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Peter Edgerton
Malaga
Friday, 3 January 2025, 13:37
As the yuletide season trundles to its end, we're seeing the last of the large groups of customers to arrive at the pub late in the evening, having enjoyed that lovely Spanish custom 'la comida de empresa' (the company meal). It can be a ... long-winded affair, often winding up at nine or ten at night.
This summer, I read a book in which it was stated that a whopping 55% of all significant inventions over the last two-hundred or so years had come from Great Britain. After popping my eyes back into their sockets, I triple-checked this assertion and it was definitely true. The original study was Japanese (Japan came third with 6% and the US second with 22%). Canada, in a separate analysis, rather churlishly claimed Britain's contribution was only 50% - come on chaps, Trivial Pursuit is a good game but it's not the Industrial Revolution, now is it?
Ever since, I've been wondering how it could be that such a small nation that spends most of its waking hours drinking beer, could produce so much ingenuity on such a grand scale.
Over Christmas, having witnessed some of those very long lunches, I've realised what the answer is - food. More specifically, the lack of importance British people used to give to it. My childhood meals came largely from tins as I recall; on a special occasion there might have been Angel Delight for pudding but that was about it. Eating was an inconvenience - we just wanted to be outside inventing ridiculous games usually involving a friend's trousers and a nearby lamp post. Sometimes the friend was still wearing them.
Then, somewhere along the line, Britain started to cast an envious glance at Mediterranean families sitting at long tables, sipping wine over endless courses of Lord-knows-what. "We should be doing that," thought some people and it kind of caught on. Next thing you know, eating was an actual thing - they made TV programmes about baking cakes and many people watched them. Then they made programmes about vaguely famous people making a pig's ear of cooking stuff and that pulled in even more viewers. It can be no coincidence that the recent dip in UK productivity runs in direct parallel to an arriviste and outlandish interest in victuals.
If we go back to, say, the nineteenth century, we can imagine two very different conversations in much the same meal-time setting. The first in Mediterranean countries: "Thank you. Luigi/José/Jean-Pierre, that was an exquisite selection of courses fried in garlic and butter. Whatever shall we have next? A cheese board? Profiteroles? Garlic? Butter? Coffee? Brandy? Garlic?"
"Just the coffee, Maria, it's nearly tea-time."
Meanwhile, in Britain, things would have been rather different, I suspect.
"Nice mince and potatoes, Johnson."
"Thanks, Davies. I'm bored now. Shall we drill six holes into this dining table and see if we can knock some coloured balls into them with two sticks?"
"Splendid thinking, Johnson."
Well, that's all we've got time for - I'm off to buy a new tin-opener.
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