Who’d be a British diplomat or government minister just now? Ever since June’s Brexit vote, by which the United Kingdom voted to leave the European Union, prime minister Theresa May has been trying to work out how to make a dignified exit from the EU without wrecking both the country’s reputation and economy. No easy job, especially with the UK’s continental neighbours fuming at its perfidy, vowing to change the locks on the front door and never to allow it to darken their threshold again.
Well, just when we all thought relations couldn’t get much worse, now comes “paellagate”. This unwieldy sobriquet has been given to the latest spat between the UK and its former allies – in this case, Spain. And in pitting Spain’s most recognisable export, paella, against one of the UK’s most recognisable chefs, Jamie Oliver, “paellagate” threatens to become the biggest spat since Nelson confronted the Spanish navy at Trafalgar back in 1805.
It’s worth saying a little by word of explanation about the two protagonists.
Paella is, of course, a tasty and aromatic dish of rice, seafood and/or chicken, flavoured with herbs and served in a large shallow pan. It’s regarded as Spain’s signature dish. Jamie Oliver by contrast, is the wonderkid of British cooking. A TV celebrity, he has helped drag the nation’s culinary habits out of the 19th century and into the 21st.
Yet poor Jamie has now caused something of an international incident by publishing his own recipe for paella.
His crime – for crime is how his wanton meddling has been advertised in the Spanish press – was to recommend the addition of chorizo sausage to the list of ingredients; a solecism regarded as pretty much sacrilegious by foodie purists.
Equally provoking was his suggestion that the dish be stirred while cooking, an intervention regarded with horror because – or so it’s claimed – it allows the liquid to evaporate, thus rendering the rice sticky and glutinous.
Revenge has been swift. Spain may no longer have an armada, but if Jamie’s Twitterfeed is anything to go by, it’s probably just as well.
One correspondent described his recipe as “an abomination”, while another suggested it was tantamount to a Spanish chef posting a recipe for fish and chips but using roast duck and aubergines instead.
Even the British embassy in Madrid was briefly sucked into the furore, with the ambassador joking that he’d been ordered to appear in front of journalists working on the food section of the main Spanish daily, El Pais, to justify Britain’s heinous attack on their country’s heritage.
But Oliver’s intervention is merely the latest example in an extensive lineage of our taking others countries’ cuisine and mucking about with it until it suits our rough-hewn palates. Adding pineapple to Italian pizza for instance, or drowning the delicate flavours of any oriental meal with our infamous curry sauce, are only two of myriad examples of how we’ve tempered foreign dishes to suit domestic taste buds.
Perhaps Oliver’s actions, far from causing further diplomatic vexations for our frazzled government, merely indicate how best to forge a new and independent course for our country.
For, in politics, as in cooking, inspiration and initiative can go a long way in solving intractable problems.
Why, only recently I ordered a round of toast at a small cafe in a provincial town east of London. “Sorry sir,” replied the waitress. “We don’t do toast”.
“Well do you do mushrooms on toast?” I asked, pointing at the item on their laminated menu. She confirmed they did. “In that case, could you bring me mushrooms on toast and scrape the mushrooms off first?’ I asked. I’m glad to say my plan worked a treat. I may not have a future in cooking, but a career in the diplomatic service surely beckons.
Michael Simkins is an actor and writer in London
On Twitter: @michael_simkins
