The writer is the FT’s food critic
This week it was reported that the UK government is planning to allow traders to sell their wares in imperial measures of pounds and ounces, rather than grams and kilograms. When the move was first mooted in September, Lord David Frost, then Brexit delivery minister, hailed it as one of the dividends he said would come from Britain’s departure. EU Britain.
Because I have lived the life that I have, I feel particularly touched by this, on many levels. But, for the sake of brevity, let me give you five reasons why I couldn’t care less about a putative return to imperial measurements.
First, the kitchen. When it comes to measurement, I envy those who can’t cook. If you are one of those lucky souls who feed themselves by piercing the film with an incandescent cigarette end before irradiating your pod for a few minutes in the microwave, your entire measurement experience is expressed in the line “for a nobody “. .
But consider those of us who must use recipes involving imperial and metric weights, freely mixed together, as well as fluid measurements and the absurd American volumetric system of random cup sizes. Then we cook with Fahrenheit, Celsius, gas marks and blind luck. Frankly, I take the whole thing with a grain of salt (3-4g).
Second, my business. I run a small bakery. It’s not just cupcakes and sourdough. It is a small artisan factory with traditions, practices and sometimes equipment that date back 100 years.
I have a £20,000 oven that takes 80 loaves at a time and talks to my mobile. But my bakers always make a 7 inch, 5 cm high cake. Why? A young baker knows the difference between a well-risen 6 cm sponge cake and a 3 cm one which is basically a thick pancake. But it’s still made in a 7-inch box that’s been there since just after WW1, saw the metric come, and most likely disappear, and, God willingwill still be a 7-inch cake pan when nuclear Armageddon renders these questions moot.
Third, my pants (not unrelated to points 1 and 2). My waistline is still something like it was back in the day. I mean, it’s nominally expressed in inches, but, without being entirely philosophical, it’s a construction, not an empirical measurement.
I am built, I will not lie, on a substantial scale. Just like the 1985 Dodge Diplomat, which became obsolete when the manufacturer could no longer justify the amount it drank. Thus, the number “in inches” is only a representation. If you disagree, consider the difference between a 24″ and 26″ waist to be just one size up, while between 36″ and 38″ is a chasm. gaping into which the last of fashionable and interesting clothes disappears and elastic- the waisted “gardener” pants suddenly spring out.
Fourth, my motorcycle. I am rebuilding a 50 year old Japanese machine, which has undergone many modifications and repairs over its long and distinguished life, acquiring a complete collection of bolts and widgets of every major and minor thread size, pitch angle, and diameter.
There are metric bolts, imperial bolts, and God knows what other empire bolts. The tattooed man in the motorcycle garage once spent three days looking for a spare carburettor screw before telling me, through stifled sobs, that the old one had been “tailor-made” by an enterprising mechanic.
Finally, consider my vices. I haven’t bought a ‘pint’ since I was an art student, but have consumed lakes of wine in handy 75cl bottles. I’m not sure if I’m drinking a measured cocktail, but most places I go the choice is between a full, unrivaled vintage bohemian becherovka tumbler or making it an eight party.
There is probably an obsolete unit of drunkenness but, who, in a very real sense, counts? I understand, by the way, that recreational drugs are sold in grams and ounces. Although I suppose one should expect reduced weight and not complain to one’s dealer.
In fact, there’s one last reason I don’t care about imperial measurements – and this is the most important: I’m not entirely gullible. When I was about six years old, I realized why the magician at a party was so craving that I looked at his “other hand.” Boris Johnson, the Prime Minister, appears to be engaged in a very similar act. Because, let’s face it, we’re not going to, are we? We never forgot the imperial measures in the first place, and “restoring” them is little more than a cynical sleight of hand.
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