Since my last two blogs have constituted a bit of supermarket bashing, I may as well have a go at another one.
The first of the new season’s Jersey Royals are in the shops. I love Jersey Royals; other new potatoes just can’t compete with that fresh, nutty taste and those lovely little flaky bits of skin that are so characteristic of the variety.
But if you buy them from Marks and Spencer, they come pre-packed and all the little flaky bits have been scrubbed off. Why do they do that? It’s so annoying!
I’m having a go at supermarkets again; this time it’s Tesco, that well-known purveyor of inflatable jacuzzies (no doubt a snip at £400) amongst other things
I noticed a while ago they were selling vegetables bearing the label “Redmere Farm”. My suspicions were aroused for a number of reasons. Firstly it didn’t say where Redmere Farm is. Secondly, given the enormous quantity of Redmere-branded produce in that one store and assuming it was replicated in other shops, at least regionally if not nationally, it seemed improbable that all the stuff actually came from the same place. Lastly the prices were definitely towards the budget end of the spectrum, suggesting again that it was unlikely to be sourced from a single grower.
It seems my suspicions were justified. Tesco has just won the “Total Bull Award” from those good people at Feedback. It transpires that Redmere Farm is merely one of several fictitious names invented by Tesco. Actually one of the names, Woodside Farm (used on some probably indifferent sausages), happens to be the name of a real pig farm whose owner is understandably not at all happy with the confusion this has caused to his customers.
The marketing people didn’t get it entirely wrong. Most of us do tend to have a positive reaction to names which evoke images of natural wholesome food lovingly produced by jolly folk in some idyllic rustic setting. The thing is – these days we expect it to be genuine.
I realise I’ve neglected this blog for a while but an item in the news caught my attention – and aroused my ire – the other day.
It reported that Sainsbury’s has introduced a new range of packet-to-pan chicken portions. To start with, this strikes me as an horrendously retrograde step when people are campaigning vigorously for supermarkets to do away with unnecessary plastic packaging – and quite rightly too*.
But it appears that the rationale behind the new product is that some people, particularly in the “millennial” age group, cannot bear to touch raw meat. Hence Sainsbury’s are pandering to them with this new package which allows the skinless, boneless chicken breast to be transferred from the packet into the pan or under the grill without manual contact. (I’m assuming it’s skinless and boneless because I can’t imagine Sainsbury’s would risk further offending the delicate sensibilities of the poor darlings by reminding them that their dinner comes from an animal with real skin and bones.)
My initial reaction – if you will excuse a vulgar social media abbreviation – was WTF?! If they really can’t stand contact with a piece of raw meat I suggest they should seriously consider becoming vegetarian or even vegan – and I say that as an unreconstructed carnivore, a lifelong advocate for the pleasures of eating good quality, humanely-reared flesh.
The article implied that the aversion to handling raw meat derives from a fear that doing so is unhygienic. Yes, I know raw chicken and pork can harbour nasty organisms like salmonella but every kitchen has a sink where you can wash your hands afterwards, and it’s not exactly difficult to segregate raw and cooked items. Is this where decades of overzealous hygiene regulations have led us (as well as weakening our immune systems and making it almost impossible to buy pork chops with the kidneys in)?
In some ways the whole sorry episode sounds like a throwback to the 1960s and 70s. Those were the days when food technology was actively celebrated (and never mind the loss of flavour); the days when TV adverts featured tinny-voiced aliens falling about laughing at the idea of peeling potatoes or serfs toiling over the manorial spit and dreaming of the day when “all manner of roast meats will come in little boxes”.
I thought things had changed for the better in the ensuing years, that we had eschewed the ethos of valuing convenience over quality and that we were collectively (perhaps with a little guidance from inspired chefs and food writers like Hugh Fearnley-Whittenstall) moving back towards a more natural relationship with our food. But maybe I was wrong.
* Coincidentally I’m writing this on Earth Day (22 April) and the focus this year is on plastic pollution.
A few weeks ago I agreed to take part in a sausage making competition. I had never made sausages before but hey, I’m always up for a culinary challenge.
As the deadline loomed nearer I thought I had better get myself organised. It would appear that amateur sausage making is not as uncommon as one might think. You can buy a hand-cranked sausage stuffer for under 20 quid, although I opted for a slightly more up-market model, and there are on-line suppliers who will sell non-industrial quantities of natural hog casings (naturally I eschewed the inferior collagen variety) and pinhead rusk (some of which is necessary for the texture of a traditional British banger although I’m inclined to use it sparingly, preferring a meatier sausage*).
Stuffer and skins having arrived, I approached my friendly butchers for some advice about the best cut of pork to use. Obviously a little tact was called for – I wouldn’t want them to think I was shunning their sausages – but they were most obliging.
So about three pounds of meat went through my trusty mincer and into a bowl to be mixed with the rusk, seasoning (I’m not going to divulge my recipe lest a potential competitor should be reading this) and a little water. Then it was time for the shiny new machine to go into action. There were a few teething problems: sliding the skins onto the nozzle was difficult until I realised I was using the wrong sized nozzle, and the end plate was initially reluctant to be screwed onto the barrel. But soon I was cranking out real sausages. And they looked the part, albeit slightly wonky and flaccid and a little too moist – but they tasted fine.
I’ve just made the second batch. With a slightly refined recipe and a firmer restraining hand on the skins as they fill, this lot came out firmer and plumper. I’ll leave the final verdict until the tasting, but in the meantime I think I’ve earned a pint.
* If I remember rightly, by law a sausage has to contain at least 55% meat. Thankfully, most of them nowadays have rather more than that, including supermarket own brands, many of which are excellent. The exception of course is those ghastly cheap pink things for which, inexplicably, there must still be some demand and which some hoteliers seem to think are an acceptable part of a full English breakfast, even if they serve perfectly decent meaty sausages on their bar menu.
I haven’t seen a single Elsanta strawberry this summer. A few years ago they were everywhere. It was difficult to find any other variety in the supermarkets. They were even sold at Wimbledon. Now they are nowhere to be seen.
Thank God. Have consumers, retailers and growers finally woken up to the fact that this is probably the worst variety of strawberry ever produced? Pale, orangey-red, over-firm, odourless and practically devoid of flavour.
Presumably there was some commercial benefit – disease resistance, size, fast growth or whatever. But what use is that if they’ve got no bloody flavour?
In the 1960s and 70s they could get away it (I blame post-war austerity for creating a culture where all manner of bland, unnatural, processed crap could be foisted upon us). Thankfully people nowadays are a bit more discerning when it comes to food and drink. We’re getting there slowly.
Sweet Eve and Sonata aren’t bad but how about bringing back Royal Sovereign?
Time was when on entering an Indian restaurant you knew exactly what to expect: Madras, Vindaloo, Rogan Josh, Bhuna, Dupiaza, Korma, Dhansak… (Jalfezi, Balti and the dreaded “national favourite” Tikka Chicken Massala came a little later as I recall.)
Nowadays every curry house seems to have its own selection of house specialities and chef’s signature dishes. The other day I had a Lamb Jaflongi. Is there some remote region of the subcontinent called Jaflong or do they just make these names up?
In case you’re wondering, it wasn’t bad – medium hot with a rich sauce in which I thought I detected a faint hint of mint, and what I took to be the last piece of meat turned out to be a chunk of pickled lemon peel.
While I’m on the subject – when did the practice of serving popadoms and chutneys as an appetiser become commonplace? When I first patronised Indian restaurants in the late 60s/early 70s, both items were taken as accompaniments to one’s curry which, as I understand it, is what they were originally intended for. But sometime around the 90s it became the norm to order a stack of pupadums* and spoon little dollops of mango chutney and lime pickle on them. Why?
* Is there a “correct” spelling of this word? It seems that any combination of the vowels a, o and u interpolated between the consonants p, p, d and m is acceptable.
There’s a petition doing the rounds at the moment asking a well-known junk food chain to cut down on its use of plastic drinking straws (3.5 million per day in the UK alone).
Plastic pollution is in the news a lot these days, and so it should be. You’ve probably heard the prediction that, at the current rate, there will be more plastic than fish in the oceans by 2050. You’ve probably seen that harrowing video of the crew of a small boat painstakingly removing a plastic straw from a turtle’s nose.
Two thoughts occur:
When I was young, drinking straws were made of waxed paper. Surely that’s more environmentally-friendly than plastic?
Why does anyone – unless they have a physical disability which makes handling a cup or glass difficult – need to drink through a straw anyway?