A Feast of the Imagination

Oops, I’ve let my imagination get 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 also regretting 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.

The Legacy of Named Dishes

Well, they were all named after—or created in honour of—a person or event, forming part of the fabulous culinary legacy that surrounds us in the form of recipes and dishes. Coronation Chicken is also part of that rich heritage, and in some ways, it forms the perfect metaphor for the Royal Family. Done perfectly, such a sandwich makes for a right royal treat—think of it as the culinary equivalent of a hundred Guardsmen’s boots hitting the ground in unison, the perfect combination of pomp and circumstance.

Executed badly, however, and any limp, insipid curried sarnie is as excruciating as witnessing Prince Andrew in that Emily Maitlis interview.

Enter the Coronation Quiche

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 it 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 that even the Royal Corgis could have come up with something more interesting.

Quiche: A Dish of Sadness

Quiche, no matter how many times you say it, just sounds… 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—the ones where even the tins of lager, complete with sad fag-butts floating inside, seem to offer a more rewarding taste profile. Where perhaps chewing the tin itself has a better mouthfeel.

Honestly, just thinking about quiche makes me sad.

A Celebration Dish? Really?

Come on! Quiche as a celebration? Coronation or otherwise, it just tastes of compromise—leaving a nasty aftertaste in everyone’s mouth.