The death recently of TV producer David Pritchard will have saddened those, like me, who love the Keith Floyd and Rick Stein programmes.
Pritchard was the man who discovered both cooks. He not only turned them into household names, he came up with a new style of cookery programme. Floyd and Stein didn’t cook in a TV studio; they cooked outdoors and they undertook gastronomic journeys, where they visited fish markets, small restaurants, bakeries, farms, and even people’s homes. They shared their passion for good produce their curiosity about food, its culinary history, and the people who produced it.
Although Pritchard was the man behind the camera, we occasionally glimpsed him or heard him asking Floyd or Stein a question. In a scene in one of Stein’s programmes in Spain, Pritchard can be heard saying, “You didn’t really like that did, you?” Stein pauses and then says, “I did…I really did…I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t.” I sensed from the expression on Stein’s face that Pritchard was right.
Pritchard’s love of good food and good wine meant that he was a natural to make such programmes. When you watch any of his programmes you sense that everyone is having a great time, and probably an even better time when all the equipment was packed away and they head off to find a restaurant or bar.
His book Shooting the Cookprovides a fascinating behind the scenes look at how they were made and some of the inevitable arguments and disasters that happened. In one case, Floyd stormed off, and it looked like the programme wasn’t going to be made. Of course, it was.
I can watch the Floyd and Stein programmes again and again. They are simply wonderful. You feel that you too are there in France, Italy, Thailand, or wherever, and they are so entertaining and insightful. This is down not just to the presence of Floyd or Stein, but also to Pritchard creativity and feel for where and what he was filming. He was a genius.
In his obituary in The Guardian, Tom Jaine wrote, “My own small memory of it is of having lunch on the seafront at Arcachon, south of Bordeaux, one summer when striding along the promenade came a posse of bulky Englishmen who turned out to be Pritchard and the crew assessing the location for their next series, Rick Stein’s Long Weekends. The encounter was jolly.”
The scene is a planning meeting for Front Row, BBC Radio 4’s flagship arts programme, at the BBC’s expensive offices in Salford. Around the table are sat the production team.
Editor: “So, what do we all think about Jake’s idea? The guy who’s written the novel about the orphan who gets into crime but then finds his way and becomes rich?”
Researcher: “Is he black?”
Jake: “Don’t think so.”
Researcher: “Is he a woman?”
Jake: “Er, he’s a man.”
Researcher: “Oh, yeah…Trans?”
Jake: “Doubt it.”
Editor: “Does he mention the gender pay gap, then?”
Jake: “No, nothing like that.”
Producer: “What about homophobia?”
Jake: “That doesn’t come up.”
Researcher: “What about anti-establishment?”
Jake: “Yeah, you could say that.”
Editor: “Is he anti-Trump, though?”
Jake: “The thing is, the story’s set in Victorian times.”
Editor: “Sorry, you did say. What’s his moral line?”
Jake: “I suppose he takes a traditional Christian view of things.”
Editor: “No good, then. Sorry, Jake. Now, let’s move on…Tell you what, I really like the idea about this arts festival for gay dog owners…”
I’ve been listening to Front Row for several years, and I’ve heard some great interviews. But, increasingly, when I tune in now I find myself feeling that I am being preached at. I get the impression that some items on the show have not be chosen for their artistic merit, but rather because they tick the politically correct boxes drawn up by BBC bureaucrats who are part of the diversity and equality industry.
Recently, for example, it seems that the main focus of many discussions or interviews on the programme is what a book, play, film, or piece of art has to say about women: the Me Too movement, inequality, under representation, gender stereotypes, sexuality.
Front Row is in danger of becoming a parody of itself – just like the programme depicted in the new Alan Partridge TV series.
The report last November that the Vatican Museums are considering putting a cap on visitor numbers because of overcrowding came as no surprise to me.
The 54 galleries of the museums, which stretch for seven miles and contain some of the world’s greatest treasures, attract over six million visitors a year.
I was not surprised, because the overcrowding at the Vatican is part of a larger picture of how mass tourism in Europe is making some cities unbearable in the summer for tourists and locals alike.
Budget airlines such as Ryan Air and Easy Jet have made cheap travel to Europe possible, and millions of us search their web sites for bargain flights. If you are lucky, at certain times of the year you can find return flights to some cities for as little as fifty quid.
And now we have more and more cruise ships disgorging thousands of passengers in cities such as Venice, Barcelona, Dubrovnik, and Amsterdam.
It’s hard to escape the feeling that Europe is being turned into a giant theme park.
While local shops, restaurants and hotels rub their hands with glee at the hordes of tourists crowding the streets, locals are not so happy.
In cities across Europe, there are now regularly protests about everything from noise and litter to Airbnb out-of-towners pushing up house prices. The deregulation of taxi laws has seen a spike in taxi services like Uber clogging the streets.
Venetians have long complained that mass tourism is swamping the city, famous for its canals. Traditional businesses such as pharmacies and bakeries have been replaced by tacky souvenir shops and many locals have moved out.
The figures for Venice are startling. The city’s population has dropped to 59,000 from a peak of 164,000, and each year, between 20 – 24 million visitors descend on it.
In Barcelona, fewer locals now do their shopping at its famous food market, the Boqueria in La Rambla, because so many tourists go there. They come to gaze at the incredible array at fresh meats, fish, and cheeses on display, but not to buy. Some stalls now sell takeaway food and put up “Photos No!” signs.
It’s the same all over the centre of Barcelona. The pavements are too crowded. When I was last there, I wanted to see the Sagrada Familia, Gaudi’s amazing unfinished cathedral. But I couldn’t face having to join such a long queue and then when I eventually got inside having to shuffle along with hundreds of other people.
If you travel to any European tourism hotspot, it doesn’t take long to work out that one of the largest tourist groups is now the Chinese. I remember three years ago sitting on a ferry in Sorrento about to depart to Capri when I was astonished to see nearly a hundred Chinese tourists suddenly clamber aboard – each one of them eating grapes from a bag.
In her book Overbooked: The Exploding Business of Travel and Tourism Elizabeth Becker says one of the main reasons the Chinese travel to Europe for is for shopping. “They shop for brand names, luxury clothes, jewellery, luggage, and whisky, anything with prestige.”
So many Chinese tourists come to Venice that tour operators often drop them off at pizza restaurants and cafes owned by Chinese, and they are directed to shops selling “Venetian glass” that was made in China.
When I took a train up the Italian Riviera to visit the Cinque Terre, five historic towns nestling by the sea, it was standing room only. And you could barely move through the streets in each town. In this case, most tourists seemed to be other Europeans or Americans with backpacks.
In the UK we have similar problems with mass tourism. Those of us who live in London know to avoid areas such as South Kensington, Piccadilly, and the South Bank at certain times of the year.
Elsewhere, because locals in Cambridge have complained about not being able to move around easily, the tourism body Visit Cambridge and Beyond has been forced to take the step of encouraging the Chinese to visit in smaller groups and it is also working to tackle coach congestion in the city’s narrow streets.
While down in Cornwall, fans of the BBC TV series Poldarkarrived in such numbers that it threatened what attracted them in the first place: the tranquility. Last year, the Cornish tourist board pleaded with people not to visit its beaches, but to stay away from them!
Well, I’ve decided to avoid visiting any towns and cities in Europe that are tourist destinations. Instead I’ll go to somewhere off the tourist trail, where I don’t have to join a long queue to buy a train ticket and where there are no tourist menus – I just hope lots of other people don’t have the same idea.
According to accountancy firm Moore Stephens, in 2017/18 there were 1,219 restaurant insolvencies, up 24% on the year before and nearly double the rate seen in 2010/11.
Brexit concerns, business rates and over expansion are among the top reasons given for this.
Jeremy Willmont, head of restructuring and insolvency at Moore Stephens, says closures in the restaurant sector are at “epidemic” levels.
“The impact is visible on almost every high street of a major town or city,” he said.
He says an influx of private equity investment into restaurant chains has led to some opening too many sites which fail to break even.
The massive explosion in the number of restaurants in London has always struck me as unsustainable. Many high streets have just too many places.
My corner of south-east London is a good example. If you walk along Lordship Lane in East Dulwich on a weekday afternoon, you will see hardly anyone sitting in its forty or so eateries.
Elsewhere, a new trendy café is about to open in Forest Hill, an area that already has enough such places. If you go to Peckham, once a backwater when it came to decent food, it seems there’s a sourdough pizza restaurant around every corner. And over the last year in Crystal Palace, where you are spoilt for choice when it comes to restaurants and pubs, several more places have opened, all no doubt thinking they can cash in on the craze for eating out.
This situation can be seen in many parts of London.
The fact is that London has too many restaurants, and it has too many restaurants that are unable to offer good service and good food and at a reasonable price. Fourteen quid for fish and chips in a gastro pub is way too high.
The problem is, the huge increase in restaurants in the capital has outstripped the number of suitably qualified or experienced staff to work in them. Many restaurants are so desperate for someone to work in the kitchen or front of house that they will take virtually anyone.
What’s more, most restaurants in London rely on staff from overseas. If people start heading back to Poland, Bulgaria, Spain, or wherever, then many restaurants will have to close their doors.
So will the restaurant bubble burst? Quite possibly. And that might be a good thing, because then perhaps will see restaurants providing higher quality food and service, and better value for money.
With products from so many countries available in our shops and supermarkets, it’s easy to forget that England has some very good ones of its own. Here’s ten of my favourites, in no particular order, and the county they are traditionally associated with
Last night I paid my second visit in a month to a fish and chip restaurant in south-east London that has received rave reviews even though on my previous visit I had been underwhelmed by both the fish (the batter wasn’t crispy and the haddock was so so) and the chips (pale instead of golden and not crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside, as they should be).
I had broken one of my golden rules of not going to a place that sold fish and chips along with items on the menu such as burgers, fried chicken and Jamaican patties. Why do this? If you set out to serve fish and chips, stick to fish and seafood, and cook them perfectly.
But, sadly, the majority of fish and chip shops or restaurants don’t do this. Fish and chips just feels like one of many items, not something special, which is what it should be. I’m not bothered what some people say about chicken tikka masala, this is our national dish.
The reason I decided to give the place in south-east London a second go was because of the friendly staff and friendly owner. Yet I was still troubled by the number of customers who proclaimed that it served the best fish and chips in London. Perhaps I had caught it on a bad night, I concluded.
So last night I had high expectations when I placed my order. They soon started to disappear when my plate was put down in front of me. True, the haddock was large, but the chips looked just as pale as before. In fact, this time they were worse, because someone hadn’t bothered to cut out the green bits, which leave a bitter taste in the mouth. As for the haddock, it was no better than before and this time, the batter was soggy.
After I had paid and was leaving, the owner called to me. ‘I see, you haven’t eaten much,’ he said.
‘No…I like my chips crispy on the outside and soft inside…And I prefer crispy batter,’ I replied.
‘Well, you know, I only buy the best quality potatoes, but this is the wrong time of the year,’ he said.
‘Ah, I see,’ I said, thinking the poor quality of the chips was to do with the way they had been cooked, not the potatoes.
‘Next time when you come, they will be better,’ he said cheerfully.
‘Okay,’ I said, and went on my way.
I liked the owner and he seemed to genuinely want his customers to have a good experience. I could see he was proud of his restaurant, and I admire that. But the truth is that while people might tell him online he’s serving great fish and chips, he’s not. Not by my book anyway.
This just goes to show that over 1,000 people on Trip Advisor can be wrong.
For hundreds of years, monasteries in Europe have brewed beer. And now a monastery in Leicestershire has become the first one in England to do so since the Reformation.
When the Cistercian monks (known as Trappists) at Mount St Bernard Abbey, near Coleville, realized that dairy farming was no longer economically viable and closed their farm and sold their cows, they needed to come up with another way to support themselves. So they decided to brew beer.
After visiting the eleven Trappist monasteries brewing beer in Europe and the US, the monks at Mount St Bernard engaged a Dutch master brewer as an advisor.
He cautioned against just copying the style of existing Trappist beers, but to create a unique style. The first English Trappist ale, Tynt Meadow, combines the traditions of the continental Trappist brewers with the traditions of English brewing, which is centred on Burton on Trent just 15 miles away.
The monks have received help in brewing from The Pheasantry Brewery in Nottinghamshire, the Charnwood Brewery in nearby Loughborough, the Heritage Brewery at the National Brewery centre in Burton on Trent, the Framework Brewery in Leicester, and the Unicorn Brewery in Stockport.
However, it’s unlikely that the monks will be supping much of their ale themselves – their day begins at 3.15 am and they go to bed at 8 pm.
It’s struck me recently that one of the hardest parts of cooking at home is not the prep or the actual cooking, but the washing up.
In my teens I worked as a pot washer and occasionally a kitchen porter in a three-star hotel in Derbyshire. Both jobs are seen as at the bottom of the ladder in the kitchen hierarchy.
Pot washing was monotonous, shoving trays of crockery through a steamer, stacking them to dry and then shelving them.
But being a kitchen porter was much more physically demanding, scrubbing heavy saucepans, cleaning working surfaces, cleaning the walk-in fridge, mopping the floor, taking heavy bags of rubbish out to the bins.
As a home cook, you are both pot washer and kitchen porter.
I try and wash up as I cook, but even so at the end of an evening the sink and work surface are littered with pans, dishes, knives, spatulas, spoons, peelers, and all manner of items. I look around me and say to myself, ‘How on earth did all this happen?’
This is what you don’t see when you watch Jamie’s Fifteen-Minute Meals. The fact is there’s no such thing as a fifteen-minute meal.
One of the things that sets a good restaurant apart from a bad one is how it handles a complaint from a customer. Good restaurants take complaints seriously; bad restaurants do nothing about the complaint.
I made a complaint this week when I went with my wife to Hisar Meze Bar, a Turkish restaurant in East Dulwich. The evening started well with an excellent plate of lamb’s liver and decent if not outstanding borek (filo parcels with feta and parsley). However, a trip to the gents set alarm bells ringing. A clean and well maintained toilet is usually a sign of a good restaurant. This one was neither clean or well maintained.
We had both expected the sish lamb to be extremely tender. Lamb is, after all, a speciality in Turkish restaurants. But when it arrived it turned out to be incredibly fatty. We called a waitress over and asked for a sharper knife. Actually, I was going to ask for a hacksaw. She returned with a new knife, but never thought to enquire why the knife on the table wasn’t sharp enough.
But it wasn’t just the sish lamb that left me regretting we had paid £28 for the two dishes. The salad appeared to have been dumped from a great height on the plate. It had been put together with little thought about presentation. I located a large white object in the salad. My wife suggested this might be a horseradish. The chips were dry and pale, probably because they had been sitting in the kitchen for ages, and the yogurt (£2.50) tasted of nothing.
I pushed my plate away, having only eaten a few morsels.
‘Is everything okay?’ asked a waiter.
‘The lamb was very fatty,’ I said.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll tell the chef,’ he replied casually.
Ten minutes later another waiter asked if everything was okay.
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘The lamb was so fatty. I told your colleague that.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said with no real concern, and wandered off. He obviously had the same script.
Neither waiter returned, the chef never appeared, and we weren’t offered an alternative dish or a reduction on the bill.
We paid up, didn’t leave a tip, and decided we wouldn’t be returning to Hisar Meze Bar ever again.
Good restaurants understand that you can turn a complaint into something positive if you take a customer’s complaint seriously and do something about it. If you do this, the customer is likely to go away feeling disgruntled and ripped off. An apology with no action means nothing.
Bad restaurants just want to take your money and don’t understand that a restaurant is about creating an enjoyable experience for the customer, who has decided to spend his or her hard earned money in your establishment, not somewhere else. A really good experience means good food and good service (and not lip service). Good restaurants know this.
You can get the impression that the quality of food in Britain we eat has changed beyond recognition in the last twenty years or so. This is especially true if you live in London, with its dynamic restaurant scene and where farmers’ markets and posh butchers and delis have sprung up all over the place.
Yet if you travel beyond it’s a very different story. A couple of years ago I was with my wife and son in a popular tourist town in Derbyshire, and the choice of places to eat came down to dingy looking fish and chips shops, pubs with confused looking menus, and a solitary pizza restaurant. We opted for the pizza restaurant – it was awful.
Michelin star chef Angela Hartnett, a protégée of Gordon Ramsey and the former head chef at the Connaught, has come to a similar conclusion about the foodie culture in the country.
When people say we are a “foodie nation, we have a food culture, I genuinely don’t think we do”, Hartnett told BBC Radio’s Desert Island Discs.
“I don’t think we’re like the Italians or the Spanish, where everyone from the person who lives in one flat to the person who lives in a villa will go and buy a chicken and everyone can afford that chicken. Our food culture is about money. People who have money can afford good food in this country.”
Hartnett went on to say it was wrong to patronise people on low incomes about organic food.
“When you haven’t got any money and you’re living on a low income, to patronise and sit there and say, ‘You’ve got to have an organic chicken’ is wrong. We’ve lost home economics in a lot of schools. People aren’t taught to shop. People don’t have the time to shop and the time to cook.”
I think she is bang on. There are too many chefs and food bloggers who live in a culinary bubble. I recall Rick Stein once saying something to that effect.
The irony is that we have more cook books and TV cookery programmes than ever, yet for many people, despite Jamie Oliver’s best attempts, cooking still means sticking a supermarket ready means in the microwave.
I’ve made pizza a few times at home, but never been completely satisfied with the results. So -thanks to my wife – I went along to a pizza workshop at Bread Ahead in Pavillion Road in Chelsea.
It was a brilliant class. The instructor, Kevin, a Yorkshireman who learnt all about baking when he spent three years in the south of France, took us through all the steps in the pizza process. Once we had made the dough, he showed us how to stretch it by repeatedly slapping it hard on the table for about 8 minutes.
Something I hadn’t heard of before in pizza making was poolish, a mixture of water, sea salt, flour and yeast. It’s known in bakery terms as a starter, a term associated with sour dough, and is made the day before and then added to your dough mix. Also, Kevin used strong white bread flour, not 00 flour.
The pizza turned out to have lovely chewy texture, which I assume was down to the poolish. We also made garlic dough balls and grissini (bread sticks), which were both equally good.
What I came away with more than anything was confidence. I’ve always found this is what cookery classes give you. When you see a professional make something in the kitchen, it demystifies the process and you think, “Yeah, you know, actually it’s not that difficult.” And pizza isn’t. It only has four ingredients plus whatever toppings you decide to use.
So I’ll now be making pizza regularly at home. And I’ll enjoy slapping the dough.