The authentic vs the good loaf

(published June 2000)

Now my mother was a good cook. Don’t misunderstand me, but she had her own quirky way of rewriting a recipe. She’d look in the cupboard, see what needed to be used, and simply amend or even rewrite the recipe, perhaps like every good cook. The aim was a taste and a flavour that would keep us satisfied (and quiet).

For every success she had, the recipe would then be written in a dog-eared old folio, which became her culinary bible. No famous food author was too grand to distract her from an attempt to better the recipe. I grew up thinking that her way, her taste, represented the authentic way that dish should be prepared. Why did I think this? Because it tasted good, and over time during my childhood it became familiar.

When family friends from overseas came to visit, my mother would slave in the kitchen preparing the feast. To our guests, however, the dinner represented more than just a good meal. It was a glimpse of authentic English cooking. Authentic because my parents were British (they’ve since discarded their nationality in favour of an Australian one), and the food the guests ate reflected their background. So as recipes were exchanged over the dinner table, there was the possibility that these dishes would be carefully made in another kitchen and heralded as traditional. But only if the guests enjoyed the meal. You can be sure if they hadn’t, that recipe would have been binned before their plane took them home.

Customers will not purchase for a second time a product they did not like the first. Now yesterday I purchased a packet of Yorkshire Parkin, emblazoned with the words authentic and home-style. As I read through the list of ingredients, noting the glycerine, flavour enhancers, colorants and improvers, and reflected on its gummy, sickly taste, I wondered about the traditions the bakers referred to. No disrespect intended, as I’ve no doubt that someone somewhere passed the recipe on to them. Many of the post war British bread books, intended for the commercial baker, recommend an alarming list of ingredients, with methods that make the act of boiling a kettle seem complex. All of them talk lovingly about the traditions and heritage of our craft, then move swiftly on to set a few bizarre traditions of their own.

In fairness, they were trying maintain some standards whilst reflecting the pressure to supply the demand for the cheapest whitest bread, and I do hand much of the responsibility back to the price frantic consumer. But standards were set that were detrimental to the craft of baking in this country, and these recipes and methods are now ensconced under the terms authentic and traditional.

How often are poor sales ascribed to the muscle flexing of the multiples and the performance of the economy, when too often the product is shoddy and nasty - an excellent way to deter a repeat purchase. You can write ‘home-style’, ‘traditional’, ‘authentic’ or even ‘Granny’s own’ all over the package, but unless the excellence is there, the product will not succeed.

Do you really want to change things for the better? Then let go of every tradition that debases the bread we bake, and correct it now. To label and hide behind meaningless words is foolish, for it no more convinces the consumer than you or I. You want to trigger sales? Then label in a way that sells the flavour, texture and pleasure the loaf holds, and make sure it delivers those claims. Aggressively sell it as a good loaf, rather than an authentic one, and don’t be afraid to write the recipe from scratch. Remember, the only traditions that sell to consumers are those that provide the tastes they are looking for.