opinion
130 bbcgoodfood.com APRIL 2020
Photograph ISTOCK/GETTY IMAGES PLUS@naylor_tonyTo n y N a y l o r
O
h, how they laughed! You join me at
a street-food event where, baffled by
the ‘biscuit’ listed on the menu in a
braised short-rib dish, my friends are asking
me for clarification. Momentarily, I blank. I am
stumped. Apparently, this is hilarious. ‘I thought
you were a food writer?!’ runs the ensuing bantz.
That I remembered what this US scone-muffin
hybrid is, quicker than anyone could
Google it, did nothing to quell the
‘call yourself an expert’ hilarity.
Me? I shrugged. W hatever!
This is not indifference to
the question. It’s me cutting
myself some slack. We all
should. At any time, I have
around 10,427 food factoids
pinging around my noggin.
That figure grows annually as some details
embed themselves forever and, inevitably, others
are forgotten. Consequently, I would never call
myself an expert. Food is too big a topic.
Other well-informed food lovers can be more competitive.
Chatting to fellow foodies often descends into a curiously
pernickety skirmish over who knows more about sourdough
cultures or Filipino BBQ. We are all guilty. But I find such
jockeying exhausting.
The worst offenders are people who know lots about food as
a matter of general education not genuine curiosity, and who
use that knowledge to assert their status and power. They
have a lot of rules, these uptight, well-educated ‘gourmets’.
They will frequently tell you how to eat. Yet seem to take
remarkably little pleasure in food itself. Where is the joy?
In contrast, I prefer food to be an open, easy-going
conversation where we are constantly learning from one
another. For instance, I could bore you to death about
brewing, beer styles and wider beer culture, but happily
admit that my knowledge of French wine is as hazy as
a three-bottle hangover. I know chablis is made with
chardonnay grapes but thereafter my intel is patchier than
vines blighted by phylloxera (confession: I googled that).
Similarly, despite numerous enquiries, I am still not entirely
sure what part of sea urchins you eat or how you prepare
Tony Naylor writes for
Restaurantmagazine
andTheGuardian.next
month
Tony explains why
picnics are overratedFood shouldn’t be
a competitive sport
One-upmaniship does nothing
to enhance our enjoyment of
food, says our columnist them; have been known to confuse
the stages where salt beef becomes
pastrami; and only recently got across
the basic science (I’m a humanities
graduate!) of fermentation: salt
removes moisture, good bacteria
thrives, altering the PH. I think. You might
want to double-check that. Just as, while
writing this piece, I had to query if Chinese-
style XO sauce uses meat. (Yes. Many recipes
include air-dried ham with all that dried
seafood.) It’s the same when I find
myself in gossipy exchanges
about the restaurant world
and people are amazed I
haven’t heard about Chef Y’s
new opening. Usually
I have, of course. It’s my job.
But could we all chill out?
Ultimately, the one-upmanship,
this thirst for insider info, the tendency
to treat restaurants as a live soap opera, does
nothing to enhance our enjoyment of food.
It’s background noise. The testy debate
I once had with friends who were
convinced Heston Blumenthal was
opening a restaurant in Bury (spoiler:
it was someone who used to work at the
Fat Duck), proved nothing. Except that,
occasionally, I too will stand my ground
when I know I am right. That’s not to
my credit. In cooking, food knowledge
has a practical application, but this wider
desire to prove our foodist credentials is
ultimately a sign of our insecurity. In fear of
making some terrible food-based faux pas
we anxiously aspire to a mythical state of complete
gastro-authority we will never achieve. Instead, ask
questions. Embrace your ignorance. Keep your mind
and mouth open, but relax. Expertise is overrated.Chatting
to foodies
often
descends
into a
pernickety
skirmish