To Bee or Not to Bee

Caroline Sarll

Milestone Month in this family. Our Elder Dortie is turning 30. At her Birth-to-Big-Girl bash, the buffet-bantz turned to those once-popular Personality Tests. Predictably, I am a Protagonist. And yet, mavens as Myers and Briggs (the concept inventors) were, they have clearly missed my true category: the Vacillating Veganarian. Yup. Along with now “seeing” macerated male chicks when I consume cake or quiche, and constantly-inseminated cows when using milk, I have a new, truly sticky pickle to ponder: as I consider discarding dairy, should honey also be on my hit list?

This is a tough one, as I’ve had a lifelong, Winnie-the-Pooh penchant for this most intricately-produced Nature’s nectar. But a chat with some vegan friends has re- flagged the thorny issue of whether commodifying bees is cruel. The plant-based purists and animal welfare activists include Queen Bee wing-clipping (done to stop her and thus her hive absconding) and the removal of honey, which the bees need to feed themselves, as two dubious practices. No excuse for either intervention, with the former akin to a Lord of the Flies boy-mob mentality. Yet, after talking to some of Wales’ apiarists and honey farmers, it seems that this practice only occurs in commercial, not small-scale, production. Ditto the honey removal. “We only harvest from the top hive layer” says Anthony Smith, founder of Llangattock Apiaries and the purveyor of inspired, delicious produce, such as their sumptuously glutinous, ganache-like, Raspberry Infusion. Crucially, adds Anthony, “Vast numbers of colonies which swarm in the wild die prematurely – so they have a better survival rate if farmed by ethically-minded keepers”. I’m no expert, but buying local, it seems, can combat cruelty and, using only indigenous flora, the provenance is (hopefully) more transparent.

Cue a bigger bugbear in the honey field, which eclipses my cognitive dissonance regarding the morality of nectar-noshing. Contamination. I recently bought a jar of “honey” to make flapjacks, paying the princely sum of 74p. A honeybee only produces about a twelfth of a teaspoon and travels around 500 miles in its entire lifetime – with a worker bee dying exhausted a er 3-6 weeks. With said honey label vaguely declaring “produce of China” (the world’s biggest honey-producer), I knew the economics did not add up. Factor in transport and packaging costs and this price - for untampered honey - is just not viable.

A recent EU investigation, “From the Hives”, revealed that China, the UK, and other countries performed poorly in authenticity tests. Despite the 2015 Honey Regulations, decreeing that no “additions” are permitted, testing shows that much of our mainstream merchandise remains adulterated with sugar or syrup – sadly, Ovid’s “deadly poisons are concealed under sweet honey” still applies. Ubiquitous, vague “blends” can be diffcult to trace. “It’s a worldwide problem”, says Lynne Ingram of the Honey Authenticity Network, which works tirelessly to combat this insidious food fraud. “If honey’s been contaminated with sugars or syrup, then it must be declared as a honey-flavoured syrup”. One goal is for UK regulations to align with the EU’s new, strict Honey Directive, which mandates clear labelling. Newtown’s Hilltop Honey promises twice-tested, “100% Pure and Natural” produce. It’s also implementing QR tracing codes, offering origin location, if not the actual apiary or farm. Their Welsh Blossom, from Powys hives, is truly mellifluous.

Wales has a plethora of small, responsible honey farms, offering uncorrupted, unpasteurised, single origin jars of fabulously- oral, high-viscosity ambrosia. Most sell for around £7, which could, I fear, make such wholesome honey the preserve (how serendipitous!) of the comfortably off. The caviar of condiments. So, to support our small farmers, once we’ve made peace with our principles (I haven’t), we must all dig deep, seek out neighbourhood-nuanced products - and use as an occasional treat. Problem solved? Hmmm. I still wonder why I’ve yet to see a bee brandishing a hammer in my garden, building itself a wooden hive. Their natural hives, feats of unbelievable instinctive engineering and innate industry are surely telling us that it’s questionable to encourage such beautiful ovoid creatures into man-made, soulless boxes. And they sting their hazmat-suited harvesters regularly – presumably feeling threatened? Should I just eat ersatz products, like caramelly amber agave syrup (Waitrose and other supermarkets)? I am totally conflicted by this whole honey-for-money conundrum. How discomforting that money is, indeed, the only word in the English language resembling honey... But, oh, how wonderful and nutritious a Pooh-inspired “smackerel” of our small-farmed, Welsh honey tastes. Help.