Baked-in Heritage

          ‘Tis the season of hot cross buns, which reminds me that, as a student, I once had a holiday job in a bakery, where one of my tasks was to put the crosses on top of the doughy blobs before they were slid into the ovens. These seasonal treats were baked originally to mark the beginning or end (I don’t remember which) of a Christian fasting ritual. I could check online – if I could be bothered. But I take the view that if we were to get too picky about the origins of our numerous traditions, casual conversations based on commonly accepted heritage would be impossible. Pedantry is an acquired taste. Nevertheless, I think it behoves bakers to make some reference to the origins of the bun, lest another generation grows up in ignorance of its religious conception. The story could be printed on the packaging, in between the list of ingredients and the table of calorific and energy values, where those who are habitually investigative might find enlightenment.

          But do the details of religious history really matter in today’s more secular society? Perhaps not so much for their own sake as for the fact that they are the foundations of traditions we can share, thereby binding us socially and anchoring us to a place and a past. In a way, this argument applies to the village of Buckland Monachorum and its over-sized church. The unusual placename is a Latin reference to the monks who lived at the nearby Abbey and who were probably responsible for the jumbo church. On Sunday, when we visited a friend who lives in the village, a very small congregation was visible through the open door of the church, suggesting to me that things will end badly for the almost-redundant building – unless it gets rescued by a heritage preservation fund and turned into a tourist attraction, whereupon its back-story will be revealed in detail for those who are interested. And as a concomitant, the village will become even more quaintly attractive and further distanced from its original reason for being.

          Of course, there is a view that neither the past nor the future is of much consequence in people’s everyday lives; it’s the here-and-now that counts. Given the unpredictability of events, it’s a reasonable stance, though it smacks of selfishness and, actuarily, it might not stack up. While there is nothing to be done about the past, the future could be rosy and, with a bit of planning, rosier still. Studies of available statistics* show that, on the whole, humanity has more reason to be optimistic for the future than is generally acknowledged. And if you have won the postcode lottery of life and live in a peaceful, prosperous part of the world, there is a good chance that forward planning will pay off eventually. However, if your part of the world happens to be Britain, then you will find yourself swimming against a tide of short-termism, as embodied in our political and economic systems. What with our politicians preoccupied with winning votes from a mostly ill-informed and disillusioned electorate and our businesses dedicated to maximising shareholder returns in the shortest possible timeframe, investment in the future, both socially and industrially, is not on the agenda.

          Like most of my generation, I used to enjoy a mass-produced hot cross bun, toasted and slathered in butter. They gave me indigestion, so I laid off them for many years. Nowadays, I get the sourdough ones from the artisan baker and scoff them un-toasted and un-buttered. It’s a heritage product that has been through a rough patch of industrial processing but is coming good with a return to wholesome ingredients and craft baking skill. Past, present and future all in a bun.

 *Hans Rosling Factfulness (2018)

and Hannah Ritchie Not the End of the World (2024)