Why doesn’t England have a national vegetable?
Violet‘s food columnist Jess Lock takes us through the wonders of national identity through vegetables
I often find myself in that bleary half-awake dream state at 3am, only to be jolted awake by an all-consuming worry or an earth-quaking epiphanic moment. The other night, I experienced both at the same time. I was gripped, I was restless, I was shook: why doesn’t England have a national vegetable?
Now, as I’m sure you’ll all agree, in a world struck by political turmoil and injustice, this is an incredibly pressing question. Wales has their leek, Ireland can lay claim to the potato, proud Scots love their neeps (that’s turnips or swedes to the rest of us). Even our European neighbours (or kinda neighbours #Brexit) can proudly boast of veg quintessential to their country: the French have onions, Eastern Europeans have the beetroot and cabbage, and Italians the tomato.
So why are we, the English people, slighted in this way? We deserve more. We deserve recognition for our mediocrity, poor decisions and divisive politics. So here is my solution: below is my effort to list as many vegetables as I am capable of (trust me, when you understand my familiarity with greens, you’ll realise the struggle I encountered creating such a list), in order to perfect our vegetal image.
Asparagus is a strong contender for an English vegetable, coming into season at a patriotic peak – St George’s Day. Yet who wants to be allied with a stinky-pee vegetable? Picture the Tudor Rose entwined with a porcelain throne full of pungent piss – not quite cohesive (though not entirely unsubstantiated considering some of the smells I’ve encountered emanating from English pits).
“I was gripped, I was restless, I was shook: why doesn’t England have a national vegetable?”
Carrots are also often associated with England, but not the white wild carrots native to Britain - the orange carrot, developed in the Netherlands during the reign of William of Orange is sadly not really very English at all.
Cabbage? Another English fave (for what reason is another question) yet the stench of sweaty, overcooked school dinners does not really sum up an England I’d love to represent. Plus, surely England can do better than the anemic cauliflower?
As for other veg…
Kale – too faddish. Aubergine – too phallic.
Artichoke – too Waitrose. Chickpeas – too foreign.
Celery – too gross. Broccoli – too boring.
Peppers – too strong. Lettuce – too pathetic.
Mushrooms – too slimy. Radish – too niche.
Spinach – too Popeye. Peas – too small.
Brussel sprouts – too hated. Sweetcorn – too sweet.
So what would I suggest we tout as England’s vegetable? What could possibly remain after that long list of legumes? What can truly unite the English people?
Easy really - it’s got to be baked beans.
Traditional English fare – good in toasties and with fish fingers; great on a fry-up; great when cold, straight from the tin on DofE. Served as a side at the iconic chain KFC (no reputable English town is found without one), and counting as one of your five-a-day, there’s nothing the baked bean can’t perk up. They’re an ally to the hungry; they’re cheap and cheerful; they’re the best sub for ketchup and even have their own playground rhyme (beans, beans, good for your heart…). We English should be proud of our heritage; we can make a beautifully balanced meal from just beans and bread, a thought which seems horrifying to our transatlantic pals. Whether you stand on the traditionalist side with Heinz or like to spice up your beans with the Branston brand, ultimately beans unite – their orangey goodness is surely emblematic of everything good in this bleak, bleak world
