A media invasion… the empire strikes back

Fed-up Tory voters should be careful what they wish for

What few passions the general election stirs are festering almost exclusively among “fed-up former Tory voters”, says Lionel Shriver in The Spectator. And they’re so angry they’ve become blind to their own self-interest; so “demented by loathing for their own party” that they are about to elect a left-wing government largely to “punish the current one for being too left-wing”. To us foreigners, it’s baffling. Sick of being bled dry with the highest tax burden in 70 years, these ex-Tories will take their revenge by “installing a regime that will raise taxes even higher”. Brexiteers who feel betrayed by the passively Remainer Tory party are ushering in the “actively Remainer” Labour party, whose leader plans to snuggle as cozily as possible back in the bosom of the EU.

Voters dismayed that their meagre political power is systematically diluted by “unelected civil servants, quangocrats and judges” believe the answer is Keir Starmer KC, a committed globalist who will further “attenuate accountable democracy” with loyalty to the UN, WEF, WHO and IPCC. Normal folk who hoped an 80-seat majority might embolden the Tories to push back against “faddish ‘social justice’ fanaticism” will upbraid the recent string of cowardly PMs by electing one who only recently remembered what a woman was and is “likely to forget they don’t have penises the moment he is elected”. Plenty of alienated Conservatives are livid that so much of the money they work hard for is siphoned off to support the millions of people who are too “anxious” or “depressed” to get out of bed. What to do? Elect a government that is even keener on benefits and even more economically punitive towards those who still go out to work. “That’ll show ‘em.”

The marketing genius of the Caesar salad

For some, there will be lots to celebrate this 4 July, says Ed Cumming in The Daily Telegraph, but chief among them is the 100th birthday of the Caesar salad (see recipe below). The dish was born in Tijuana, Mexico during prohibition. Americans were pouring across the border “in search of something stronger than apple juice”, and restaurant owner Caesar Cardini was keen to turn a profit. Legend has it that one day, struggling for ingredients, Caesar “cobbled together” the now immortal hodgepodge and served it up. A hundred years on, it stands as proof that a good name goes a long way. “A Cardini salad would not be marking its 100th birthday.”

The Waldorf salad is similarly blessed: the invocation of a fancy New York hotel helps dress up a concoction of celery, apples, grapes and mayonnaise “that in other circumstances would sound like a punishment”. A beef Wellington by another moniker might seem a rather delicate thing, “possibly even French”. Instead, “it arrives as if clad in a red tunic, all hearty British oomph with a side of boot”. The name Pavlova, too, adds a classiness that a pile of “fruit, cream and meringue dumped together” might not otherwise convey. You could even believe that it is “light and airy like a Russian ballerina”, rather than sweet and fatty like a delicious pudding. As Signor Caesar knew, “when it comes to flogging your leftovers, branding is everything”.

🍟 🍸 Social media has declared the combination of a Caesar salad, fries and an ice-cold martini as the perfect meal. I completely agree, says Emily Heil in The Washington Post. “It is truly the greatest of triumvirates.” The punchy notes of anchovy and the boozy tang of the cocktail cut through the rich, indulgent dressing perfectly. Some TikTokers have dubbed it the “NYC happy meal”, others the “Holy Trinity”. One restaurant in Cape Cod went viral after putting up a sign that read: “You’re not sad, you just need a Caesar salad, side of fries and a dry martini”.

The perfect Caesar salad
The perfect Caesar salad shouldn’t take more than 30 minutes to make, says Felicity Cloake in The Guardian. For the dressing: crush two cloves of garlic and add to 150ml of olive oil. Then mash two anchovies into a smooth paste, beat in an egg yolk then gradually whisk the paste and the oil together with the juice of half a lemon and season to taste. Toss in a large bowl with croutons, the loose leaves of two cos lettuces and plenty of parmesan, then add chopped chicken breast and a warm boiled egg to serve.

Podcast – Everything I Know About Me: Stormy Daniels
This podcast by the Daily Mail gives listeners an in-depth account of the trials, triumphs and defining moments of some of today’s most talked about personalities. In the latest series, porn star Stormy Daniels tells her own life story, from growing up in poverty in Baton Rouge, Louisiana to the hysteria surrounding Donald Trump’s hush-money trial – plus the surprising reason she got into stripping (spoiler: to earn enough money to feed her pet horse). Two episodes, 34m

Podcast – Orwell vs Kafka
I had some scepticism about Radio 4’s decision to yoke George Orwell and Franz Kafka together into the same radio series, says James Marriott in The Times. But Orwell vs Kafka, in which Ian Hislop and Helen Lewis explore how the writers’ works continue to express the frustrations of 21st century life, persuaded me that this pairing is “random, but it works”. As Lewis puts it, “Kafka looks inwards … Orwell is looking outwards.” And crucially, we’re spared the usual tedious overinterpretation. “I enjoyed it a lot.” Six episodes, 28m

Down with kitchen suppers, bring back the dining room

The ground floor of every house near us has been smashed through to create an open-plan eat-in kitchen, usually with a “vast island” smack in the middle, says Anna Tyzack in The Oldie. This is “modern living”, I’m told, which is all very well until you have guests over and have no choice but to “perform in front of them as if you’re on a cooking show”. As a child, I remember my great-aunt Eleanor passing a perfect roast through the serving hatch. “We weren’t exposed to the process.” Now, there’s nowhere to hide. For a shy cook, this is all rather terrifying. I cower behind the island, exposed, dreading the moment someone peers over my shoulder to look in my pan, or – heaven forbid – offers to help.

I think guests, too, are sick of kitchen suppers. Who really wants to spend the evening watching their host incinerate the steaks? The kitchen only serves as a reception room when it’s “spotlessly clean” – impossible when the island acts as a magnet for family detritus – and, once the cooking is done, you have to dine in a “war zone of splattered recipe books and washing-up”. My parents’ generation understood that “dining is an art that can’t be pulled off at the kitchen table”. To hell with modern living, “bring back the dining room now”.