Waste not want not

Sundays were big family days; normally my Nana would (much to the delight of my father) call in the very early hours to see if we were coming for lunch. We would be packed into the car and taken to St Michael at the Northgate for family service which is right in the centre of Oxford. Occasionally extra colour was added to these outings by tourists, I remember rather clearly one Japanese gentleman grabbing my hand and snapping a picture of me in front of Martyrs Memorial because he wanted a picture of a typical little English girl. Somewhere in the far east there is a picture of six year old me, blotchy faced screaming for my parents convinced I was about to be taken away by the child catcher in ‘Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.’

We would head straight from church to Sunday lunch with my Grandparents house, this usually consisted of huge platefuls of roast beef from our local butcher, David John. There would also be cauliflower in white sauce, peas, roast potatoes, mash, broccoli, leeks and sprouts but never swede it was banned. I never thought to question this at the time.

I was taught how to mix Yorkshire puddings by hand and watch my Nana as she basted, boiled and plated up with fascination. Our plates were piled high and if we didn’t eat what was in front of us my Gramps would despair, sighing deeply and talk about wasted food. He was a wise man of few words and I would always feel terribly guilty, so on I would plough. It was only when I was older that I discovered why; as a young soldier in WW2 he was kept in Stalag Luft VIII-B (a German prisoner of war camp) after being captured at Cassel trying to stop the advancing Nazi’s getting near the beaches of Dunkirk.

When the Soviets advance on Germany towards the end of the war the Nazis marched their prisoners’ westwards in what is now often referred to as ‘The Death Marches.’ Not only did these marches prolong the war for him and many others the lack of food and clothing meant many died of the cold and or starvation. Sometimes all they would be given is raw swede, to my knowledge my Gramps never ate another swede once he was rescued by the Red Cross and brought home. He never told me any of this I gleamed the information from family and friends just after he died in 2010. He knew a thing or two about being hungry.

After lunch my father and uncles would take us kids to Mesopotamia (or Messpot as we locals call it) with the beloved mongrel Ben in an effort walk off our lunch and give my Nana and her four daughter’s time to sit around the dinner table and chew the cud. On our return it was usually time for tea and we would be treated to cold roast beef with mash and salad or sometimes bubble and squeak. Nothing was wasted from the precious beef joint I still to this day feel horribly guilty if I throw away any food after a meal.

A butcher is for life not just for Christmas – a tale of meat, Metros and matriarchs

No one taught me more about the importance of using your local butcher than my maternal Grandparents Ron and Barb May. I spent a lot of my Oxfordshire childhood with them, partly to help my fraught mother after the birth of my twin brothers just 18 months after the joyous arrival of my hyperactive self.

Having a forthright wife and four daughters meant that Gramps often struggled to get a word in edge ways. He worked long hours at his shop, Mays Carpets on the Cowley Road, but he would always finish early on Saturday lunchtimes and make a trip to the shops in Marston to get the meat and vegetables for Sunday lunch. One rather fateful afternoon he went to the butchers but returned empty handed, soaking wet and without his car, a yellow Austin Metro.

The women in the house were, as usual, talking at great speed and at times over each other. It took around half an hour before my Nana noticed the lack of shopping and the state of his clothes. He explained that he had left the keys in the car with the engine running while he went into the butchers (a common practice in those days). When he returned the rust bucket had been nicked. He had walked all the way back up the steep hill on Headley Way in the pouring rain then stood for half an hour waiting to get his words out. Nana chastised him but his reply was something that will always stay with me. “Be fair Barb I couldn’t get a word in edgeways! Everyone is talking but no one is listening.”

David John, the butcher, still remembers the story of the yellow Metro to this day, the last time I saw him I told him it was part of my Gramp’s eulogy. When I’m in Oxford I always make a point of going to his shop which is now in the Covered Market in the centre of town. His game pies are one of my favourite Christmas treats, but I know that if I want butchers like him to remain part of our high street we need to use them all year round. Many people right now will be thinking about Christmas dinner and making a ‘special trip’ to the butcher for their meat. The next time they set foot through their butchers’ door will be Christmas 2013.

The sad fact is that in the mid 1980’s there were around 22,000 high street butchers. This fell to just 6,553 in 2010, according to Ed Bedington, Editor of Meat Trades Journal. Part of the reason they thrived in the past was because people, like my grandparents, used them all year round. I’m part of The Meat Crusade, which is campaigning to save the high street butcher. So I am asking you to think about what our high streets will look like without the butcher. Sadly it really is a case of use them or lose them.

Guest blog - The Southerner explores…

As a former intern myself I like to take on students and offer them the chance to work on projects that (I hope) give them a real sense of what it is like out here in the working world and to help me out when I have a big project and all hands are needed on the deck so to speak.  Olivia is on a one day a week adoption with me from Leeds Met and has been a great help especially in the build up to and during Countryside Live.  I asked her to write about her experience and here is her blog post.

 Guest blog - The Southerner explores…

Yes I am Southerner, but before you stop reading I cannot speak any higher of the North right now, especially after visiting (and not wanting to leave) Countryside Live, you may not admit it but you know I'm right…and I’ll tell you why.

It’s the time of year that brings families, traders, farmers and of course livestock all together for one weekend. I wasn’t sure what to expect but as I approached the venue, the sea of cars and toddlers on shoulders gave me the impression that this was big – very big.

As I arrived and fought my way through the crowds to the main pavilion I was pleasantly surprised to see such variety in ages and so many different stalls. From Ferrets to Figs, candles to cows, it was all there and in full speed. I was immediately transfixed by numerous smells and beautiful sights. With Christmas around the corner I couldn’t help but become giddy at the beautifully crafted wreaths and handmade candles next to me. Children were running around giggling also amazed with all the excited things around and I was definitely one of them. I was offered a pork pie and kindly accepted (whilst slightly dribbling…elegantly) and it was bursting with flavour. I forgot how much I love these events – absolute heaven.

As I carried on past more stands offering me sweets, photographs and I think even Liquorice perfume (strange I know, I hope they weren’t insinuating anything…) I came across a stall ‘The Meat Crusade’ and beside that a very large Steer (made of fibreglass of course) and terribly good looking people, informing us of the benefits of Rose Veal and taste bud melting sensation it leaves…

You’re probably thinking I am all a bit strange right now, but I should probably introduce myself, my name is Olivia, I am 21 years old and studying Public Relations at Leeds Metropolitan University, hold on I’m missing something… That’s right I am also intern at John Penny & Sons….the penny (ironically) drops.

The Meat Crusade is a national campaign led by John Penny & Sons to bring you back to your local butcher. Butchers can tell you far more than a supermarket ever could about meat, they can even tell you the exact farm it has come from.

The team were inundated with people of all ages trying Rose Veal who couldn’t believe the tender taste and healthy texture it had. Long gone are the confined crates and mislead conception, this is the 21^st Century. 

Here are the days that it is RSPCA approved and branded a freedom food, Rose Veal has never been better.

I am aware the word ‘Veal’ can make people shoot off in the opposite direction. But today that was not the case in fact the complete opposite. Bull calf’s in the dairy industry are quite often disposed of soon after birth and have no quality of life whatsoever.

Rose Veal calves are brought up in a far more wholesome way, they have plenty of room to move around both inside and out. The response John Penny’s had was amazing. In this day and age people are more broad minded in what they eat especially the young. Teenagers in particular were more curious about the meat and far more open minded than their parents. All you have to do is ask your local butcher, I’m sure they will be more than happy to supply it for you, that way it is a win win for you, your butcher and the calf!

Can rose veal return onto our shelves? Yes. 2,500 samples over two days flew of our stand and many coming back for more. I packed 800 goody bags (yes 800!) and they were gone by 12pm Sunday. What does that tell you?

For more information please visit: http://www.johnpenny.co.uk/the-meat-crusade.html