The fractious agora of Twitter has witnessed some memorably furious debates: conspiracy theories, cancellations – and now toasted teacakes. The great teacake controversy began with a letter to The Telegraph from Marion Hansford of Newport Pagnell, who used to enjoy a modest afternoon treat of a coffee and a toasted teacake in the café of her local Marks & Spencer, where she was recently told that toasted teacakes were now a “breakfast item”, not served after 11am.
The Radio 3 presenter Petroc Trelawny Tweeted her lament, and there followed a courteous but emphatic Twitterstorm. Faced with a formidable cohort of aggrieved teacake-fanciers, M&S’s chief executive, Stuart Machin, performed a graceful U-turn, tweeting “Toasted teacakes will be back on the all-day menu”.
Considered purely on its gastronomic merits, the humble teacake seems an unlikely focus for such strength of feeling: it is redolent of the post-War novels of Barbara Pym or Elizabeth Taylor, where genteel ladies in hats haunt tea-rooms staffed by flouncing waitresses. But it is what the tea-cake represents, rather than what it tastes like, that gives it its emotional force.
In uncertain times, small rituals rather than grand gestures offer most comfort, and here the teacake comes into its own. At Christmas, the category of prosaic but mysteriously reassuring foodstuffs expands to include pigs in blankets.
This year their popularity has soared, with an increasingly surreal list of variations on a chipolata wrapped in a bit of streaky bacon, from Tesco’s pigs in blankets in Yorkshire puddings, via Yotam Ottolenghi’s pomegranate and pistachio version, to the pigs in blankets milkshake (vanilla shake with whipped cream and crispy bacon bits) offered by the Five Guys chain, which sounds like one of the more violent fantasies of Filippo Tommaso Marinetti’s Futurist Cookbook.
I have never seen the point of pigs in blankets: fond as I am of both chipolatas and bacon, their festive marriage seems less than the sum of its elements. For my partner, however, they are the edible essence of Christmas.
We have started our Christmas conflicts early, with a brisk discussion over the timing of lunch. Having lost that round, I briefly considered holding out for surrounding the turkey with plain old chipolatas, rather than their blankety brethren. But it is too small a festive hill to die on; and at least he isn’t (yet) suggesting the pomegranate and pistachio version.
As Yuletide tensions mount, perhaps I should consider hugging a cow. Cow-hugging is a wellness trend pioneered in Holland, where it is known as koeknuffelen. Here the practice is still in its infancy – possibly because British bovines, with their formidable record of trampling people to death, take a dim view of being hugged. But the “Exclusive Cow Cuddle Experience” offered for £50 by McNeils Mill, a farm in South Yorkshire, has proved so popular that they are now booking for next year.
On the whole, I think I’ll stick to less hands-on forms of festive stress relief. A 2020 study from Keele University found that when subjects were put under stress, swearing offered a significant improvements to “emotion, humour and distraction” ratings. In South Korea, they even have something called “swearing granny restaurants”. Merry blooming Christmas it is, then.
Toasted teacakes aren’t just a treat, but a comforting British ritual
It is what the tea-cake represents that gives it its most emotional force