What did festival-goers actually eat in the early ’70s? Did they
eat? Looking through the booklet that came with Glastonbury Fayre,
the 1972 triple album released after the second festival the previous year,
it is by no means clear that they did. Certainly not the willowy hippy-chick
whose expression suggests that she receives most of her vital nutrients via
sunlight. And certainly not a succession of happy, hairy cadavers with
beards and drums, apparently “finding their own place in a cosmology that
involves earth, heaven and man”.
Peruse all 32 pages and you’ll find references to the bands who played there
(Uncle Dog, Henry Cow and Toad all put the Jay-Z headlining controversy last
year into swift perspective) and “commune groups and the travellers living
out of vans . . . placing themselves within an environment that involves
earth, sky and a life ritual”. But what did people eat?
Finally, your eyes alight on a fleeting reference to the volunteers charged
with the task of manning “free kitchens”. Farther down is a reproduced slip
of paper that itemises the outgoings for that year’s festival: “Rice £40”.
Last year, at the Green Man Festival, set in a natural amphitheatre beside the
Black Mountains of Powys, I watched the re-formed jazz-folk legends
Pentangle and momentarily convinced myself that I was at one of those early
’70s freak-folk “happenings” from which the Green Man had taken inspiration.
However, the truth was somewhat different. The warm glow that enveloped me
was only partially attributable to the eight-minute murder ballad unfolding
before me. Half an hour earlier I had been to Konstam, the stall run by the
eponymous London restaurant known for its use-everything, waste-nothing
approach. Faced with a choice between free-range pork belly in a light
mustard glaze and a chicken and pea broth made with the carcasses of the
birds they had roasted that day I chose . . . er, both.
In 1992 I started going to music festivals because, like my hippy forebears, I
believed that music was the food of love. If I’m honest, however, the reason
I haven’t stopped is more to do with the fact that now I struggle to
separate music from my love of food. Thankfully, I don’t have to. The best
festivals have long since conspired to offer a synaesthetic thrill that
takes hold as soon as you unpack your gear and catch a waft of charcoal
fumes billowing off something that — in the case of the Extreme Organix
stall at the Green Man — may have recently been grazing the area where you
just parked your car.
These days I tend to pick my festivals on the basis of what I’m likely to chow
down while I’m there. As a rule of thumb, the diversity of food on offer at
a festival reflects that of the music. At Reading — this year’s main music
event for people who don’t turn off the radio when a song by the Pigeon
Detectives or the Wombats comes on — the hungry hordes tend to favour a
pitstop of soggy burgers and noodles that taste of little more than the
cheap soy sauce. John Simon, co-founder of the gourmet pie vendor
Pieminister, agrees. “There isn’t much point in us doing a festival like
that. We tend to attract people who are interested in quality ingredients
that are ethically sourced. Even for a £6 meal our mark-up is less than the
burger stall that sells you a burger and a bun for £3.50, whose ingredients
probably amounted to no more than 20p.”
Simon’s belief that festival-goers will pay more for a decent meal has been
borne out spectacularly by Pieminister’s dramatic rise at all the big
festivals. Three years ago at the Big Chill I caught a late-night set by
Sparks. That I can’t remember much about the music but everything about the
meal that followed speaks volumes about the Pieminister experience. I could
have had the Catherine of Tarragon (free-range chicken) or the Heidi Pie
(goat cheese, roasted peppers), but I went for the PM pie — a steak and
kidney creation with generous quantities of both packed into a pastry shell
that erred just the right side of doughy. It came in a recyclable cardboard
box beside a heavy orb of buttery mash, a ladle of mushy peas, gravy and a
sprinkling of shallots. Over the next two days I became a two-legged answer
to the famous question concerning the pies and who ate them all.
Like me, Pieminister is now a regular fixture at Glastonbury. If you’re
planning to be there, go on the first day because by the second the queues
simply never abate. Where to from there, though? An urbane middle-aged
Scotsman called Dick Vernon tells me that a stall that goes by the name of
Pie has “more interesting fillings”. He ought to know. In 1996 Vernon, a
former civil service project manager, was entrusted by Michael Eavis, the
man behind Glastonbury, with the job of overseeing the hundreds of food
concessions at the festival.
It’s an undertaking that he has refined over the course of 13 years. Under his
reign the festival has established an onsite wholesale market to ensure that
food miles are kept to a minimum and even the most uninvitingly greasy
griddles have eggs from local, uncaged birds cracked on to them. From the
solar-powered Hurly Burly Café in the Kidz Field to the international
crosstown traffic of aromas near the Jazz World stage, each stall is
personally sanctioned by Vernon — among them Carib Café and its impeccable
blend of spices rubbed over the quartered chickens in its Jerk Mon platter
and my kids’ favourite, the wholemeal flatbread pizzas made to order up in
the Green Fields.
However, the stall for which Vernon reserves the greatest affection is Yam the
Cassava, the culinary brainchild of Colga Parker, a native of Barbados. “She
lives out there most of the year,” Vernon explains, “but she has put all her
children through education in this country — which she finances through
doing four or five festivals. Then she goes back home.”
EAT TO THE BEAT
Discerning festival-goers expect more than a greasy burger in a muddy field
these days. Here’s our pick of the food on offer.
Glastonbury June 24-28, Somerset
You’ll find spit roasts, paella and “fryellas” from the Whole Hog and Jamon
Jamon, and delicious gluten-free cakes from Honeybuns. Or, for the fuller
restaurant experience, there’s Due South, Brighton’s famous restaurant,
which will re-create a traditional East End pie and mash shop, complete with
chandeliers and church pews.
T in the Park July 10-12, Balado, Kinross-shire
In conjunction with the Scottish Government, T in the Park’s “Healthy T”
offerings include Cullen skink (smoked haddock soup), hot smoked salmon
rolls, Mutley’s crêpes, stovies and Stoats porridge oats. There will also be
Now and Zen, a Japanese noodle bar, falafels by Johnny Baghdad, sit-down
three-course meals in the sushi yurt and wood-fired artisan pizzas at Fire
in the Hole.
Latitude July 16-19, Southwold, Suffolk
Check out Carib Catering’s ackee and vegetable run dun, Chimichurri’s
Argentine steak and chorizo seared over charcoal, or great tempura prawns
and plaice goujons from The Sea Cow, the celebrated South London chippy .
Big Chill August 6-9, Eastnor Castle deer park, Herefordshire
“Food is as much part of the line-up as any of the musicians” runs the tagline
of this festival, which is big on using local suppliers. Pick of the
restaurants is Leon, known for its natural and imaginative fast food.
