The lower- and middle-middles, taking their cue from the upper-middles (and from the Daily Mail, with its regulation five health-scares per day), are rapidly succumbing to the full range of 'posh' food-fears. There tends to be a bit of a satellite-delay effect, a pause in transmission of a beat or two, before the latest upper-middle food fads and taboos are taken up by the inhabitants of mock-Tudor and neo-Georgian estates, and then another delay before they reach the 1930s semidetacheds. Some semi-detached suburbanites have only just realised that fat-phobia and fibre-worship are passe, long since superseded by carbo-phobia and protein-mania. Once all the current carcinogens-du-jour and other food-fear fashions have been adopted by the lower-middles, the upper-middles will of course have to think of some new ones. There is no point in having a wheat intolerance if all those common people who say 'pardon' and 'serviette' have one too.
The working classes generally have no truck with this sort of nonsense. They have real problems, and do not need to invent fancy food allergies to make their lives more interesting. At the opposite end of the social scale, the upper classes are equally down-to-earth and sceptical about such matters. Although they may have the time and money to devote to whimsical food taboos, they do not suffer from the same insecurities about their identity as the fretful middle classes, and so do not need to define themselves through conspicuous non-consumption of bread and butter. There are a few exceptions, such as the late Princess of Wales, but they tend to prove the rule by being noticeably more insecure and self-conscious than the average aristocrat.
Timing and Linguistic Indicators
Dinner/Tea/Supper Rules
What do you call your evening meal? And at what time do you eat it?
* If you call it 'tea', and eat it at around half past six, you are almost certainly working class or of working-class origin. (If you have a tendency to personalize the meal, calling it 'my tea', 'our/us tea' and 'your tea' - as in 'I must be going home for my tea', 'What's for us tea, love?' or 'Come back to mine for your tea' - you are probably northern working class.)
* If you call the evening meal 'dinner', and eat it at around seven o'clock, you are probably lower-middle or middle-middle.
* If you normally only use the term 'dinner' for rather more formal evening meals, and call your informal, family evening meal 'supper' (pronounced 'suppah'), you are probably upper-middle or upper class. The timing of these meals tends to be more flexible, but a family 'supper' is generally eaten at around half-past seven, while a 'dinner' would usually be later, from half past eight onwards.
To everyone but the working classes, 'tea' is a light meal taken at around four o'clock in the afternoon, and consists of tea (the drink) with cakes, scones, jam, biscuits and perhaps little sandwiches - traditionally including cucumber sandwiches - with the crusts cut off. The working classes call this 'afternoon tea', to distinguish it from the evening 'tea' that the rest call supper or dinner.
Lunch/Dinner Rules
The timing of lunch is not a class indicator, as almost everyone has lunch at around one o'clock. The only class indicator is what you call this meaclass="underline" if you call it 'dinner', you are working class; everyone else, from the lower-middles upwards, calls it 'lunch'. People who say 'd'lunch' - which Jilly Cooper notes has a slightly West Indian sound to it - are trying to conceal their working-class origins, remembering at the last second not to call it 'dinner'. (They may also say 't'dinner' - which confusingly sounds a bit Yorkshire - for the evening meal, just stopping themselves from calling it 'tea'.) Whatever their class, and whatever they may call it, the English do not take the middle-of-the-day meal at all seriously: most make do with a sandwich or some other quick, easy, single-dish meal.
The long, lavish, boozy 'business lunch' is nowadays somewhat frowned upon (more of that American-inspired puritanical health-correctness), which is a great shame, as it was based on very sound anthropological and psychological principles. The giving and sharing of food is universally known to be one of the most effective forms of human social bonding. Anthropologists even have a special jargon-word for it: 'commensality'. In all cultures, the offering and acceptance of such hospitality constitutes at the very least a non-aggression pact between the parties - you do not 'break bread' with your enemies - and at best a significant move towards cementing friendships and alliances. And it is even more effective if the social lubricant of alcohol is involved.
You would think that the English, with our desperate need for social 'props and facilitators', not to mention ways of detracting from the inevitable awkwardness of money-talk, would seize upon and embrace this tried-and-tested tradition. And indeed, I am convinced that the current misguided disdain for the business lunch is, to borrow a term from the environmentalists, 'unsustainable', and will prove to be a temporary aberration. It does, however, provide further evidence to support my argument that the English generally do not take food seriously, and in particular that we grossly underestimate the social importance of sharing food, of eating together - something most other cultures seem to grasp instinctively.
In this respect, the middle-class 'foodies' are often no more enlightened than the rest of us. Their obsessive focus on the food itself - the fruity virginity of the cold-pressed olive oil, the gooey ripeness of the unpasteurized Brie de Meaux - is often curiously devoid of the human warmth and intimacy that should be associated with its consumption. They claim to understand this social dimension, waxing lyrical and misty-eyed about the conviviality of mealtimes in Provence and Tuscany, but they have an unfortunate tendency to judge their English friends' dinner parties, and restaurant lunches with business contacts, on the quality of the cooking rather than the friendliness of the atmosphere. 'Well, the Joneses are very nice people and all that but really, they have no idea - overcooked pasta, boiled-to-death vegetables, and God knows what that chicken thing was supposed to be...' Their patronizing and sneering sometimes makes one long for the old, pre-foodie-revolution days, when the upper classes considered it vulgar to make any comment at all on the food they were served, and the lower classes defined a good meal as a filling one.
Breakfast Rules - and Tea Beliefs
The traditional English breakfast - tea, toast, marmalade, eggs, bacon, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, etc. - is both good and filling, and breakfast is the only aspect of English cooking that is frequently and enthusiastically praised by foreigners. Few of us eat this 'full English breakfast' regularly, however: foreign tourists staying in hotels get far more traditional breakfasts than we natives ever enjoy at home.
The tradition is maintained more at the top and bottom of the social scale than among the middle ranks. Some members of the upper class and aristocracy still have proper English breakfasts in their country houses, and some working-class people (mostly males) still believe in starting the day with a 'cooked breakfast' of bacon, eggs, sausages, baked beans, fried bread, toast and so on.
This feast may often be eaten in a 'caff' rather than at home, and is washed down with industrial quantities of strong, brick-coloured, sweet, milky tea. Lower-middles and middle-middles drink a paler, 'posher' version, Twining's English Breakfast, say, rather than PG Tips. The upper-middle and upper classes drink weak, dishwater-coloured, unsweetened Earl Grey. Taking sugar in your tea is regarded by many as an infallible lower-class indicator: even one spoonful is a bit suspect (unless you were born before about 1955); more than one and you are lower-middle at best; more than two and you are definitely working class. Putting the milk into the cup first is also a lower-class habit, as is over-vigorous, noisy stirring. Some pretentious middles and upper-middles make an ostentatious point of drinking Lapsang Souchong, without milk or sugar, as this is about as far removed from working-class tea as they can get. More honest (or less class-anxious) upper-middles and uppers often admit to a secret liking for the strong, rust-coloured 'builders' tea'. How snooty you are about 'builders' tea', and how careful you are to avoid it, is quite a good class-anxiety test.