ON OUR FASCINATING FOOD FADS
As we emerge into the sunlight, many of us having been confined to our four walls these past months, some of us are left pondering – as we ease our way back into proper clothes – how we allowed the hour-long health walk to become downgraded so quickly to the waddle to the fridge. Daily meditation became standing in its cold, cruel light, wondering what to eat next. Goodbye kimchi my old friend, I hope to eat with you again.
Certainly, food – the getting of it, the cooking of it, the eating of it – has sustained us in more ways than one during this crisis.
At the beginning, at the height of the supermarket slot panic, we became adept at finding new sources to replace our usual supermarket deliveries, from one-stopalternative-shop places such as Farmdrop or Farm Direct, to specialists selling one perfect thing, from mutton, to lobsters, goat, or asparagus.
Where I live in London, our local shops stepped up. My neighbourhood bakery, The Spence, provided the highlight of my Wednesday mornings, when I would wake to find a brown paper bag of bread, croissants, sausage rolls, various flours and fresh yeast on my doorstep. My butcher, Meat N16, turned its hand to local drop-offs. A bloke on a bike started delivering eggs by the dozen, usually within the hour. This return to the way our grandmothers shopped, with their favoured suppliers making regular weekday deliveries, for many of us reignited our loyalty to those local traders who were there when we needed them.
We also developed an excellent strand of greedy altruism. As restaurants closed, suppliers began to struggle to find outlets for their produce. Pioneering cheesemonger Neal’s Yard Dairy and others created mail order boxes of cheeses to help keep suppliers going. Fighting the good fight, one slab of Kirkham’s Lancashire at a time.
Having food delivered turned every day into a mini-Christmas, especially if, like me, you ordered things then instantly forgot you had. Lo, a beautiful box of Isle of Wight tomatoes in all shapes and sizes and every shade from golden through scarlet to almost black; a box of garlicky salamis; half a case of wine – move over gold, frankincense and myrrh, there are new gifts in town.
And then of course there was all the cooking. In shapeless days, meals formed the only highlight. Every night was Friday night. Simple was replaced by elaborate. If you ever fancied trying your hand at making your own biang biang noodles or chocolate babka, or perfecting your roast chicken, what better time than the endless now?
For those who missed restaurants too much, many turned their hands to posh make-at-home ready meals that you could enjoy over your are-we-having-fun-yet Zoom dinner dates. And of course, we all became enormously wholesome. Social media posts about our sourdough, banana bread, kombucha and kefir replaced our actual social lives.
Then, just when the air was feeling a little rarefied up there in gourmetlockdown land, we reignited our love for that snack of snacks: crisps. What else could power us so well through those endless Netflix marathons (apart perhaps from buckets of gourmet popcorn)?
Of course we need to talk about drink. At the beginning, when time meant nothing, the cocktail hour frequently nudged its way into tea time.
CHRISTMAS EVERY DAY
Food deliveries became a source of great excitement
Some of us may have thought we were creating our very own Roaring Twenties with our frostyglassed gimlets, Martinis, greyhounds, and aviators. The rest of us were making hasty assemblies from the back of the drinks cabinet, suddenly finding a use for that 12-year-old bottle of blue curaçao that came with the house. The latter-day lockdown cocktail of choice though has become a mocktail, as smart non-alcoholic drinks like those from Seedlip, Dash and Punchy have gained ground. We’ve also bought more and better wine, as we’ve shopped just to please ourselves, rather than guests who don’t necessarily know the difference between Vimto and Viognier.
What, if anything, will we take with us into our new “old” lives? With any luck, that feeling of how food has the power to anchor us as it nurtures us, and how if you do it right, every day can be made to feel like Christmas.