Deep-fried Mars bars are a fine Scottish tradition

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2012/sep/18/deep-fried-mars-bar-scottish

Version 0 of 1.

The culinary traditions of Scotland have been in the news again with the revelation that Mars, the eponymous maker of the chocolate bar, has been in correspondence with an Aberdeenshire fish and chip shop.

Lawyers for the confectionary giant sent a letter to the owners of the Carron Fish Bar in Stonehaven asking them to make clear that its speciality, the deep-fried Mars bar, was not authorised or endorsed by the company. Apparently Mars felt obliged to act on learning that the Carron's owners were considering an application to Europe for deep-fried Mars bars to be given protected origin status, which highlights traditional, regional foods whose authenticity can be guaranteed.

So far, so reminiscent of a pitch for a whimsical David and Goliath-type screenplay that might persuade Bill Forsyth out of retirement. In fact, the Carron's owners did not pursue the application, and it has to be doubtful at best whether the humble deep-fried Mars bar might be deemed worthy of the special status normally reserved for thoroughbred products like champagne, or pedigree foodstuffs like the Melton Mowbray pork pie. Nonetheless, the bad PR has forced Mars to add yesterday that it is, in fact, "proud" of the dish.

Either way, does this episode mean that the deep-fried Mars bar is unworthy of a place in the Scottish culinary canon? Not necessarily. Yes, the fact that this gooey, bastard child of fat and sugar has become a shorthand for the excesses of the Scottish diet can be immensely irritating. It is tiresome to listen to lazy cliches which suggest that Scots live and die in the shadow of a pie shop, sipping Buckfast Tonic Wine as if it were our mothers' milk.

But most sane and reasonable people know that Scotland is as famous for its fine seafood, meat and artisan cheeses as it is for its pie rolls. (If not, I presume you are a bunker-dwelling moustachioed survivalist, and the only person alive who has never seen a bilious TV chef cook a hand-dived scallop in a rowing boat.)

I think therefore that we need not be ashamed of the deep-fried Mars bar. There is no need to deny it "traditional" status just because it is less than healthful and was born in a chip shop within the past couple of decades. Traditions have to start somewhere.

The Invention of Tradition, edited by Eric Hobsbawm, famously analysed the way in which some traditions which appear to have grown organically over time are, in fact, much more deliberate constructs, often linked to the concept of nationhood and a desire for markers of national identity. Many traditions which we think of as a natural expression of our national character are born of the marriage of grassroots invention and the guiding hand of state or commerce – for where there's pride, there's brass, and maybe a few votes too.

Tartan, for example, does have its roots in Scottish tribal and clan culture but, ironically, it was its adoption by royalty, first George IV and then Victoria and Albert, which confirmed its place in world consciousness as Scotland's "national" dress. The Burns Supper started as an in memoriam celebration of the poet's life by men who knew him, but has grown through careful cultivation into a global brand.

In the very recent past, the advent of the Scottish parliament has seen the marriage of some ancient traditions with a modern marketing and political machine; the creation of the new St Andrew's day public holiday in 2006 and the efficient promotion of cultural events like Burns Night and Hogmanay as part of Scotland's "winter festivals" being prime examples.

Few of our traditions are as pure as they may at first seem. The deep-fried Mars bar may be a media cliche and a tourist attraction, but in other ways it is also genuinely of the people. It is the grubby-faced wean of tradition, like the kids in an Oscar Marzaroli photograph or a Joan Eardley painting. It may not represent the finest cuisine Scotland has to offer, but it came to life in the community, not on the desk of a bureaucrat, and I like that.