There was a time when the food at football stadiums was so bad even seagulls turned up their noses at it. Not any more

By Pete Brooksbank for When Saturday Comes

T here was a time not too long ago when anyone hoping for a warm meal on the terraces of a lower-league football match would face a stark choice: Pot Noodle, or hunger. While many understandably chose the latter, you would still see innumerable tubs of freeze-dried slop perched precariously on crush barriers, one wayward shot away from discharging their rehydrated gruel over unlucky bystanders. They were often served from little wooden sheds for an astronomical mark-up by faintly furious volunteers who would give you nothing more than an indignant frown if you dared asked for chips.

Things have come a long way since then. Technology has shrunk the size – and price – of once-exotic catering equipment and British culinary tastes were forever broadened by the explosion of affordable casual dining on the high street in the 1990s. A whole new generation of amateur and not-so-amateur chefs have forged a truly global street food scene. From farmers’ markets to music festivals, the choice now offered is bewildering. But there’s always been a market the scene has struggled to break into: football.

Not now. These days, Dulwich Hamlet will do you a gyros that looks just like the one you’ll order when drunk in Athens. Taunton Town will fix you some dirty nachos. Fancy curried goat? Luton and Ipswich have you sorted. There are flatbreads at Barnsley, loaded fries at Folkestone, spicy wings at Whitehawk. Tooting sell a decent jerk chicken. Grimsby Town – once notorious for food even the seagulls wouldn’t eat – have united with local street food vendors who rotate around Blundell Park’s kiosks from game to game. Want pulled pork and doner crunch wraps with your National League football? Course you do: head to Lincolnshire.

Elsewhere, the Charlton Athletic Community Trust’s “Charlton Upbeats” programme – created to help children, young adults, and adults with Down’s Syndrome – has partnered with caterers to serve food like their famous onion bhaji burger. At £4.50 it’s a bargain.

Football’s lurch towards street food-style catering may be decried as a form of gentrification by some, but few would deny the game’s culinary fare was long overdue a fresh take. Much as the new Tottenham stadium was designed to redefine what a matchday looks and tastes like, clubs throughout the pyramid are striving to appeal to a new generation of fans for whom arriving early and staying late isn’t an alien concept.

Those fans want feeding – and feeding well. The football food renaissance has been faithfully documented by Twitter account @FootyScran, which has attracted more than a third of a million followers as supporters have returned to stadiums. Good scran is celebrated while passionate – but mostly good-natured – arguments break out between total strangers about the merits of each dish.

A baying mob stands ready to publicly shame the clubs who haven’t joined the revolution and continue to rip off their punters with sub-standard food, of which there is plenty. There are anaemic hotdogs that appear to have been cooked on a radiator (Chelsea, Bradford City, Lancaster) or not cooked at all (Derby), bangers and mash surrounded by bizarre orange fluid (Tranmere), burnt pizzas (West Brom) and carbonised pies that look carcinogenic on mere touch (Sheffield United).

Then there’s the classic: a slice of solid American cheese perched on cold fries like a blanket of despair and labelled “cheesy chips” (too many to mention, always £5). That said, some bad scran is clearly staged for attention, and if the idea of grown adults dodging lines of ravenous police dogs with dairy products hidden in their underwear for clicks seems improbable, consider the Bradford (Park Avenue) supporter who smuggled an entire block of cheddar cheese into a game to take a photo of it on top of a tray of chips. You’d be amazed how many people fell for it. Or maybe you wouldn’t.

With many smaller clubs driving the scene, bigger clubs left behind are finally realising they need to improve their product. As local traders and caterers begin to put the pandemic behind them, this is the perfect time to expand into matchday food. They will find an eager audience of fans sick of being fobbed off with inferior swill and who love taking photos of their food for social media. It’s win-win. Scran? No scran? That’s your call. Just watch out for suddenly interested seagulls.

This article appeared first in When Saturday Comes WSC are on Twitter , Facebook, Instagram and have a podcast Follow Pete Brooksbank on Twitter