Money Where Your Mouth Is

A cow in Port Meadow, Oxford

Living in a university town can be a blessing and a curse. It's quite difficult to top Blackwell's bookshop(s); nursing a cup of coffee for three hours is entirely acceptable; loitering is, in fact, condoned, if not encouraged, and I got by with discounts in many a shop and cinema before a disgruntled Bodleian librarian gleefully julienned my reader's card before my eyes. And then there are all those open lectures, art exhibitions, concerts, and 'dreaming spires'...

When it comes to food, however, there can often be a price to pay. It struck me tonight, as I was polishing off the last of my pint of Daylesford Organic vanilla ice cream (I know, dear reader, that you are surely as shocked as I that it hath lasted since my last post!), that I've been having a conversation on loop.

Where has the dining gone? Or, was it ever really there in the first place? I'm not talking Michelin stars, though those are found not too far afield, in fact; Raymond Blanc's Le Manoir Aux Quat'Saisons has held on to two for an admirable 25 years. What one finds in between Le Manoir and an Oxford kebab van is stratified territory of extremes.

You could argue that, at a time when a KFC delight called the 'Double Down' is being test marketed in Nebraska and Rhode Island, it's a rather rich thing to do to complain about the middle-of-the-road food scene in Oxford. Interestingly, the 'Double Down' has been reported to have 1,380 milligrams of sodium, just topping the average caloric content of a kebab from an Oxford van--1,338.

The dining scene in Oxford caters to its dominant demographic--students. And rightly so. Something cheap, and most likely portable, can be had everywhere you turn. From burritos to take-away salads and sandwiches, to Nepalese momo and the ever-present pasty, one's never deprived of choice.

It's when you want to dine out that the gastronomic landscape shrinks to just a handful of independently-owned staples. As a student, the question always arose: 'where can I get my parents to take me while they're in town?' The answer was usually Gee's, part of a group of local hotels and restaurants, which serves seasonal British fare in a converted glass conservatory. The food is consistent, the quality good, and the ambiance enjoyable, but after a few dining experiences, it gets old.

A friend, completing his master's, and his fifth year at the University, was pondering this very question last week, and the group of us sat around our pints at the King's Arms frustratingly at a loss. Sure, there's Edamame, Al Andalus, Pierre Victoire, and Branca, but each poses either an impossible queue or menus that aren't particularly inventive or changing. Max Mason's The Big Bang comes closest in terms of representing the best in Oxfordshire and Berkshire produce. All ingredients sourced from small, independent suppliers within a 20-mile radius of Oxford. But, then again, the menu is limited to sausage and mash, and while it can't be beat on a lazy Sunday afternoon, there's no starched linen, nor sense of occasion, in its understated dining room.

If only this ethical, green, local sourcing could be given an haute cuisine boost.

Max Mason and The Big Bang have definitely achieved standing in the affordable niche, and that is precisely what that restaurant aimed to do. The Independent chose it as the third-best place to eat in Britain for under 50 GBP. A gaping hole exists in the Oxford market, however, for a fine dining experience that celebrates the bounty of local produce.

For the time being, I suppose I shall have to be content eating vicariously through Prue Leith, as she judges yet another round of Great British Menu chefs!