Sausage in paella, curry with haggis? It’s all pukka by me
WHEN is a paella not a paella? When Jamie Oliver tramples all over long-held and profoundly respected local Spanish customs and adds some chicken and sausage. It appears that Jamie’s Spanish rice is anything but pukka … Valencia was vexed, vituperative and very, very vocal about the saviour of Sainsburys, the doyen of dinner ladies, the king of the 30-minute meal messing with a classic dish they believed to be unbroken, thereby in no need of ‘fixing’. Everyone’s favourite Essex man has had his version of the traditional Spanish rice dish described as an “abomination” on social media, his paella pulled apart. It looked like the naked chef had bitten off more than he could chew. Unwittingly, Oliver has found himself in the white hot crucible of the new normal that is pan-European politics; and paella is just the beginning. So incensed were Spaniards that they suggested their own versions of British classics such as fish and chips, only with duck instead of fish. The world’s media went mad. If only Jamie had suggested the rebranding of Syrian food, maybe folk might have been incensed enough by his cultural colonialism to act against the atrocities in Aleppo. Instead it’s chicken and chorizo. Having read around this Armada-esque diplomatic debacle, I find myself wondering just what all the fuss is about. I wouldn’t have thought twice about consuming Oliver’s offering. But then again, he’s been a massive influence on my own cooking. As far as I know (and much as love it, I’m no expert on Iberian cuisine), paella is a highly personal dish involving rice, seafood, meat and beans. When I first starting cooking decades ago, I was guided by a book of collected rec- ipes, The Peasant Guide To European Cookery. What was life-changing about the book was the fact that Europe, like any continent, has versions of the same dish everywhere. Lancashire hotpot is another version of lob scouse, which in turn is a spin on South Walian cawl. Stornoway black pudding has many variants across France and Spain.
We share a culinary consciousness across this continent. No referendum can change that. No doubt Theresa May will want us to list all the foreign food we eat, as well as all the foreign workers we employ.
Food is dynamic. We are no longer eating nuts and berries accompanied by charred woolly-backed mammal thingies. Save for faddy fools on the Paleo diet, our food has been in a constant state of flux, evolving and changing every day. Much as we seek solace in the food of our childhood, we march onward, finding new flavours and creating new combinations. Some may even involve chorizo and chicken …
Perhaps I have greater sympathy for Jamie because, as a Scottish Indian, I have witnessed the development of Indian food in Scotland. I never, ever had a dhansak or a zalfrezi growing up. My mum never cooked such dishes. Yet for any Scotswoman they are integral to the flock wallpaper and jangly sitar soundtrack of any Saturday night oot. Despite that, there are times I crave a curry-house curry: a thick, gloopy delicious karahi of umami with a cold beer and a massive, fruity nan. It’s so different to what I grew up eating yet it still has its place. (Mostly when hammered, after the pub.)
Food and food culture is crucial to a people, I get that. I wouldn’t be best pleased about a quinoa and square sausage morning roll. But it seems the Jamie-centred outrage has no great basis in fact. He wasn’t suggesting his paella was chieftain of the paella race.
This Spanish reaction is much more about a misplaced sense of nationalism then about protection of a food culture. I wonder if the Valencians would have reacted in a similar vein had a respected Spanish chef suggested the chorizo and chicken combo? I’m fairly certain we all know the answer.
And this all in the week that I and a well-known Scottish haggis maker have been discussing the possibility of launching a curried haggis range. Whatever else, I won’t be suggesting a paella-flavoured haggis …