People often mistake me for an American because of my slightly American accent, a residue from the 14 years I spent living on the East Coast as a child. That I was born in Hammersmith and am now 44 is no defence, it seems.
There are some things that I still understand more intuitively about America. One of them is its uniquely clairvoyant food culture, its total grasp of what people really, really want, which is fried, large, delicious stuff – and that they should not only have it without apology but within a proud national framework. So it’s perfectly normal to serve your kids fried chicken or grilled cheese or tuna-melt subs. And to eat those things on weekday afternoons. And to serve them on festive occasions.
This is a story about American mesmerism and British supplication
Sport is one such excuse to indulge in the national cuisine – on steroids. From the Super Bowl to the World Series, a vast machinery swings into gear to ensure everyone has the right feast for their viewing parties. Housewives start making absurdly fatty and delicious dips in vast quantities days in advance, frying up chicken in all sorts of delectable ways, preparing fajitas and taco stations, and throwing candy and pastries around in astonishing ways.
From the ‘big game’ culinary perspective, then, there’s little mystery to me about the desire of an increasing number of Britons who want in on American sports-viewing culture. You get to eat a lot of nice junk food in the course of it.
Their interest in the US sports themselves is more perplexing. Given that Britain has its own arcane and vast sporting culture – cricket is the finest example of a homegrown labyrinthine snorefest – why on earth are people looking to the US for its own? Aren’t they satisfied?
Apparently, at least among a mostly younger demographic who consume a US-dominated social media landscape of sport, the answer seems to be no. The World Series in baseball was aired in a number of US-style sports bars here in Blighty. Meanwhile, the Super Bowl (run by the National Football League, or NFL) is becoming essential viewing: Super Bowl LVIII (February 2024) peaked at 996,000 viewers on ITV, up 26 per cent on the previous year. Since 2025, games have been shown on Channel 5 as well as Sky. According to NFL UK, most of its fanbase is under 35. These keen viewers of football are also often spotted with team jerseys and caps. The full American, you might say.
The NFL is therefore spreading roots in US-themed hospitality. It has named three ‘UK Sports Bar Partners’: ETM in London, ARC Inspirations’ BOX venues in the Midlands and North, and Regional Taverns’ Ludo bar in Bath. A West End site is due to be the UK’s biggest sports bar. Of course, British sports bars, however American in aspiration, never really get close to the nirvana of the Yanks’ fried delicacies, though they are certainly trying: Ludo Bar in Bath (there are several other Ludo sites, including in Exeter and Cardiff) does lead with ‘loaded nachos’ and ‘Kansas chicken pizza’ as well as a taco menu and plenty of ‘New York’ cheesecake.
Then there is just raw wannabeism, such as the likes of Philly-themed Passyunk Avenue, a chain of American ‘restaurants, dive bars and betting cages’ that is ‘London’s home away from home for anyone who knows Philly runs on grit, good food, and great people. Our jawns bring you authentic South Philly dive-bar vibes — neon lights, banging cheesesteaks, cold brews, loud laughs, and zero pretence.’
Well, fair enough. If NFL, NCAA (National Collegiate Athletic Association), NBA and, of course, MLB (Major League Baseball) are what you want, you can find it with all the same jollity, heart-attack foods, overpriced booze and probably some real-live Americans, at Passyunk Avenue’s sites.
The British fanbase for baseball remains small. Though if MLB decides to plough some dosh into making it bigger, then no doubt it will grow. Because, in general, there has, since American hegemony appeared in the middle of the 20th century, been a well of receptivity and fascination in the UK with American low culture – their hamburgers and huge cars, their ease and greed and wealth, all unashamed.
Britain’s traditional miserliness, comparative poverty and terrible contortions about the desire for both wealth and convenience that make going full throttle at life seem embarrassing surely contribute to the love of even the crudest forms of American culture. In a way, it is the very licence to be crude – to listen to rap, to dress like a schlump, to eat things that are extremely, unapologetically naughty to eat, sauce and cheese fat dripping down your face, to wear dumb sports caps and jerseys – that Americanophilia has always been about.
There may well be genuine interest in the sports themselves; I can’t understand much interest in sport full stop. But the signs of identification, the attempts at belonging signified by the team jerseys and caps and so on, are the telltale signs that this is still a story about American mesmerism and British supplication. The fried chicken is a nice bonus.
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