Reading Antonio Carluccio’s Italia made me think about how virtually every French, Italian or Spanish cookbook breaks down its recipes by region. At the same time, you rarely see an English recipe book do the same.
England is only now rediscovering its food and cooking. The BBC series “Back in Time for Dinner” takes us on a journey that shows the evolution of our eating habits from post-war rations to processed and takeaway food.
Other TV programmes show how much we love food…or at least looking at others making it. “A Cheesemonger’s History of The British Isles” shows how, despite an impressive diversity of cheese since pre-Roman times, the Industrial Revolution suffocated small cheese farming in favour of bland mass-produced Cheddar, most of which wasn’t even from the Somerset Gorges.
Is it our dependence on our economy of mass production that meant we have lost our regional food production at scale, or is it our colonial history that meant that we preferred importing foods from outside the country, be it tea or curry?
Or could it be that it reflects the lack of power in our local areas and regions and that Westminster decides everything?
Equally, you could argue that in France, Italy and Spain, the regions have used their distinctive gastronomy to forge strong cultural identities between the Bouillabaisse or Marseille to the Tartiflette of the Alps to the Cassoulet of the Midi — they even fight over its hyperlocal identity. Or between the Osso Bucco Milanese, the Sicilian Panelle or the Carciofi Judia Alla Romana.
To some extent, unlike in England, where foods are distinctively English or in Italy, France & Spain, they have fused different aromas to create new dishes. For example, the Arab influence in Sicily is evident in the use of capers, raisins & nuts in their cuisine, a legacy of the island’s history of Arab rule. Similarly, the Provencal influence on pesto in Piemonte can be traced back to the region’s historical ties with Provence, which brought the use of basil and garlic to the local cuisine.
The influence of natural infrastructure on food is a testament to the harmonious relationship between nature and cuisine. The mountains contribute to the creation of crunchier and grassier cheeses, the rivers provide the fish and paddy fields for rice, the sea aids in the creation of salt marshes, and the forests supply the mushrooms and garlic.
Growing food and its constraints have shaped the beauty of our architecture and landscapes. From the steeped balcony terraces needed to grow vegetables in Cinque Terre, the oast houses to make beer in Kent, the multi-coloured fishing huts in Murano or the wide-open plains in Campania for buffaloes to roam and make mozzarella.
Where can we get a Sagra dell Sacciuga, a Polentata di Santa Ana, or a Strada dei Funghi?
