"Hi, it's Jack Monroe here, writer, campaigner, cook, activist, You Tube slop singer and all-round godsend. When I was asked to take part in a travel programme, I only agreed on the condition that I could be painfully forensic in my choice of destination. It's been a year of conquering fears, leaving the house only for essential trips to Edinburgh on the sleeper and being extremely neurotic about not catching COVID. So much so that I caught it and despite a temperature of nearly a billion degrees I hauled myself out from underneath my weighted blanket to discover what life is like for some of the people who work, picking fruit for the renowned brand Mel Donte (who I honestly thought was a singer who'd once duetted with Patsy Cline (incidentally I've loved her for decades). Anyway, it turns out I was wrong and they actually can peaches and
tit (these actually form part of one of my most celebrated and popular dishes, my peach and chickpea slurry - which the late Fanny Cradock once pulled this face at:
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Needless to say, I had the last laugh when she died before I was born.
I was given some very strict instructions - to only pack the bare minimum and to head to a secret location. I hauled my one million kilo backpack of yellow stickered liver all the way to meet my driver, who blindfolded me and bundled me into the back of his Austin Maxi. Passport burning in my hand (or was it the long covid?) I wondered where I was headed. I awoke what felt like days later - hot, sweaty, fevered - in dire need of water and a hot shower. We had been travelling for so long, and had come so far - it seemed like an extremely and severely long time. My companion and guide for the trip arrived to greet me as I stepped out -sweating, heaving my backpack onto the dusty tarmac.
"Very pleased to meet you" she said, introducing herself as Barbara and curtseying to the ground. She was obviously highly aware of how regarded I was at The Groucho club, but I summoned her up from the floor and in a polite hot fury burning with a thousand suns asked if she was "aware of my work".
I was taken to set down my liver backpack and partake of refreshments and was assured I'd be allowed to meet the fruit pickers soon, which was what I, Jack Monroe, Patron Saint of Slop and Godsend was here to do - bring cheer to the masses. Like Vera Lynn with eggy farts.
A short time later I was escorted out to meet the common people, the workers - where my heart lies, as a povvo cosplay urchin with cor lumme lawks good humour and a scampering twinkle of
tit.
It was so light, so bright, and the white light hurt my eyes - but the fresh smell of peaches tinged the air, I closed my eyes to drink in the experience and be at one with nature. I felt if I reached out I'd be able to pluck one of the ripe fruits, bite into it and savour the moment. Then I remembered that it would actually taste of something and have texture and vitamins in it and panicked that I hadn't brought my nutribullet with me.
Barbara, still unaware of my work, stepped forward to bring me out of my musings and introduce me to the gathering throng of fruit pickers who were clamouring for my attention. Some of them stared at me, others looked non plussed. At least one of them was picking their nose. I stood on a wooden pallet to make my maiden speech in front of the gathered throng:
"I know I have the body of a weak and feeble urchin, but I have the heart and stomach of an anchovy...and a tin can anchovy too"
Some wept openly such was the moving sentiment of my words - which I'd bashed out in half an hour on my Nokia. Others looked unmoved, but I would soon with them round with my narc charm by screaming "YOU LEFT" at them.
I was then invited to walk round...and off I scampered.
I was wide eyed with curiosity, watching the feverish milling of the workers, the povvos, as they went about their work. Something was troubling me though...and I couldn't put my finger on what. I had to ask someone. I, Jack Monroe, stepped forward and moved to talk to one of the hard working imps who I was, not so long ago, speaking passionately and emotively too.
"I'm fascinated. I'm a world renowned expert on food of all types - but I've never come across this before....how do you get the fruit to grow like that...in the cans....?"
I am sad to report that the urchin just gave me a withering look and carried on sealing the Mel Donte receptacles up.
My first day had been a roaring success. I'd communed with poor people, given them many pearls of wisdom - but was sadly no closer to finding out how fruit actually grew in a tin. I repaired to my hotel room for a shower, a siesta plus a piss and a sandwich.
My grateful thanks to all at Mel Donte for this wonderful, life affirming experience which I'll now dine out on for the next twenty years"
