with a wooden spoon, rotating the bowl as you do so for about 5 minutes, then work it for another 5 minutes with your hands until the dough is smooth.

    Turn the dough out on a work surface (you don’t need any ?our), dimple with your ?ngers and fold (see page 140) and leave to rest for 20 minutes.

    Lightly ?our your work surface and roll out the rested dough thinly. Have ready 2 upturned baking trays.

    With a 5—6cm diameter biscuit cutter, cut the dough into rounds. Lay them on the baking trays and put into the fridge for at least 4 hours — but no longer than 8. If you like, you can roll the trimmings of dough into rough grissini and bake them (see page 142).

    A good hour or so before you are ready to bake, preheat the oven as high as it will go. If you have a baking stone, put it into the oven as soon as you turn it on; if you don’t have a stone, use a baking tray.

    To make the bagna càôda: put the garlic in a small pan with the milk, bring to the boil and then turn down to a simmer and cook until the garlic is soft, about 10 minutes.

    While the garlic is cooking, put the anchovies with a little olive oil and butter into a small bowl over the top of the pan and stir to ‘melt’ them — it will only take a few minutes. (Alternatively, what I often do is just put the closed tin of anchovies into boiling water for 8—10 minutes, then take it out carefully, open it up and discard the oil.) Push through a ?ne sieve. Crush the garlic with a little of the cooking milk and mix into the anchovies. Loosen, if necessary, with a little more extra-virgin olive oil.

    Remove the dough from the fridge and, with your ?ngers, prod each circle of dough, starting from the centre and working out and around in a circle, then back to the middle again. Prick the tops with a fork, and add your tomatoes, sprinkled with a little sea salt, and the olives.

    Slide on to your hot baking stone or baking tray in the oven and cook in batches for 7—10 minutes, depending on the thickness, until golden brown and shiny. Drizzle with a little bagna càôda and serve.

    This week — fifthestate’s first — has been a delightfully busy one. It’s also been fairly hectic for anyone working on The Taste of Britain, a newly published compendium of regional produce from the British Isles, and my personal tip off for a great Christmas present if you’re already a bit stuck.

    The previous publisher of the book, Tom Jaine, has been whisked around various radio stations to record interviews on the topic of Britain’s food traditions — he even made the news on Wednesday night.

    Listen again to Tom Jaine’s very entertaining appearance on BBC Radio 4’s The World Tonight.

    Once interviewers have got over the initial shock factor of there being an identifiable British food heritage worthy of note, a question that crops up regularly is: what is our culinary tradition? Who are we?

    Tom has suggested that, from a historian’s perspective, one can look to food culture as a means of broadly determining what the nation’s identity was, and perhaps still is. To nations such as France food tradition and the idea of AOC goes some distance to carving out an idea of what it has previously meant to be French. Could it be that the stuff we eat could help define the future fabric of the British Isles?

    The Taste of Britain is a compendium of foods whose origins on these shores date back at least three generations. I wonder if in another three generations time, the book will look very different. Personally, I think that The Taste of Britain 2106 would be an exciting prospect. But I also suspect that it will be a far harder thing to pin down.

    So, in a week that saw Jack Straw write in the Lancashire Telegraph that he’d rather women constituents lifted the veil (apparently 93% of Britons polled agree with him), the question of a common cultural identity lifts its head again — perhaps these days it never goes away.

    The voices of those sceptical of multiculturalism are sounding louder — in fact, next week Michael Burleigh will post at fifthestate on the subject

    The government’s predictable response to this on-going emergency is to form yet further committees of the likeminded, where the voices of anyone sceptical of multiculturalism are unrepresented…Let’s have some ‘unity’ officers, versed in what makes this country sufficiently attractive for the huge numbers of people seeking to live here.

    Nevertheless, if you concur with former Labour home secretary Roy Jenkins, that integration is “not a flattening process of assimilation but equal opportunity accompanied by … an atmosphere of mutual tolerance”, you’ll join me in the hope that The Taste of Britain a hundred years hence will be able to stretch to the 27 volumes that France made on its first edition.

    Ragù — traditional meat sauce — is best with fresh egg pasta, especially tagliatelle or pappardelle, but not with spaghetti, which is too thin to hold the chunks of meat.

    You can also serve it with short pasta, such as penne or farfalle; in fact, when the meat is minced (as in the case of beef and pork), it works better with these pastas, and also with fusilli. When you make ragù with wild boar or game, which is cooked on the bone to retain the ?avour, and then ?aked, the meat has a different consistency which will coat long pasta, such as pappardelle or tagliatelle, better. Sometimes, too, we use ragù as a ?lling for ravioli.

    Each region of Italy has its favourite ragù; sometimes you will even ?nd a mixture of veal, pork and beef all in one sauce. In Toscana, where my sous chef Federico comes from, they like to add chicken liver to pork or beef ragù. At Locanda we vary the ragù according to the season: so sometimes it might be venison or kid (baby goat) — which we get just after Christmas.

    We make ragù with baby goat in a similar way to wild boar but we don’t marinate the meat ?rst. At other times it might be hare, pork, veal or lamb. The beauty of making it at home is that you can cook up a big quantity, then divide it into portions and freeze it, ready to heat through when you want it.

    Cook the pasta, reserving the cooking water, as usual, then toss the pasta in the pan of ragù, adding a little of the cooking water if necessary to help the sauce cling to the pasta. Stir in a couple of knobs of butter, and if you like, add some grated pecorino or Parmesan.

    Sometimes I make a very quick and simple sausage and tomato ragù, which the kids love. I chop up some good pork sausages, sauté them in a pan with some garlic cloves — no onions — add a tin of good tomatoes and maybe some chopped fresh ones, bring to the boil, then turn down the heat and simmer for about 40 minutes until it is good and thick.

    Because it makes sense to make ragù in large quantities, I have broken with the pattern of the rest of the book and given recipes that should make enough to feed eight people, or four for two different meals. If you only want to make enough for four at one sitting, just reduce the quantities.

    Ragù alla bolognese

    Makes enough for 8

    • 2kg minced beef, preferably neck
    • 5 tablespoons olive oil
    • 2 carrots, ?nely chopped
    • 1 celery stalk, ?nely chopped
    • 2 onions, ?nely chopped
    • sprig of rosemary and sprig of sage, tied together for a bouquet garni
    • 2 garlic cloves
    • 1 bottle of red wine
    • 1 tablespoon tomato paste
    • 1 litre tomato passata
    • salt and pepper

    To serve:

    • pasta, preferably pappardelle (page 338), tagliatelle or short pasta
    • freshly grated pecorino cheese

    In the restaurant we cook this in the oven in big pans at about 120?C, gas 1?2, so it just simmers, for about the same length of time as if you cooked it on the stove — if you have a big enough oven and big enough pans, you can do the same.

    Take the meat out of the fridge and lay it on a tray and let it come to room temperature, so that it will sear, rather than ‘boil’ when it goes into the pan.

    Heat the oil in a wide-bottomed saucepan, add the vegetables, herbs and whole garlic cloves, and sweat over a high heat for 5—8 minutes without allowing it to colour (you will need to keep stirring).

    Season the meat with salt and pepper and add to the pan of vegetables, making sure that the meat is covering the base of the pan. Leave for about 5—6 minutes, so that the meat seals underneath and heats through completely, before you start stirring (otherwise it will ooze protein and liquid and it will ‘boil’ rather than sear). Take care, though, that the vegetables don’t burn — add a little more oil, if necessary, to stop this happening.

    Stir the meat and vegetables every few minutes for about 10—12 minutes, until the meat starts to stick to the bottom of the pan. At this point, the meat is ready to take the wine.

    Add the wine and let it reduce right down to virtually nothing, then add the tomato paste and cook for a couple of minutes, stirring all the time.

    Add the passata with 1 litre of water. Bring to the boil, then turn down to a simmer and cook for about 11?2 hours, adding a little extra water if necessary from time to time, until you have a thick sauce.

    When you are ready to serve the ragù, put it back into a pan and heat through. Cook your pasta (preferably pappardelle, tagliatelle or short pasta) and drain, reserving the cooking water. Add the pasta to the ragù and toss well, adding some of the cooking water, if necessary, to loosen the sauce. Serve with freshly grated pecorino.

    Did you enjoy this article? If so, check out this video of Giorgio making Pheasant Ravioli. Enjoy!

    Raspberry and roses

    What you need:

    • 2 apples
    • 1 orange
    • 1 punnet of raspberries
    • ½ a banana
    • 1 dessertspoon of rose water (or one teaspoon of rose syrup if you can get it)

    What to do:

    Cut the apple into wedges, put them through the juicer and pour the juice into a blender. Squeeze the juice from the orange. Add the orange juice to the blender, along with the raspberries, banana and rose water/syrup. Whizz. Drink. Fall in love. 2 servings.

    (We got our Le Jardin d’Elen rose syrup from la Fromagerie, a posh London cheese shop. But you can get rose water in supermarkets, in the aisle with the glace cherries and baking ingredients.)

    Supermarket giant, Tesco has made new promises to improve local sourcing and highlighing regional produce in a recent press release featured in Society Guardian. Are we convinced? Catherine Brown comments.

    One of the supermarket’s problems sourcing local food is the way they distribute food.

    Of course, it’s a brilliantly efficient system which makes sense economically. But it depends on sourcing large quantities, globally, from large suppliers in order to streamline the supplier base and cut costs. The products are sent to a small number of very large central distribution units which then supply to individual supermarkets.

    This means that to conform to the system local producers must first — even if their fields are next door to their local supermarket — send their produce to the nearest CD unit.
    Not only that, they must grow in size so they can fit the supermarket profile of a large supplier. This is often difficult for small artisan producers, small farmers and local growers who may not be suited, or be able to afford to grow into larger operations. Their product may depend on individual care in the making. Some may want to live a less stressful – even if less rich – lifestyle.

    Then there is the question of the power of the supermarket. Its monopoly and how the small producer is frightened-off by its bullying buying tactics. Supermarkets were first rumbled, regarding their buying tactics and difficulties sourcing locally from small producers/suppliers, with the publication of the Competition Commission’s report in 2000. Then in 2004, Joanna Blythman’s ‘Shopped: the Shocking Power of the British Supermarket’ put in the public domain — in more digestible detail – the reasons why supermarkets are not suited to sourcing locally.

    Now they have all set up ‘regionality teams’ or ‘local sourcing programmes’ and would like us to believe they are more than a PR stunt. But look on the shelves of your local supermarket to see if it really means anything. I’ve given up hunting for ripe local, fresh and seasonal fruit and vegetables among the yards of shelf space given up to over-packaged, much-travelled, not seasonal, not ripe and definitely not local fruit and vegetables. Ok, there is the odd thing here and there. But it’s an effort to search, and much easier to go to a farmers’ market or farm shop. I complained recently to a Tesco manager in the heart of berry-growing Angus about Hereford strawberries on the shelves.

    The only supermarket’s local sourcing programme which addresses the much-travelled question is Asda’s scheme in Cumbria and the South West of England to reduce food miles and get fresh local produce into local supermarkets via a smaller distribution unit (see the Farming Today message board). It’s hardly a drop in the ocean at the moment, but it could make a difference if it was rolled out throughout the country

    So much supermarket hype has been flowing on the local sourcing question recently that you can’t help wondering if it’s got something to do with the success of the farmers’ market movement as well as other moves to preserve a local food system. Are supermarkets worried that unless they persuade customers of their local commitment they will loose out to a growing competition?

    A consumer-led, buy-local-eat-local food revolution might be in its infancy, but – who knows- it might yet subvert the excesses of industrialised food retailing by reviving and supporting more accountable local food systems and more traditional British foods. The Slow Food movement argues for local rootedness, decentralisation and conservation of typicality.

    That the benefit to communities of this approach is that local and regional foods are saved; there is an improvement in diet; a reduction in pollution; the development of food-producing skills; and more money circulating locally. For every £1 spent in a supermarket, 90p leaves the area, but every £1 spent in a local shop/market/farm supplier doubles its value to the local economy. To my mind Tesco’s efforts have a ring of tokenism about them, if you judge them by what’s on their shelves.

    Catherine Brown is the author of The Taste of Britain.

    Tristram Stuart, author of The Bloodless Revolution, gave a speech to the Nehru Centre on 13th September. He discusses radical vegetarians and discovery of India, in a talk that both challenges ideas of the history of cultural exchange between India and the West, and also touches on the rationale behind abstinence from meat.

    Listen to Tristram Stuart: The Filing Cupboard presents Tristram Stuart [MP3, 6.5MB].

    I know that many people feel nervous about brains — because either they make them feel squeamish or the BSE crisis has made them scared. If we look back into history, though, we can see that a very large proportion of the world’s population has been eating things like this for thousands of years.

    I really believe we should eat everything from an animal; it doesn’t make sense to eat only ?llets and steaks, which make up only a small percentage. In Italy, just as I feel salumi represents the traditional food of the people, so too do the recipes for brains, kidneys and feet, since the prime cuts were for the rich people only.

    A dish of fried brains says more to me about Italian food than something like tournedos rossini, which is only the grand idea of a composer, not at all re?ective of what the rest of the people ate.

    Brains are very popular in Northern Italy, to the point that people used to say that if you ate them, they would make you clever. That’s what my grandmother used to say to my brother Roberto all the time, when he complained that they were soft and he didn’t like the texture — even though she used to keep them in the oven until we came home, so they were really, really crispy on the outside. I always loved them; I thought the sweetness was fantastic, and I liked the quite weird way they were crispy and then so soft inside you didn’t need to chew; they just disappeared in your mouth — a bit like arancini, the fried balls of risotto.

    At Locanda, we don’t often put brains on the menu, because not many people order them, but we have regular customers who love them, and we will always cook them for them, as a special.

    We serve them cooked in two ways, deep-fried and shallow-fried, on either side of a big square plate (cervello fritto e al saltimbocca). To prepare the brains, you have to wash them gently under water, so that you can take the skin off. The ones that are going to be deep-fried are ?rst passed through some ?our, beaten egg and ?ne breadcrumbs before they go into the hot oil. Next to them, we usually serve a little salad and a very strong salsa verde made with more capers than usual.

    We experimented for some time to ?nd another, more unusual way of cooking the brains to serve alongside the deep-fried ones, and eventually came up with the idea of rolling them, like a cigar, inside a slice of prosciutto. Then we sauté them in a non-stick pan with just a ?lm of oil, and a little butter towards the end, and serve them on a bed of stewed leeks, with a sharp Marsala sauce over the top. It is a dish that looks and tastes fantastic.

    Imprint HarperPress is resuscitating a quiet classic on October 2nd by totally repackaging and updating a campaigning compendium book on regional food.

    Fifthestate took the opportunity of putting some tough questions to one of its authors, Catherine Brown (CB), and Tom Jaine (TJ), the man who first published it at a small independent press, Prospect Books, 8 years ago.

    Should we care about whether our food is regional and local? Is British food really worth celebrating, or are we just pandering to a yuppie obsession in over-fussing about food?

    So, Catherine, how did you come to the job of compiling a sort of Domesday Book of local foods with Laura?

    CB: I suppose I started compiling it when I was very young – as a child — noticing different foods as I moved every year for holidays from home in Glasgow tenement land to East Coast fishing village to live with my father’s extended family. Such amazing contrasts could hardly have gone unnoticed.

    Another important influence was cooking in hotels in the Highlands where I fought against the tide of exporting all the best local foods. These were things worth preserving, I thought, and I was determined they should be celebrated in their native land.

    Finally, I ended up in the early 1970s at Strathclyde University’s Scottish Hotel School researching a project on how agricultural, fishing, social, economic, historical and political factors had influenced British regional foods. After four years research it was published in 1976 as British Cookery.

    From then on I was hooked on preserving local foods and regional food traditions.

    Ah ha. Then an EU grant started the Taste of Britain/France/Italy etc project off last decade, with experts compiling a ‘survey’, if you like, of all the specialities available in their respective countries. We might have known it wasn’t originally a British initiative! Are the continental European nations better at celebrating local food than the British, do you think?

    CB: From a Scotland angle, yes. In the past so much of the best local food in Scotland was exported, especially in the second half of the 20th century, so local people did not have the same intimate knowledge with prime raw ingredients that you find in parts of some European countries. France in particular, of course.

    But now the momentum to celebrate local foods, and regional traditions, is changing and there is no reason why we should not be just as good at it as the Europeans. Especially if we start eating the best produce in its native land instead of exporting it.

    TJ: The French are superlative at this. They managed 27 volumes of detailed history and inventory as a consequence of Euroterroirs. The Italians are pretty hot at it too, although did not (although Catherine and Laura would know better) engage in quite the same way with Euroterroirs. They have their own autochthonous regional food promotion and preservation systems; the Spanish, ditto. Of the northern Europeans, the Irish responded to Euroterroirs and produced a book which is smaller, but very similar to The Taste of Britain, but the Dutch, for example, produced a not very good volume out of the process, perhaps reflecting the paucity of Dutch local foods. The British, of course, were completely hopeless.

    The official bodies involved in the Euroterroirs process wanted nothing more to do with it once the research was completed. They neither wished to convert it into a book nor assist me when Prospect Books finally came onto the scene with a grant for so doing. As far as I can recall they didn’t even thank me for the free copy they got at the end of it. They have very limited imagination and are largely in thrall to large farming and producer interests.

    Yes, I agree with you that the concept, say, of appellation contrôlée in France, seems to be a completely integral part of the culture. Isn’t the local food movement still a bit of a ‘yuppie’ trend here in Britain, though? Is it realistic to expect everyone to get behind it, no matter what their income and location?

    TJ: Of course it is yuppie; to begin with you have to be literate to read the book, but it all depends what you mean by local food, and indeed, by movement. So far as I am concerned there is nothing more depressing than some ghastly man/woman producing second-rate paté and forcing us by moral blackmail to buy it because it is local.

    However, it doesn’t seem to me difficult for any shopper, literate or illiterate, to decide that it is better in every way to buy English apples as opposed to Chinese or Canadian. And in part I feel that the local ‘food movement’ should guard against too greater preciousness in its specifications and look to promoting the broad brush angle.

    CB: I don’t see it as a yuppie trend. Perhaps it might be in some yuppie areas. But the point is that the movement back to local foods is in its infancy, historically. It’s a momentum which needs nurturing, if it’s to become mainstream, which is why The Taste of Britain is so timely.

    You first compiled this list in 1998. Since then, have you had to take anything out of the selection due it becoming extinct?

    CB: Yes, but not anything major.

    That’s good to know: we seem to be on the up then. And now lots of influential chefs and foodies like Gordon Ramsay and Delia Smith have written to you us and volunteered contributions for this book. Did their enthusiastic response surprise you?

    CB: No, because those in ‘the know’, know about the current momentum back to a more sustainable food system with more emphasis on local foods and they understand the value of establishing their authenticity in a book like this.

    TJ: For the book in its original form [c. 1998] the only chef that I can remember who responded with true and positive enthusiasm was Fergus Henderson at St. John. This is not to say that many chefs have for the last ten years or so been emphasising the origins of their ingredients in both menus and public statements. This has to be a good thing. Occasionally one discovers a chef who has been using lamb from a specific village or course has to bolster his supplies from some other location very, very distant from the named source, because poor old Farmer Giles ran out of lamb. But nonetheless, I think chefs do try current to source locally.

    Just a minute. Tizer and Vimto have made the final selection! Why are they there?

    CB: [we chose things like] Irn Bru because of their history as specially British — non-yuppie — fizzy drinks. Scotland is the only country in the world where sales of its other national drink (Irn Bru) exceed Coca Cola!

    OK. This has been causing a few fiery debates in the fifthestate cupboard, so can you settle it for us once and for all — which region has the best local food? I’d say North of England (let’s face it, Yorkshire) for its seafood, ales and long tradition of bakery, but dairy queen Annabel reckons it’s the South West of England. Who’s right?

    CB: An interesting question. Perhaps there should be a national poll.

    That’s a very good idea. Anyone reading this, hello, if you’ve got any opinions on this, please share them. I’ll send anyone who manages to change our mind on the matter a free copy of the book (put a link to your own email/blog there so I can contact you!)

    JT: Of course it’s the South West, but at some stage over the last few years I did develop a intellectual template for establishing a regional identity and it’s interesting that you could apply this template to several bona fide regions in Britain, none of which was better than the other. I was surprised how far this was possible even in as small a country as Britain. Of course, Catherine would say that the richest, or most distinct, region in Britain, is Scotland, with some reason.

    CB: I’ve travelled as a food journalist through most parts of England and lived in Yorkshire for two years and certainly the South West and Yorkshire are serious contenders.
    What I’d like to see, though, is those areas which do it best given some status as specially-interesting-food-destinations, like some areas of France and Italy have become. Then there would be an incentive for producers, and caterers writing menus, to let everyone know the local breed of cattle etc. and where it came from.

    And, yes Tom, of course I think the best food is in Scotland. But, sorry, it’s not a region of England, though I had – very reluctantly – to accept this for the I purpose of Euroterroirs.

    Thank you. That’s very diplomatic of you. Good job there’s a healthy 3 chapters on Scotland in the book. So, seriously, do you like Marmite?

    TJ: yes, at 3.30 p.m. in the afternoon.

    CB: Yes, on hot toast and because some people swear that eating marmite keeps away the midges — well, we live in hope.

    What’s the best way to eat tripe?

    TJ: very, very rarely. As a wartime baby I have serious emotional problems with tripe.

    CB: Chopped into very small cubes, with lots of very finely chopped onions in a creamy white sauce and plenty of hot buttered toast. I used to serve Venison Tripe like this on the hotel menu but called it by its Gaelic name Pocha Buidhe and it was amazingly popular – I never disclosed the translation.

    You have now…. I read a nice recipe for tripe the other day but it was French. Haven’t heard an appetizing one from Britain until now. Game is of course another one of this island’s native culinary gems, but it’s relatively rare to see it on the dinner table these days. There’s a wonderful variety of regional and delicious-sounding game in the book. If your readers wanted to try it out, where would be a good place to source it?

    TJ: a proper butcher, of which there are not too many.

    CB: From a game dealer who sources from a number of estates which have game available and who follows the right handling procedures. This is important with game which is not killed in an abattoir and must be transported from point of kill, correctly, and in the shortest time possible. Bad handling in the past has prevented game from becoming more popular but this problem is being sorted out and there is now much more reliable quality. Highland Game in Dundee has trailblazed on the question of quality Scottish wild red deer vension. They are at www.highlandgame.com.

    Some butchers have a game licence and there are a good source too. Whoever you buy it from it’s essential to ask questions about it. Such as: Do you know its age? How long has it been hung? If it’s venison, what kind of deer is it? These will all affect the cooking. Good game dealers/butchers will be very happy to answer your questions and sometimes give advice on cooking. Highland Game have lots of advice on their website and food writer, Maxine Clark, has written a book on venison for Highland Game.

    Highland Game sound just what fifthestate is looking for. We’ll try them (and Maxine Clark’s book). The Queen recently had a Great British Menu created for her 80th birthday. What would you have for your 80th birthday meal?

    TJ: Something that didn’t damage my dentures.
    Two dozen native oysters
    Rare roast forerib of beef
    Roast potatoes, fresh peas
    followed by Gooseberry crumble
    Now you can’t say that that ain’t traditional.

    CB:
    Selection of Scottish Shellfish (mussels, squat lobster, langoustines, spoots, queenies, cockles, whelks — whatever is available – cooked in their shells and served in a large deep Scottish soup plate with some of the bree – cooking liquor).
    Roast Rib of Organically-fed Aberdeen Angus Beef (cooked on a wrack, served rare, with mustard and horseradish sauces).
    Selection of Roast Vegetables (cooked underneath the beef and including Golden Wonder potatoes, whole red onions, carrots, parsnips and whole heads of garlic).
    Salad Leaves with Dressing
    Harvest-Home Cranachan (bowls on the table of: toasted oatmeal, Scottish berries and whipped cream plus a jar of heather honey with individual bowls for all diners to mix to their own to size and taste, lubricating it with generous slurps of a favourite malt whisky)

    Can’t imagine a better 80th birthday feast. In fact, we don’t think any of us should wait that long. We’re off to see if we can source some of that now for ourselves.

    If we want to have a proper connection with our meat, we have to do everything we can to keep the tradition of good butchers’ shops alive. And I mean butchers of quality, not the ones who can’t tell you where their beef or chickens come from, or who are just trying to compete with the supermarkets by cutting their prices.

    In Italy, butchers’ shops mostly still do well, because people are concerned about traceability. Just as a tomato isn’t just a tomato to an Italian, we are also very choosy about the meat we eat.

    When I go shopping at home with my father, it takes hours, as he goes to this butcher for one particular piece of meat, somewhere else for another, because he thinks they source it or look after it better. Of course, he also knows everyone by name; so there must a big conversation while the meat is being prepared and wrapped up in little paper parcels.

    Even in places where supermarkets have killed off the local shops, what they often do is re-employ the butchers to run the supermarket meat counters, so you still have someone there who understands about the meat, someone with knowledge, so you can build up a relationship. Sometimes I think people feel more secure in a supermarket where the meat is portioned up with price tags, so they know how much their bill will be, but if you get to know your butcher, you can say: ‘This is how much I want to spend and who I am cooking for — what do you suggest?’

    In Britain, the disasters of BSE, etc., have surely proved that everybody has to take responsibility all the way along the chain. Nobody must cut corners. Think about it: if you rear an animal in its natural habitat, with its natural feed, and slaughter it locally and carefully, you should have no problem. But in the name of pro?t and speed what do we do? We rear our animals intensively, we pump water into them to plump them up and fetch a better price, we inject them with antibiotics, not caring that if we ingest so many our bodies may become so exposed to them that one day, when we are sick and the doctor says, ‘Take antibiotics,’ they won’t do anything for us.

    When we compare prices of meat, we have to consider not why something seems expensive, but why its equivalent can be so cheap. How is it possible to rear a chicken properly, kill it, take off its feathers, hang it, etc., and then charge only a few pounds for it? It isn’t possible; really, it isn’t. Short cuts must be taken at the expense of the animals and the quality of the meat.

    We have become so used to seeing bright-red beef in vacuum packs in the supermarket that we are apparently suspicious of anything that looks dark. However, the meat is bright red because it has gone from the abattoir to the chill counter as quickly as possible, as it is considered too expensive and time-consuming to hang it in the traditional way, so that it matures properly and its own natural enzymes work on the proteins and break them down. This is the process that makes the meat more tender and improves the ?avour — and turns the ?esh dark-red in the process.