It’s the 70th anniversary of D-Day and there are commemorations across the globe for this defining moment of World War II. My most recent defining moment was accessing the latest British programs in NZ after moving back. And this has meant that I can watch the latest series of Great British Menu on the Beeb – pretty much real time.
OK, the GBM probably falls into the genre of reality tv and professional chef competitions, but it’s a pretty civilized, cerebral version of reality TV, with Prue Leith and co leading the charge for industry representation, and the results representing true endeavour in our industry. A selection of top British chefs compete regionally, and then as a group in the finals, to win the chance to prepare the courses for the banquet commemorating D-Day with veterans and VIP’s attending at St Paul’s Cathedral.
The competition is strung out across heats and finals over a few weeks, but the detail that is shown of technique (both successes and failures) is thorough for prime time TV.
There’s also the chance for industry judges (Wareing, Hartnett, Corrigan …) and competing peers to critique the efforts on the spot and this can often be succinct and severe. We see esteemed chefs blow it in an unfamiliar kitchen and the competition environment, and we see young chefs or those less visible in the industry pull through with well-thought out dishes fulfilling a specific brief.
I like this show.
The chefs are encouraged to delve into their own personal experiences to fulfill the brief which represents the experiences of those around D-Day with a modern 21st century twist. It makes me wonder what my own grandfather experienced fighting for the Kiwi troops in Northern Africa, then captured by the Germans whilst attempting to relieve the Allied Forces trapped in Tobruk, Libya.
What followed was five years as a POW, first transported by submarine to the south of Italy, then transferred to a relatively salubrious prison camp near Venice, and finally to the tough environment of the Stalag E55 in Myslovice, Silesia in Poland (in 1943 after Italy capitulated). That was bound to be a defining experience for him, as I am sure it was for many soldiers and families of that time. Sadly, he’s no longer here to tell the tale, but he did make it back to NZ to experience generous slabs of rump steak and lavish roast meals once again, reaching the ripe old age of 79.
It also makes me wonder what food memories came from my Poppy’s experience, not only in North Africa, but also in the Polish POW camp. Thanks to my historian Dad – now a Poppy himself – I have some information on his time in the camp, not far from Auschwitz and Krakow, where the prisoners worked as labourers in the lucrative coal mines the region is known for. Due to the ingenuity and daring of an old schoolmate in the camp, who set up a ham radio – parts happily supplied by the Polish miners they worked alongside – they were able to get information from the BBC and the camp prisoners knew about D-day long before their guards. The radio buff suffered bread and water in solitary confinement once the guards discovered the source of the news, but it was worth it for the snippets of uplifting news from home.
After the German retreat, the prisoners were mainly marched westwards with the Germans, except for those too ill to travel, who were simply abandoned in the camp hospital – my Poppy and his mate amongst them. It was January, and the coldest winter for 50 years. Those left behind managed to leave the camp – in the opposite direction from the Germans – and eventually met up with a Russian fighting party. After some tense moments, toasts with Russian vodka mixed with orange juice and rocket fuel (literally) were exchanged and they were helped on their way to the port at Odessa.
We still have various memorabilia from his time in that camp, including weekly POW magazines they published with Kiwi inspired poetry and stories, but limited record of the food they ate… or what meals they dreamed of cooked by their loved ones back in NZ. I do know that Poppy avoided garlic after the war as this stirred up memories of the sausages they were regularly served, apparently pretty marginal in quality and quantity.
There were bright spots related to food as well – my grandfather’s camp-mate never forgot the simple, kind gesture my Poppy made on his thirtieth birthday, somewhere in a rail siding in Poland, en route to Odessa. Poppy went “foraging” to the local village and swapped a pair of woollen socks for four cupcakes for EB’s birthday present.
In a similar vein to my own tale, the GBM is fascinating simply because of the personal tales that are told, and the dishes that evolve from these. One chef presents a dish based on the pigeons used to send critical messages between the Allies, and another presents a chocolate dessert based on the Dickens medal for animal heroes in the war.
Much mention is made of Churchill and his inspiring quotes, and the meals inspired by his tastes. Cigars, brandy and comforting dishes preferred by Britain’s heroic war leader feature widely, alongside dishes reminiscent of the varied experiences of the chefs’ parents and grandparents.
It makes me wonder… what food related tales do we have amongst our chefs of their heritage during the war years?
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