It wasn't a major cock-up. He didn't pat Michelle Obama on the bottom, spill tea on the rug in the Oval Office, or offer to take the President's dog out hunting, but David Cameron's diplomatic slip was significant enough. On a tour of New York with Mayor Bloomberg the Prime Minister asked a street vendor for a plain hot dog. No mustard, no onions, nada. In one hot minute he lost the respect of every proud, food-loving American.
It's not the first time Cameron's conservative tastes have been exposed. While he and Nick Clegg thrashed out the final details of the coalition, the Prime Minister cooked them a supper of ham, baked potatoes and salad. It seems our PM isn't much of a gourmet. I mean, come on Dave, seriously, a hot dog without onions and American mustard – what on earth were you thinking? Such chow is nothing without its accompaniments.
Some foods beg for a splodge of phone box red or atomic yellow dressing: hot dogs, ham, scampi and burgers. A kebab without garlic mayonnaise and chilli sauce is but a spectre, chips without ketchup are desiccating and mealy. I am always baffled that in France a near-perfect ham and cheese baguette comes without mustard, and polite requests for a dash of Dijon are frequently met with incredulity. In the UK there are burger joints that bring your food and ask if you'd like any sauces. Just how often do people decline? Bring the lot, I say.
Byron, a burger gaff that has earned something of a cult status, is famous for its homemade sauce, "a subtle blend of ketchup, mayo, chopped pickles and capers", reveals owner Tom Byng of his suspiciously thousand island-esque dressing. "It's so good applied thinly to the bun or for dunking chips in." Huw Gott, owner of London steakhouse The Hawksmoor, is also encouragingly fond of condiments. "I think burgers need a bit of lube", he says. "I've toured some of the best burger joints in New York and most of the patties are pretty bland. The pleasure in a burger comes from the mix of flavours and textures."
But it isn't always this simple. Certain dishes seem incomplete without ketchup, and yet adding it carries a certain guilty, childish pleasure. Fish pie, macaroni cheese and cottage pie just aren't the same without a squirt of the red stuff. Chef Tom Aikens agrees: "it's comfort food". But what would you say if someone asked for Tommy K with poached turbot? "I'd say no", replies Aikens. Nico Ladenis, a chef infamous for his view that "the customer is not always right", allegedly sent an entire sack of salt out to a table after a diner had the barefaced cheek to ask for some seasoning.
Such sensitivity about one's culinary creations is not restricted to the realms of chefs and prima donnas. I'd like to pretend that I'm the kind of cook who is happy to leave such decisions to the individual, but that would be a lie. I was livid when my brother shook Tabasco over a roast chicken, and just a little hurt when a friend actually went next door to his flat, took a pot of cream from the fridge, came back, and poured it over a tagine I'd lovingly made. When someone has put the time and effort into cooking for you it is somewhat inconsiderate to fart about with their efforts. Unless a condiment is offered, or unless the dish falls into the hot dog, nothing-without-the-condiment category, then the best policy is to go without, austere as this may seem.
It tends to be obvious when a condiment is called for. The best – or most appropriate – condiments enhance. A sausage without mustard is like McCartney without Lennon – perfectly adequate but not nearly as exciting. Poppadoms without mango chutney or a minty yoghurt are dry, brittle frisbees. So Dave, just remember for next time, that good politics is sometimes just a question of having the right sauces. Which condiment could you not live without, and which foods demand it?
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