Food rules and Englishness

The food rules have revealed yet more symptoms of the English social dis-ease. It seems that an awful lot of irrational and apparently inexplicable aspects of English behaviour – such as our silent, apologetic and obnoxious approaches to complaining – are traceable to this unfortunate affliction.

Looking closely at food-related behaviour has also helped us to refine our analysis of the �Typical!’ rule and what it tells us about Englishness. More than just �grumpy stoicism’, this rule is a reflection of our cynically low expectations about the world, our chronic pessimism, our assumption that it is in the nature of things to go wrong and thwart us and generally be disappointing. Perhaps even more important is the discovery of our perverse sense of satisfaction, even pleasure, at seeing our gloomy predictions fulfilled. Understanding this peculiar, Eeyorish mindset will, I think, prove critical to our understanding of Englishness. It is worth noting that the theme of English empiricism also came up again, in the somewhat unlikely context of our relationship with the chip.

The class rules in this chapter expose, perhaps even more than previous ones, the truly mind-boggling silliness of the English class system. I mean, really. How many peas can dance on the back of a fork? I’m ashamed to write this stuff. I’m ashamed to know this stuff, even though it is my job to observe and describe and try to understand it. Yes, I know that every human society has �a system of social status and methods of indicating it’, but the English do seem to take this to the most utterly ludicrous extremes.

The �small/slow is beautiful’ principle is rather less silly than the other class-related rules. Although it does serve as a class indicator, it also reflects important English ideals such as courtesy and fair play, and highlights our appreciation of restraint and distaste for greedy selfishness. There is something to be said for giving pleasant conversation priority over stuffing one’s face.

The Meaning of Chips rules indicate that our apparent lack of passion about food, and perhaps our apathy in other areas as well, such as patriotism, may be more a matter of observing anti-earnestness rules than the natural indifference to which they are often attributed. We can be emotional and even sometimes quite passionate about things. Well, about chips, anyway. It is just that we normally suppress these impulses, in our efforts to comply with the earnestness taboo. Is our much-ridiculed lack of passion about sex part of the same syndrome? Are English humour rules stronger than our sex-drive? I’ll try to find out in the next chapter.

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