Tomfoolery, tradition and the wonders of watercress
Jake Wallis Simons joins in the fun
Afarmer guides a horse-drawn cart, laden with watercress, through the crowds. On the back of the cart, a boy and girl, dressed in emerald green, throw handfuls of watercress into the air. A procession of musicians, morris dancers, and children prance after them. This, the opening of the 2012 Watercress Festival in Alresford, Hampshire, is a quintessentially English scene: redolent with tradition on the one hand, and a little bit silly on the other. Modern-day Britain is throbbing with festivals of this sort. Each brings out the very best in regional produce, traditions, and tomfoolery (the watercress speed-eating championship, for instance, of which more later). The streets of Alresford are filled with stalls, jugglers, and outdoor cooks. Morris men drink ale on the kerbs, and bewildered-looking donkeys are manhandled by toddlers. But tucked away in the old mill beside the railway station, something serious is afoot. Welcome to the Cook Academy, Hampshire’s leading cookery school. “It’s a big day for us,” says Kate Hughes, who founded the Cook Academy in 2005. “The Watercress Food Awards are the heart of the festival.” Steve Brine, the local MP, is judging the traditional soup category. Looking slightly incongruous, as politicians in aprons always do, he surveys 67 glasses of green liquid. “Festivals like this are great for the local economy,” he says. “We have this natural resource of watercress, and people are making the most of it. Look at all these wonderful creations.” He tastes a soup and winces. “Though that one’s a bit foul.” Sophie Grigson, the cookery writer, is judging the innovative categories. On a table in front of her are watercress-and-lime jelly; smoked-trout-hamand-watercress quiche; watercress-and-baby-eel soup… “Wasabi-andwatercress fudge!” she exclaims, and takes a bite. “Hm. Surprisingly nice.” She makes a note. “I love the focus on a single ingredient,” says Grigson. “Watercress joins together the local history, geography, geology, and economy. It is embedded in the culture.” The ingredient itself has many special qualities. “Watercress can hold its own among the more fashionable Japanese greens,” Grigson says. “Raw, watercress is hot, peppery, and crisp. But you can cook it, too. Then the flavour softens, matures, becomes rounder and more subtle. It’s absolutely fantastic stuff. And it’s a superfood, too, which scientists think may help prevent cancer.” According to Wendy Akers, who in 2003 founded the festival based on regional traditions, watercress production methods are equally characterful and unique. “Watercress must be grown in the freshest water,” she says. “A bore hole is drilled to release the spring water stored within the natural, chalk aquifer. This flows across the watercress beds, then out into the rivers.” To avoid the use of pesticides, Akers explains, trained falcons and hawks are flown overhead to deter pigeons and rodents. Rare bats, such as the soprano pipistrelle – which can consume 3,000 insects per night – are also encouraged as natural pest controllers. “In Victorian times, watercress was a staple vegetable. It could be picked from the rivers for free,” says Akers. “But when we started to import other greens, it went out of fashion. Now it’s coming back again.” The festival gets busier. The Southampton ukulele orchestra has hundreds of people singing deliriously. The chap from Manor Farm in Broughton, Test Valley, sells out of his famous buffalo burgers. I buy some apple and ginger juice from the Hill Farm stall, and it is sublime. Eventually, the winners of the food awards are announced. The prizewinning soup, by town resident Kinga Clements, contains a “glug of Pernod” and is both surprising and excellent. The winning dish is a watercress mousse mille-feuille, flavoured with caramelised onion, garlic and honey. Its creator, Fanita Garley, the owner and head cook of Alresford’s Courtyard Tearooms, has won for the third year in a row. And then it is time for the madness. The rules are simple: eat 70g of watercress as fast as you can. Drinking water is allowed; vomiting is permitted, yet discouraged. Several competitors line up on stage, but the eyes of the crowd are on just two men. The first, Sam Batho, a hulking rugby player with a schoolboy’s grin, holds the Guinness World Record at 49.69 seconds. The second, Rajesh Peter – a fiery Indian housekeeper and cook, who works for George Hollingbery, MP for the Meon Valley – won the competition in 2011. This is a proper needle match. I cannot begin to do justice to the spectacle. Sam Batho is focused and methodical, packing watercress into his mouth like a magician pushing a hankie into his fist. He retches, pukes a little, and loses a few seconds. Rajesh, meanwhile, is a blur of green sludge, puffed-out cheeks, and bulging, bloodshot eyes. He wants this victory badly. And he gets it. His time: 56 seconds. The crowd goes wild. Batho’s world-beating record remains intact, but he has lost the fight today. The victor is jubilant. “I am on top of the world!” says Rajesh. “I love English traditions, culture, watercress. I love everything. Watercress is the local hero. I love farmers’ markets and everything!” He stuffs his mouth with watercress once more and poses, fists skyward, for the cameras.