Oswestry21

Yesterday afternoon, I went to Hartshorn’s butchers, and asked for three Barnsley Chops. The butcher, (not John or Mr or Mrs Hartshorn, I don’t know his name), leant and picked up a joint of Welsh lamb  cut for dividing into Barnsley Chops from the sunlit window display, expertly sawed and cut three chops from it, weighed them and wrapped them tidily. Always a joy to watch someone knowing exactly what they are doing and doing it well. I also bought some smoked bacon and Welsh Farm eggs from Llangollen - laid by hens free to roam.

Nothing special, not a colour supplement “foodie” experience, nothing extravagant. Just good food, purchased from a good shop, on a sunny Friday afternoon in Oswestry. As it’s been possible to do for many, many years. 

Later, as I was barbecuing them, under the same, but lower and later sun, drinking a glass of wine and then eating them with salad, it struck me forcefully that these experiences, this food, these shops, this knowledge of trade, this skill - when they are gone, they are well and truly gone, and just how much they make up the pattern of good life and good lives.

If the alternative is to wander the air-conditioned aisles of a supermarket, gazing at pale and long dead imported meat wrapped in plastic, where “assistants” have no idea what a Barnsley Chop is, let alone how to prepare one, we’ll have lost more than just the Barnsley Chop - we’ll have lost a little more of the care, choice and quality which, in so many ways, provide life with so many of it’s worthwhile moments. A cause for sadness, as well as anger.