Wet lettuce, chicken, appelflap.
This is not the latest, locally foraged, set menu hitting tablecloths near you this spring but demonstration of an inter-cultural fact: food makes for a powerful and versatile insult.
Food-related insults are found in all parts of society, yet it is in the political sphere where they’ve really found their niche. This should come as little surprise. Name calling has taken the place of meaningful, political debate in Britain for some time now and food, perhaps because of its perceived harmlessness, offers politicians means of landing a blow while avoiding the use of stronger, more problematic words.
Another reason food-related insults are so popular in British politics is that the associations we draw from certain foods give these insults an almost unrivalled, multidimensional nature. By calling conservatives a “gammon” you’re simultaneously insulting their temperament, appearance and political stance. Similar things could be said of labelling liberals “tofu-eaters.” Unlike those plying their trade in Westminster, it seems food-related insults boast a bipartisan nature.
Despite gammons, tofu-eaters and the Liz Truss lettuce saga making it appear as such, us British do not have a monopoly on food-related slander. Ten years ago, Zambian politician Frank Bwalya labelled his rival, President Michael Sataas, chumbu mushololwa, a term which translates to “a sweet potato that cannot be bent without breaking.” In other words, a man that cannot take advice.
So powerful are food-related insults that some political parties, including the Democratic Party of Korea, have been forced to ban them. In this instance, an embargo was placed on the word “watermelon” because party members were using it to accuse their compatriots of being traitors.
There has been a rivalry between the neighbouring towns of Whitehaven and Workington for centuries. This rivalry has been played out on rugby pitches, between schools and, of course, through the exchange of good, old fashioned insults. While the usual, unprintable niceties abound, another, more colloquial insult takes centre stage: “jam eater.”
For those of you not from Cumbria, this may strike you as an odd insult. After all, eating jam is usually a rather pleasant experience. Context is everything, however, and in Northwest Cumbria being called a jam eater is no laughing matter. It's an old-school insult, a personal one that references West Cumbria’s mining history, those who worked in the pits and the class-based associations therein. There’s only one problem with it: nobody knows who the jam eaters actually are.
Put a person from Workington and a person from Whitehaven in a room and its guaranteed that both will insist its the other who’s the jam eater. To make matters even more complicated, the origins of the insult are also undefined with two theories offering differing explanations.
The most popular of the two claims that, back in the day, calling a miner “jam eater” inferred that he was too poor to fill his sandwiches with meat. When working down the pits, these individuals filled their lunch boxes with cheaper jam sandwiches.
The other theory suggests that it wasn’t poverty that forced these unfortunate miners to eat jam but poor engineering. In this instance, it's said bad ventilation resulted in stifling hot working conditions. As a result, meat would spoil before the miners could have their lunch, forcing them to eat preserve-filled sandwiches.
I was born in Whitehaven so am a fan of calling others “jam eater.” Despite my best efforts, I doubt the insult will ever reach the dizzying heights attained by unbendable sweet potatoes and traitorous watermelons. Unlike “tofu-eater” it probably won’t ever be uttered in The House of Commons. But it still perfectly describes a person from Workington, and that’s enough for me.