
The basement of the Park Plaza Hotel at Westminster Bridge is rather like a TARDIS. The further underground you go, the more the hotel seems to expand until you arrive in a sprawling ballroom filled with over 1,000 people and room for a few more. It’s not quite China’s Great Hall of People, but if you raised the ceiling, added a couple of balconies and toned down the neon lights, it could come close. The space makes for a marked difference from Britain’s political meeting room (the House of Commons is surprisingly intimate in person). Still, other than this, there are fewer differences between the British Kebab Awards and the sitting of the British parliament than you might think. There are all the same smug faces attempting to curry (or should I say kebab?) favour in one way or another. Both events operate under a comparable air of confusion, mainly because most attendees fail even to pretend to care, knowing a brief, contrived appearance is enough to satisfy some vested interest or pocket a few quid. And then, most damningly, there is the shrinking legitimacy of each, where the substance of the event is increasingly secondary to the show itself.

Jeremy Corbyn presents an award at the 2019 Just Eat Kebab Awards
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Among other significant politicians in attendance was the recently dismissed Chairman of the Conservative Party, Nadim Zahawi. He, too, referenced kebabs, making a poor pun about exchanging donors for doners, but otherwise seemed to be received surprisingly warmly.

Doner Kebabs sit on a rotisserie in Camberwell, London. (Photo by Jack Taylor/Getty Images)

Founder Ibrahim Dogus speaking at the 2019 Just Eat Kebab Awards

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This rousing speech was the evening’s high point, as the awards soon began and the chaos soon ensued. Having already been plied with bottomless wine and Cobra at a drinks reception upstairs, the booze continued to flow at a dangerous speed. Two courses of food – the latter of which was, unsurprisingly, a kebab – perhaps kept people on the straight and narrow for a while. Still, not long after, you could feel the alcohol in the air, and the events on stage were decidedly less interesting than mingling. The already amorphous seating plan devolved further, and the celebrity judges became harder and harder to find. Almost every award needed to be repeated time and again, and the ill-fated pair of presenters were constantly trying to track down an MP as the ‘celebrity judge’. Each time, just about, they found the person worthy of ordaining a kebab award, and the night marched onward. I was sitting at a table with Navson, the Kebab award-winning water suppliers. They weren’t the most talkative, but they did ask if I was an MP. I’m still not quite sure what to make of it. Also at the table was an expert on Sweden-Turkey relations called Paul Levin, who was, for his part, a very interesting company. The writing for the end of the evening was on the wall when a Conservative MP – whose name I sadly never gathered – appeared at the lectern to auction a painting. He began at £500, and whether due to his own inability or the inebriation of the dwindling audience, he succeeded in only fetching £750, despite almost pleading for someone to surpass it for the best part of 30 seconds. In his defence, the ballroom was abandoned by this point. Hundreds had already left in a stupor to the smoking area or another of Westminster’s many watering holes.