The Complicated Case of Smokies

A new and surprising union is being forged between Wales and West Africa with communities on both sides coalescing around a banned food product—smokies.

The term 'smokie' refers to the way in which the product—a delicacy in parts of West Africa—is produced. An older sheep is shorn, slaughtered and hung up before the producer takes a blow torch and eviscerates the carcass. A smoked aroma infuses the meat which is then cooked in spices to create traditional stews such as nkatenkwan, a Ghanaian peanut soup.

Concerns over the health risks of smokies meant the government introduced a ban in 1987. Inevitably this forced the trade underground and reports suggest that "Mafia-like" gangs are running the operation between Welsh sheep farmers willing to produce smokies and UK cities where West African communities create a demand for the product. It's now estimated that the trade is worth up to £3 million, according to Hybu Cig Cymru (HCC), a Welsh red meat promotion agency.

For the first episode of Politics of Food, MUNCHIES joins the smoke trail in a remote part of west Wales, where rolling hills provide a home to one side of this unlikely union. As we wind—often stuck behind tractors—through the Brecon Beacons, past castles and streams and often giving way to livestock crossing the road, it is easy forget that we are on our way to meet a "Mafia-style" gang boss. The area accounts for 30 percent of the UK's sheep farming industry, which employs 50,000 people across Wales. This is unfamiliar territory compared to more well publicised types of criminal activity.

We meet the notorious Carmello Gale—who the "mafia"—membership is attributed to - in a local pub, where men with hard hands and flat caps discuss sheep and the success of the local women's football team. The mention of smokies in the bar prompts laughter, as if we'd entered into a sort of in-joke. Ten years on from his conviction for running a slaughterhouse for the production of smokies, we quiz Gale on his supposed mafia-like status.

"It's caused me a lot of trouble in my life my name—I'd be better off if I was John Jones," he says, before offering a prosaic explanation for the criminal hyperbole. In his opinion the association only came about because of a his Mediterranean-sounding name.

Despite being sentenced to six months in prison for his activities, Gale is unflinching in his commitment to change the law on smokies, seeing himself as a campaigner rather than a criminal. "As far as I'm concerned I'm not a criminal at all. If you believe in something you've got to stick to it. I'm fighting on behalf of the farmer to get this trade legal, and also fighting for the African people because it's their culture."

The Food Standards Agency (FSA) take issue specifically with smokies because the skin, spine and intestines are kept intact during the smoking. The argument is that potentially lethal bacteria could pass from the skin of the sheep into the meat and, at the moment, there's not enough information about the risks of the practices to justify legalising it.

We make our way to Cardiff to meet a family who are preparing a smokie lunch. Until now it's been hard to appreciate the demand for the reportedly gruesome dish. As children run underfoot waiting for lunch to be served, their mother explains why they would benefit from a change in the law.

"It would help us if it's legalised and killed in a proper abattoir, rather than in some back street." As well as hearing about how meat cooked in its own skin tastes better, Janet, our host—who was born in Ghana—explains why breaching the law doesn't deter her. In African culture, food is at the centre of any family gathering. "Food is part of us. It's really important [to eat the food that you grew up eating]." As her guests arrive she gives us an insight into why the ban on smokies has had little impact. "When you feel like eating something from home, you're grateful you can get it from somewhere, even if you don't know where it's come from."

But a change in the law looks to be a long way off. The FSA told MUNCHIES they realise that legalisation would help to eliminate the underground trade and have a positive economic impact for sheep farmers. Although commissioned research in 2011 discovered that a safe and hygienic method of production is possible the decision is made in Europe where the Commission still rules that more evidence is needed.

The job of policing the underground trade is up to environmental health officers, but Dr Yunes Teinaz, who recently retired from a career in policing the illegal meat trade, says that local authorities are not interested in tackling the crime. "The Food Standards Agency don't know about local needs. The issue here is whether the local authorities are equipped to deal with criminals."

Anonymous voices along the smokie trail say that, for lack of enforcement, smokie production is a quick, easy and profitable way of making some extra cash. Demand is high, the profits are large and lenient penalties equate to little more than an inevitable tax. In the Welsh valleys the charge of criminality by those voices isn't laid at the feet of Gale—who farmers and consumers believe is a campaigner—but instead at the government's relationship with Europe. The public feel their needs aren't being met.

As filming ends, though, the hopes of a change in the law from people we meet fade further as the government announces new plans to bolster their enforcement capabilities in response to the horsemeat scandal. Law enforcement agencies now see food crime as a major problem and a Food Crime Unit to tackle food fraud, including smokies, is on the horizon.