By Steve Dinneen
Oops, I’ve let my imagination gets the better of me. Deep in my subconscious mind, I’m desperately ravaging a Beef Wellington; my ever-sweet tooth eager to tuck into the final course of an imaginary feast and scoff the non-existent Peach Melba that doesn’t await me.
Already I’m regretting the invented brunch of omelette Arnold Bennett and regret snacking on too many slices of imagined Battenberg Cake. However, before I suffer a bout of psychosomatic indigestion let me elucidate you as to what all the dishes in my fictitious feast have in common.
Well, they were all named after; or created in honour of a person or event, and form part of the fabulous culinary legacy that surrounds us in the form of recipes and dishes. As I’m sure you are aware Coronation chicken is also part of that rich heritage and I suppose in some ways forms the perfect metaphor for the Royal family. Done perfectly, such a sandwich makes a right royal treat, (think of it as the culinary equivalent of a hundred Guardsman’s boots hitting the ground in unison, the perfect combination of pomp and circumstance).
Executed badly, and any limp, insipid curried sarnie is as excruciating as witnessing Prince Andrew in ” that” Emily Maitlis interview.
So in a roundabout manner, that brings me to the Coronation of Charles III and Camilla. Now excuse me if I’m missing the point here, but even in the darkest dankest corners of my mind I don’t consider “The Coronation Quiche” a suitable bequest to a nation so rich in history, gastronomic or otherwise?
Quiche! I say again Quiche! OK. I admit I’ve had some fine Quiche in the past and my pastry-less version is one of my mum’s favourites. But even so, I wager even the Royal Corgis could have come up with something more interesting.
Quiche, no matter how many times you say it. It sounds just a bit dull. You don’t imagine Winston Churchill or Attila the Hun eating quiche. And I don’t know about you, but whenever I think of quiche I think of soggy buffets! and dismal parties. You know the kind. Ones where even the tins of larger with sad fag-butts swimming around in the bottom seem to offer a more rewarding taste profile; where perhaps chewing the tin has a better mouth feel. Thinking about it, the very thought of quiche just makes me feel sad. Come on! Quiche as a celebration? Coronation or otherwise that just tastes of compromise and leaves a nasty taste in anyone’s mouth.
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