To take the measure of Middle England’s taste buds, we need look no further than the harmless Suffolk crooner Ed Sheeran. Men don’t want to be him, women don’t want to be with him, but he writes a lovely tune. Earlier this year, the Springsteen of Framlingham launched a hot sauce, Tingly Ted’s, made by Kraft Heinz. Supposedly titled after his childhood nickname, it is available in both ‘Tingly’ and ‘Xtra Tingly’ varieties.
Celebrities have never been shy of a product endorsement. In America, more used to heat, celebrity hot sauces are 10 a penny. Alice Cooper and Mötley Crüe both have ranges. The meeker Brits have historically eschewed chilli infusions, unless you count Loyd Grossman’s tomato and chilli pasta sauce, which you shouldn’t, because the chilli is barely perceptible.
But if anyone knows what the people want, it’s Sheeran. Besides, he is not alone in lighting out for spicier territory. Allan Lamb, the former England cricketer, has got involved too, with his Banhoek chilli oil. Cricketers have traditionally favoured less exciting food and drink tie-ins: think Waitrose and Laithwaites. Ian Botham has his own wine, Phil Tufnell had Foster’s. Lamby has a fiery infusion of bird’s-eye chillies in rapeseed oil, handmade near Stellenbosch, South Africa.
In supermarkets, meanwhile, sriracha and peri-peri sauces now compete with mayonnaise and ketchup.
Like it or not, this is what progress looks like. Despite our long history of invading spice-growing regions, British domestic tastes – or at least white, Anglo-Saxon British domestic tastes – had remained stubbornly unspicy. The heat of Indian and Pakistani dishes was muted. Mexican food was bashed into Old El Paso abominations. Thai curries were tamed into something acceptably mild for the pub crowd.
Like entropy, however, chilli only increases. Partly it is to do with changing British demographics. Until the 20th century, immigration to Britain was mostly from other chilli-averse countries. Whatever else the Normans brought, it was not a love of spice.
But over the past 100 years or so there has been a welcome influx of people who can handle the heat. Partly it’s foreign travel. Also, eaters are waking up to the fact that the burning sensation of a chilli is just that – a sensation – a chemical illusion caused by capsaicin molecules binding to receptors. Your mouth is not actually on fire.
Change is slow. The theoretical physicist Max Planck held that science doesn’t move forward by convincing its opponents, but rather because its opponents eventually die out. He might well have been saying that if your aunt doesn’t like Nando’s hot by now, she’s not going to switch it up in her retirement.
Think of the treatment doled out to mince through the generations. My grandfather liked his plain. My dad favours a spaghetti bolognese or a chilli con carne. I’m partial to a piquant Thai larb. On this trajectory, my children will be chewing the chillies directly off the plants, and their children will be necking pints of pure capsaicin.
Is it a coincidence that the rise of ‘spicy takes’ – controversial views often shared online – has come at the same time as the rise of literal spiciness? I think not. The world’s heating up, and Sheeran’s making money.
"Sauce" - Google News
April 19, 2023 at 12:33AM
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How we became a nation of spice-lovers - The Telegraph
"Sauce" - Google News
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