Well, quelle surprise, it’s most likely to be French. Jay Rayner explores our enduring love affair with the cuisine of France
If you attempted, in these shrunken times, to discern the nation’s tastes by thumbing through takeaway food apps, you might conclude that we adore anything as long as it’s got a dough base, is tottering in a bun, or drenched in sriracha. I’m not complaining. I like all these things. I am often to be found up to my unshaven armpits in sriracha. But one thing is noticeable on these apps by its rarity: French food.
There may be something generational going on here; that the demographic using Deliveroo, Uber Eats and the rest simply doesn’t go hunting through the digital meadows for a good cassoulet when they’re hungry. Also, many French classics are far less portable than Korean chicken wings. Soupe à l’oignon, complete with a crouton and gruyère lid, in a plastic box, may well arrive looking like a Portaloo on the third day of Glastonbury.
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