What does Charles’s quiche tell us about the modern monarchy?

Much has been said and written about the coronation quiche over the last few days; not all of it positive. But at least we now know the answer to the age-old question about which came first: the egg or the chicken. And whichever way you look at it, that original coronation dish of Poulet Reine Elizabeth surely has the edge over its 2023 counterpart.

For one thing, coronation chicken was – at least relatively speaking – a novel dish, created by Constance Spry and Rosemary Hume of the Cordon Bleu Cookery School especially for the occasion. Yes, there might have been a hint of cold korma about it, and of course people had eaten meat with fruit forever. Ultimately, though, it was a new concoction and even had a hint of the exotic to liven up drab post-war Britain.

By contrast, the coronation quiche is not original in the least. Broad beans might not be the most obvious of fillings, but spinach and tarragon are classics, and one imagines beans of every variety have featured in quiches over the years. Not only is it not novel, however, but is actively old-hat. In fact, the dish’s reputation is broadly one of naffness. Quiches are redolent of Seventies and Eighties picnics, and of desperation snacking at motorway service stations, and of the last uneaten item at the end of a cricket tea. As an institution that must embrace permanent evolution, I fear the monarchy has made a misstep with its choice for next month’s “Coronation Big Lunch”.

This isn’t to say quiche cannot be delicious. My children (and therefore by extension, I) have worked through hundreds of Higgidy’s bacon and cheddar quiches over the years, which have adversely affected my waist size and my bank balance. And many years ago, I had a very nice quiche at a very old man’s very old house in Kent. But I’ve come across a great many more bad examples than good. The filling of a pie just shouldn’t bounce.

By contrast, coronation chicken is just a damnably tasty thing. Like quiche, all the ingredients are good on their own; unlike quiche, they are just as excellent when you mix them together.

When I was at sixth form college, I tended to buy my lunch from a little cafe round the corner. Most days, being a creature of habit, I had a roll with one of various chicken-based fillings. There was Chinese chicken, chicken tikka, Caribbean chicken, Italian chicken and of course coronation chicken, which was certainly the most reliable.

The cafe’s version of the latter contained currants, as the mixture often does these days, rather than apricot – the original fruity accompaniment having apparently fallen by the wayside. I can live with a sultana, but I prefer my coronation chicken to include mango chutney, and ideally some fresh coriander, alongside the curry powder, or comparable spice mix. The 1953 recipe called for a blend of mayo and lightly whipped cream as the base for the sauce, which strikes me as a tad porky. Straight mayonnaise or mayo with plain yogurt are better options in my book.

I suppose King Charles may have thought he was on a hiding to nothing when it came to choosing his coronation dish, given how iconic his mother’s chicken has become. He could have asked Heston Blumenthal to freeze something with nitrogen, or got Nigella Lawson to mix eight things at random from her larder, and it might have worked out alright. But he’s already had it in the neck for his quiche being too posh, so some chemically frozen concoction might not have resonated with his subjects.

As to whether thousands of people will turn their hand to a spot of baking come 6 May, I have my doubts. Much better to get a McDonald’s to scoff while you wave your union flag in front of the telly, or an M&S sandwich – coronation chicken, naturally.