There’s possibly a very uncomfortable false superiority with food here in the UK; little pockets of wisdom, but totally misplaced. As we wine and dine til’ our hearts content, tucking into fine, local, seasonal and British produce, we quaff on homegrown wines and cocktails, talk about the wrongdoings of monopolised supermarkets, farmers being fleeced in broad daylight, we feel aghast at the public ignorance of food provenance, with a shared sadness of the lack of food focussed education and compassion for the next generation, all of this, coming to fruition on the eve of a food festival. 

I was strongly suspecting that the first day of the festival would be overcome with the stench of desperation from independent producers offering complimentary tasters for yet another award-winning artisan cheeses screaming “buy me, buy me”, what for? 

For the self-indulgent, excess of the first world’s self-righteousness; polarising food as a tool for self-gratification and unsubstantiated justification, food festivals could be seen to be quite vulgar and like a modern day upscaled Roman feast; where we are eating food and talking about food, until we regurgitate our own phony exclusive subconscious.

There’s something highly mysterious and suspect about professional chefs consistently demonstrating food to being highly unattainable and scientific. It’s their job, they have the time and they get paid for it. 

This extremity of food preparation and cooking is also an art; the dinner plate is their canvas. Let it be so. My cooking is everyday cooking; simple and dare I say, a little bit rubbish. As long as I know the difference, then that’s ok. 

I started off feeling completely out of my depth. Why did I feel like I didn’t belong? I think it’s because some people use food as a completely arrogant social weapon. Food can mean different things to different people; it can be celebratory and communal, but for a lot of people it can also mean poverty and death. The problem is that perhaps we don’t care enough about the people in the world whom don’t have enough food to eat. We think that we do, but we don’t. I think that possibly we are all wearing the Emperor’s new clothes and we’re all beginning to be found out?

‘If Liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear’ - George Orwell 

However, the absolute beauty and raw essence of a very thoughtfully curated food festival is the magnified relationships between the farmer or fisherman, food producer, chef and the consumer. During the festival, I was utterly touched at the sincerity, passion and knowledge of the award-winning chefs demonstrating their dishes before our very eyes, using honey from the bee hives for example, with the bee keeper on stage too, showcasing their deeply considerate collaboration.

Or the chef demonstrating her effortless ability to slow the cooking right down to the bare essentials of not only using ingredients that you just happen to have at hand, but cooking with a unique spirit, unassuming mindfulness and a natural, thoughtful way of just ‘being’ in the kitchen.

Or the chef who cooked for only 5 mins but majestically and flamboyantly shared his own story of personal accomplishment with well-balanced familiarity, candid and humour that warmed up a cautious crowd. This authentic and real-life theatre is usually performed behind closed doors in amongst the private heat and sweat of the professional kitchens. Instead, the food, and people, graced the stage for everyone to see, hear, smell and touch for all to enjoy.

Our senses were stimulated in a completely joyful, admirable and a serene way. I often think that a chef is like a painter; whom slowly builds up their dish using colour, flavour and aroma. The character of the final dish is depicted and controlled by the quality of the produce used and the soul of the artist.

This particular food and drink journey that we all witnessed together on stage, like some sort of a divine ritual, celebrates this craft, celebrates food provenance at its very best, and perhaps, more importantly celebrates story-telling and it’s characters. The extraordinary, but common tales, of the baton being passed down from the wise and experienced to the younger generation of chefs was extremely touching and most memorable. There is a real sense of community; completely and wholeheartedly championing each other. 

Good quality food, is just natural food and not processed in any way. And as sugar, processed food and junk food continuously floods the market, good quality food is becoming more and more like the holy grail. Natural and highly nutritious food becomes more scarce, more in demand, more expensive and therefore only for the affluent demographic of our society and for whom only they can afford.

This day-light hijacking allows the rich to get richer and healthier, and the poor to get poorer and undernourished. I dearly hope food festivals won’t ever be unkindly touched by this particular hand, and that this little pocket of boundless and authentic joy can be enjoyed by everyone, regardless of who or where you come from.

@jennyljefferies - www. jennyjefferies.co.uk