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Ubiquitous though they now are, there’s more to your morning avocado and afternoon hummus than meets the eye. Adonis Michael talks us through the big journeys that make the small pleasures possible

words by Adonis MICHAEL

I’m willing to bet that you don’t give it a second thought when – sat in your favourite bistro or coffeeshop – you pour a helping of extra virgin oil on your side plate, splash on a little balsamic di Modena for good measure, and dip your artisan bread into that little pot of hummus, do you? Nor do you pay any mind when you reach for that hummus and avocado wrap in the shopping aisle. But I can assure you that not too long ago, the tasty little Middle Eastern mix of chickpea, olive oil, garlic, lemon juice and tahini was a complete and utter mystery to most.

Now, being the son of a Greek Cypriot restaurateur, I can assure you it was nothing new to me. But it sure is crazy to see how things have changed. Today, hummus is as common on any menu as chips or garlic bread. We really have come on leaps and bounds in terms of gastronomy in recent years, and it’s for the better.

I’m not talking about the cutting edge of dining experiences to be found at the likes of the Dorcia (so chill out, Pat Bateman), nor am I referring to the Michelle Roux Jnr and Alain Ducasses that helm London’s myriad of Michelin Star restaurants. I’m talking about the amazing little discoveries that now make up our day to day meals. 

And it’s clear to me to whom we owe all of these delicious discoveries. They are, of course, thanks to those who’ve come to our lands over the years and brought a little of their own cultures with them. That’s right, it all comes down to Nigel Farage’s favourite word – hold on to your passports, folks: Immigration. Without immigration, we would still be living in a dull and dry gastronomic desert. 

‘Today, hummus is as common on any menu as chips or garlic bread. We really have come on leaps and bounds in terms of gastronomy in recent years, and it’s for the better.’ 

It began in the 1960s with Chinese, Indian, Italian and Greek migrants all arriving in search of betterment bringing recipes from their lands along with them. They set up restaurants and tavernas, small take away hatches and food stalls. They brought with them olive oil, pizza, souvlaki, feta cheese, peking duck, noodles, basmati rice and Dahl. Some of these recipes even morphed into hybrid versions which are now symbolic of British culture than anything else. The nation’s favourite dish, Chicken Tikka Masala, for example, was not born on the streets of Mumbai, it was born here, in Britain (through probably by a Bangladeshi chef). 

Similarly, you would struggle to find what you would consider Spaghetti Bolognese anywhere in Italy, let alone in Bologna. It’s reported that the Mayor of Bologna was so offended by the idea that he condemned the dish as ‘fake news’, saying it had nothing at all to do with Bologna. Whilst I’m not a fan of these dishes per se, I’m ok with them. They represent a beautiful thing after all: The evolution of food. Some, more cynical, may call them a bastardisation but hey, I’m a nice guy. 

Combined with immigration is our desire to travel more and further, exposing ourselves to different cuisines more regularly. Immigration has, of course, continued from the 1960s to where we are today, and without getting too political, in terms of its effect on our food and drink, it can only be considered a massive positive.

So next time you nonchalantly dip that carrot in that little pot of hummus, spare a thought for the people that brought it with them. Twenty years ago, the idea of walking into a supermarket and finding hummus alongside a ham sandwich (let alone as part of a £3 meal deal) would have been complete fantasy. I’ve no idea what will be on our shelves in another twenty years, but I sure am excited to find out. AM