Earlier this week I went to an “event”. That’s what some people might choose to call it. I would be inclined to label it in less flattering terms, such was the sum of my experiences. What it was, ostensibly, was a collection of food, drink and people in a vibrant urban setting. The recipe for a good time, you might think. But in reality, it was a recipe for absolute cuntery of the highest order.
Foodie festivals are all the rage right now; Artisanal savoury goods vomited out of a procession of refurbished vehicles, usually accompanied by the latest in overly fragrant craft beers or some sort of hate crime committed against popular spirits (picklebacks, I’m looking at you). The organisers would have you believe you are attending a noble, grass-roots celebration of eating, drinking and human interaction. I’m here to tell you that what you are really letting yourself in for is a massive turd sandwich that, no matter what you wash it down with, will forever leave a nasty taste in your mouth.
It cost £16.25 for the atrocity I went along to on Wednesday night. That’s not including the cost of the food. Once I had eaten enough to make me feel vaguely full I had spent an additional £15, so that’s a total of £31.25. To spice up the cocktail of hate and contempt even further, my night included mammoth queues of 20 to 30 minutes at a time as the organisers had sold too many tickets. Enormous human centipedes wound their way across a congested forecourt in the shadow of Battersea Power Station. The open-air cinema in the enclosure was playing a film that no-one was paying any attention to (it was Fight Club because tonight we’re being all, like, underground and alternative like Tyler Durden, yeah?). Tinny, underpowered speakers were assaulting our ears with turgid mash-ups of hip-hop classics. At one point, a burger stall ran out of food. People weren’t sure which queue was which, there were so many of them. A sort of dull, unorganised gloom descended over us like thick fog.
My ticket included three free drinks. You would think that might mitigate matters somewhat. Trouble is, the predetermined options where a corporate-approved hipster beer and a couple of hideous concoctions involving neat liquor with some awful savoury flourish (one being tequila and chilli, a concoction you’d only be keen on if you really fucking hate yourself). By the end of the evening I was underfed, slightly nauseous from bizarre booze combinations and £30 poorer for the privilege.
I’m not sure why events like this, now a regular occurrence in metropolitan areas, are so popular. This country has such an abysmal and unbalanced food culture that we seem to shit ourselves with delight whenever someone offers us a burger from somewhere that doesn’t include the words ‘Mac’ or ‘King’. We offer up our dinner bowls like Oliver Twist and pay the better part of 20 quid just so we can queue for ages and pretend we’re ushering in some sort of culinary revolution. What we’re really doing of course, is lining the pockets of organisers and promoters who know they can get away with over-selling (and, crucially, under-supplying) an event because the market is there. Because we all like to eat, and if there’s enough weird overpriced alcohol and Kanye West on the stereo then we might actually feel like we’re part of something with some higher cultural meaning.
I hope the so-called “organisers” of such events are reading this, though I suspect they’re too busy checking their bank balances on their iPad Minis and gut-laughing at the cash they made at the expense of myself and many others. I still hope they have time to see it, because it’s important they realise what they have put people through. I do, however, have to tip my hat to the poetic irony they displayed in putting on a food event which was ruined by human greed.
Bringing people together is a wonderful thing, no doubt about it. It’s a lot less wonderful with 30 minute queues and extortionate ticket prices. So here’s what you can do: take the money you would have spent, go to Sainsbury’s and load up on a ton of meat, veg and special-offer alcohol (their wine discounts are a godsend). Invite all your friends over and make a feast. If you can’t cook, buy a cookbook and learn how, or find a friend who can and make it worth their while. Eat, drink and be merry. And in doing so, send a symbolic message to over-priced, over-attended food festivals that they can, now and forever, all go and fuck themselves.
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