Puzzled by Pasties

I called into a well-known bakery a few months ago on a cold day fancying a warm Cornish Pasty. 

"We don't serve them" I was told. I argued the point and explained that I had definitely had one at a that very shop in the past. The server looked disbelievingly at me as if he might only be convinced of the validity of my claim on production of photographic evidence, which I didn't have. 

The teenager went on to tell to me in hushed tones that I could have what they used to be able to call a Cornish Pasty, as long as neither of us referred to it a Cornish Pasty and as long as I promised to forget all about the incident afterwards. I agreed. He went on to whisper to me that pasties could no longer be called Cornish unless they are made in Cornwall. I asked him where his were made.

"Pontypridd" he replied

"So can we just call it a Pontypridd pasty and get on with it" I said impatiently, though I couldn't help thinking that Pontypridd Pasty just doesn't sound as good.

I checked out his story when I was back in the office and it turns out he was absolutely right. The Cornish Pasty was indeed given Protected Geographical Indication (PGI) status - in 2011.  The PGI status is the same one that protects champagne, Parma ham, Stilton cheese, Arbroath smokies and Cornish clotted cream. You can make Cornish Pasties wherever you like but you can’t call them Cornish unless they are made in Cornwall.

 All of this made me think about how important words are in making food sound more appealing. Studying a menu in a restaurant a few days later I noticed "trio of sausages” on offer. To me, a trio sing or play music. I would have been extremely surprised if these bangers could have done either particularly well. And I am sure that if I’d asked for a “trio of beers” for me and two mates in my local, I’d have been laughed at.

And now everything is "pan fried" rather than just "fried" which just doesn’t sound good anymore. I mean, what else are you going to fry it in? The same of course is true of “oven baked.”  In “Oven Baked Fillet of Sea Bass" the word “oven” is unnecessary but somehow adds a little romance to the dish and probably justifies an extra few quid for it.

And then there are the sauces. Gravy has been driven into virtual extinction only to be replaced by the far more palatable "jus". "Jus" is rarely just left to be sloshed all over the plate as its predecessor might have been. Instead, jus is usually "drizzled delicately" or perhaps even “doused with glee”, again putting another £3.50 on the desirability factor of the dish.

Finally, there is the description of how the dish is presented. Never can the chefs of today be content with leaving to our imagination the relationship between the chicken breast and the rice and how they got together. No, the chicken must “nestle” on the bed of rice, or even worse be served “alongside a timbale of delicately steamed rice” Whatever next? Will the chicken “sit confidently astride the rice”, “nuzzle up next to the mash” or perhaps even be parachuted into a giant Yorkshire Pudding by a team of singing butterflies?  

So I’ve made resolution to seek out plain English establishment that describes its fayre honestly. This is the sort of thing I want to see:

“Small, salty cottage pie made in a commercial kitchen in Birmingham a few weeks ago, blast frozen, quickly microwaved and presented with a salad garnish to make you think it’s homemade. £14.50”.  

I think I’ll have one of those, please.