Rob Crossan

The unpalatable truth about British food

We are terrible custodians of our own national dishes

  • From Spectator Life
A traditional pie and mash in Romford [Getty]

Last year a friend who lives in Lyon came to visit me in London. It was only her second trip to the UK and she was determined to venture deep into our indigenous food culture. ‘So, where can I get good fish and chips?’ she asked me.

Now, if I was a citizen of Vienna and she was asking me where to find really good sachertorte, I suspect I wouldn’t struggle to reel off myriad cafes. If I lived in Athens and was questioned about where to get decent souvlaki, I would probably have a list as long as Hercules’s personal meat skewer. But fish and chips? In London? I could, in all good conscience, recommend only two places in which, during my quarter of a century in the capital, I’ve had a half decent chippie tea.

Slapping ‘traditional speciality guaranteed’ status on pie and mash won’t halt the slow extinction of venues such as Manze’s and Harringtons.

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