I love a bit of righteous indignation, never more so than when it has middle England in such a lather that talk of it fills the aisles in Waitrose and hundreds of vexatious column inches in The Daily Mail. For what could be more vital in today’s uncertain world than the ongoing debate over Mary Berry’s Bolognese sauce?
No flash in a Le Crueset pan, this is the food debate that keeps on giving, La Berry’s generous application of white wine (I kid you not…) and (whisper it…) cream continuing to exercise the minds of harried self-professed ‘foodies’ for whom culinary etiquette is second only in import to the international Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons. Actually, scratch that, to these people, Bolognese-gate is way more important than that.
As you will gather from the above, I consider all this fuss to be fatuous in the extreme and a criminal waste of time. It also takes the chattering classes’ eyes off the nuclear situation just as a crazy person in North Korea could be building a bomb which will obliterate every branch of Waitrose on the planet; a reckless act which will doubtless result in a worldwide shortage of organic pesto, and then where will we be?
Yes, that is what I would like to say. However, I have to confess that my censorious tone is a front – a flimsy attempt to appear intellectually superior to the Bolognese-obsessed masses. Not only am I still ranting about La Berry’s culinary faux pas, here I am writing about it. So, just for the record, a genuine Bolognese sauce contains red wine, never white, and never has cream in it. Plus, it benefits from a big splash of Henderson’s Relish. Or have I just started something there? Oops!