The Greasy Spoon | It's not just about Haute Cuisine...

Devil Sauce

 

 

 

Devil- a culinary term which... first appeared as a noun in the 18th century, and then in the early 19th century as a verb meaning to cook something with fiery hot spices or condiments...The term was presumably adopted because of the connection between the devil and the excessive heat in Hell...Boswell, Dr Johnson's biographer, frequently refers to partaking of a dish of "devilled bones" for supper, which suggests an earlier use...

 Oxford Companion to Food

 

There's something extremely satisfying about "devilled" food. As you know, "to devil" a dish means to add some form of spice, often something like Worcester Sauce or a hot mustard. These days "devilling' is slightly old-fashioned; it has a hint of the 19th century about it, a whiff of a St James's Street club. I happen to love the tangy, slightly sweet, piquant taste of Lea & Perrins (first produced in the English town of Worcester in 1837), and, like the Victorians, will quite happily devil just about anything, including ham, eggs, kidneys and mutton chops.

Here's a recipe for "Gravy à la Diable" from Cassell's New Universal Cookery Book, Lizzie Heritage [Cassell and Company:London] 1894: 

Required: half a pint of clear brown stock...half an ounce of arrowroot, a tablespoonful of claret, a teaspoonful of French mustard, a dessertspoonful of Worcester sauce, and a little soluble cayenne, with salt to taste, and a few drops of soy. Mix the thickening with the claret, and the rest of the ingredients, and boil for a few minutes. Serve with kidneys, steaks, & etc., or with grilled fish. For a hotter sauce, increase the Worcester sauce, or boil a few capsicum seeds in the gravy."

Arabella Boxer also has a recipe for Devil Sauce from her book of English Food (recently re-published by Penguin in a sumptious new edition), which I've adapted for The Greasy Spoon: 

You melt 30g butter, and stir in 1½ tablespoons of flour, ½ teaspoon of English Mustard, and ½ teaspoon of Curry Powder. Cook this, stirring, for one minute. 275ml of milk is added, and 150 ml of double cream (both of which you've previously heated up together), and the sauce is stirred constantly on the heat until it starts to bubble. The sauce is then simmered gently for about eight minutes, until slightly reduced- and the remaining flavourings stirred in: ½ teaspoon of salt, a pinch of cayenne, ½ tablespoons of Worcestershire Sauce, ½ tablespoon of Mushroom Ketchup and, last but not least, a dash of our old friend, Tabasco.

This will make a basic sauce, which can then be poured over an ingredient of your choice: grilled or fried chicken, boiled eggs, and game. I think it would also work well with slices of fresh, juicy ham.

 

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Saturday Lunch Toad in the Hole (with Onion Gravy)

 

 

 

For some weird reason, I always think that the British classic, Toad in the Hole, is perfect for a Saturday Lunch. Not Sunday or Monday, or even Thursday for that matter. Saturday. I can't exactly explain why, there's probably a regressive, childhood thing going on there. Toad in the Hole is easy to make. It's filling. It's cheap. It's also delicious. This is Comfort Food at its best.

If you happen to be American, you are probably now wondering how on earth us Brits can eat one of those slimey, knobbly creatures? Sort of less appealing then a French grenouille, I hear you cry. But as much as I am curious to sample one of those tantalising little critters, the 'toad' is, in all probability, English slang for sausage. It's a bit like Welsh Rabbit (which ain't a rabbit), or Scotch Woodcock (which ain't a woodcock, either).

Back to the Toad: Heat your oven to 220C (425F). Get hold of some decent, fat, organic sausages and chuck them into a roasting tin with a few knobs of lard. You could have fun experimenting with different types of sausage. The better your sausage, the better your Toad in the Hole will taste. Cook the sausages in the oven for about ten minutes. My latest sausage discovery has been Sainsbury's Taste the Difference British Pork & Caramelised Red Onion Sausages. These are utterly delicious! Sweet, juicy, slightly spicy, lots of lovely caramelised flavours going on in there.

Meanwhile, mix up the batter. Sieve 4oz (110g) of self raising flour into a bowl, and add a pinch of salt and some pepper. Make a hole or a "well" in the centre of the flour, and pour in 5 fluid oz (150ml) of semi-skimmed milk into the hole. Crack in an egg, too. Mix the flour, milk, and egg up very gradually with a wooden spoon.  Beat well, and then add the same amount of milk, again. Pour the finished batter over the sausages, and cook them in the oven for a further 45 minutes or so, until the Toad is risen and browned.

The Onion Gravy is a cinch. You slice up some onions, and brown them in a frying pan. If you add a few pinches of sugar and salt, this will help them to caramelise. You want them to get brown and a bit burnt. This is a good thing. Add a tablespoon of flour, and let it cook in the oniony fat. Once the onions and flour are brown enough, you can deglaze the pan with some stock, water, and perhaps, a slug or two of white wine. Instead of gravy browning (what's that?), I use a few drops of Soy Sauce, which will give the gravy an even richer colour and taste. A teaspoon of redcurrent jelly is not a bad plan, either. Onion Gravy should be thin.

 

 

 

 

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Made in China

 

 

I've currently got a thing about Chinese supermarkets. I like the serried rows of colourful, chromo-lithographed tins, cartons and bottles; the general abundance, the kitsch, the smell of sweet Duck fat, the fact that you can buy a steel wok for a few quid, or a lethal looking cleaver for slightly more.

The brusqueness is quite appealing in a funny sort of way too- it's the diametric opposite to the hushed atmosphere of old school English establishments such as Bate's the Hatter, New & Lingwood or Budd of Piccadilly arcade- Chinese supermarkets are no place to linger, especially. There's pace in spades - and don't the shop owners let you know it?

I love the packaging for Lee Kum Kee Premium Oyster Flavoured Sauce; the soft blues, pinks and yellows of the old-fashioned, rather 50's looking label: 

 

 

 

 

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Pierre Koffmann's Memories of Gascony

 

 

 

I've just had this for my birthday- it's Pierre Koffmann's Memories of Gascony. The book was originally published in 1990, and became a cult classic. Until this sumptious reprint, it was relatively hard to find, and was horribly expensive second-hand. Koffmann opened La Tante Claire in 1977.

 

I love the food in this book. It's simple, gutsy food of the French rural persuasion. Lots of armagnac, garlic, foie gras, duck... I'm tempted to have a shot at "Gratin d'Haricots Verts": green French beans in a creamy, garlic sauce, served with Bayonne Ham. Either that or the "Terrine de Foie Gras", soaked in armagnac. Or maybe "Lièvre à la Royale"?  Stuffed Hare in a White Wine. But where to start? It's all fabulous.

 

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On Quality Street

 

Katherine Hepburn in "Quality Street", 1937

 

Did you see Nigel Slater's brilliantly nostalgic television programme on old-fashioned sweeties?: Life is Sweets. We got very excited this end. It brought back so many childhood memories: Spangles, Crunchies, Lemon Sherbets, Flying Saucers, Sweet Cigarettes, Jelly Babies, and Liquorice Allsorts. And then there was all that wonderful 70's chocolate advertising: "All because the Lady Loves Milk Tray", "A Finger of Fudge...", "Take a Break, Take a Kit-Kat", "Fry's Turkish Delight...The Taste of Paradise", "Everyone's a Fruit and Nutcase..." Surely, some of the greatest and most effective advertising slogans of all time?  These are the ones you remember, far more than some dreary pitch about car insurance. Especially if they star irritating meerkats. 

Anyway, in the middle of the programme, there was suddenly a sneaky glimpse of an old Quality Street tin. You know the one- that slightly kitschy, Regency Revival thing with the chocolate nutcracker soldier and the pretty girl wearing a bonnet. And a bow-windowed shop, if I remember rightly- a bit like the Burlington Arcade in Piccadilly. My grandparents used to keep a large tin of Mackintosh's Quality Street, and we were allowed to plunge our grubby little mitts into it when we visited- and sadly, we didn't visit that often.

 

J.M. Barrie's Quality Street (1913) from David Brass Rare Books

 

Quality Street is now owned by Nestles, and is the best selling brand of chocolate in the world. It was invented in 1936 by Mackintosh's of Halifax and was the first box- or tin rather- of chocolates aimed at a mass market.

"Quality Street" was originally a play, written by J.M. Barrie in 1901. Mackintosh then had the bright idea of using the name as a play on "Quality Sweets". Of course, all that Marie Antoinette/Regency/Early Victorian stuff was dead fashionable in the 1930's. It was very much the era of the Dickensian "Coach & Horses" Christmas Card. There was also a film with Katherine Hepburn (1937), capturing the zeitgeist. In 2000, Nestles banished Major Quality and Miss Sweetie from the tin: I am sad about that- the new tin design seems bland and boring in comparison, just like any other ordinary chocolate brand. Bring them back!

 

 

Bloody Mary Soup for Bonfire Night

 

 

I like Bonfire Night, who doesn't? I would dearly love to take part in the revels being held in Lewes tonight, but this time round, I'm stuck in London. And there's a titillating whiff of paganism about the whole proceedings, isn't there?

Bonfire Night, for me, means piping hot thermos flasks; which means soup. I think a Bloody Mary style Tomato Soup- in other words, a soup laced with vodka, would work brilliantly.  

 

It would be possible to make it in various ways; you could, perhaps, roast tomatoes with garlic, celery and onions in a hot oven (keeping the skins intact), and then whizz up the cooked vegetables in a Magimix to form a soft pulp. The pulp would be cooked briefly in butter and olive oil, vegetable or chicken stock added (and perhaps some extra tomato juice and tomato purée for colour), and the soup simmered for ten minutes or so, before adding Tabasco and Lea & Perrins and adjusting the seasoning (celery salt, black pepper and a squeeze of lemon juice?). The soup would be strained through a sieve and then laced with vodka and, perhaps, a dash of dry sherry. I would keep it hot- and avoid bringing it to the boil; a bit like the way you might make a mulled wine or cider.

 

 

 

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Langan's & Odin's: The End of an Era

 

Langan's Brasserie

Back in July, I posted an emotive piece about the glamorous, beautiful and shabby interior of Odin's restaurant in Marylebone, writing "that I will be extremely grumpy if it ever closes down": that sad day has arrived; in as much as the art collections at Langan's and Odin's are being sold off. A fan of The Greasy Spoon has alerted me to a Christie's press release: "the core collection of 230 artworks from the legendary London restaurants Langan's Brasserie & Odin's...(to be sold at auction)...in December 2012."

 

Odin's

I've had a look at the Langans' website and it tells me that the three restaurants (Langan's, Odin's and Shepherd's) will be closed for redecoration, re-opening at later dates. I can tell you right now that without that fabulous interior, I will- with great regret- not be returning to Odin's. The food's not that good, the once impeccable service has declined noticeably in the last few years, and the only raison d'etre for the place was that fabulous art collection (bought with the help and advice of the art critic, Brian Sewell) and the wonderful interior. Without it- I really don't see any point of returning, even (and especially) if, the whole place is redecorated in the Los Angeles airport lounge style. Look what happened to The Savoy or Brown's Hotel. Surely without Peter Langan's art collections, the whole ethos, the intrinsic spirit, the whole flippin' point of these famous old restaurants is gone?

 

Langan's Brasserie

To be fair to the group I don't know what their financial position is- and they may have been forced into a depressing and uncalled for position where there was no other option but to sell up. Asset Stripping? Dunno. But what I do know, is that yet another two legendary London institutions- or at the very least, their art collections- are about to bite the dust. And on this grey, gloomy, and foggy November morning, I am extremely grumpy.

 

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Called to the Bar

 

 

I was thinking about wine bars the other day. Realised that these are a vanishing breed. When was the last time you ate in one? There seem to be two styles. There's the spit- and-sawdust, oak barrel, vaulted cellar, pin-stripey, Dickensian thing. Hogarthian. Very Inns of Court. Where Rumpole of the Bailey might have spilt claret down his starched shirt front back in the late 70's. And then there's the 1960's groovy wine bar- all spluttering candles in wickered wine bottles, Spanish Bullfighting Posters, chalked blackboards, plummy waiters in black and white striped T shirts, and some dude playing skiffle guitar in the corner. Back in the early 60's, this sort of place was dead trendy- but I reckon by the early 90's they had really gone out of fashion. The world's a sophisticated place, and things had moved on.

 

I'm trying to think how many of these are left in London. I mean genuine examples, not those pastiche French cafés. Grumble's (Pimlico) was established in 1964 and is still going strong. The Troubadour (Earl's Court), admittedly more of a coffee bar, was founded in 1954. There's also that bizarre bistro, L'Autre in Shepherds' Market ("Mayfair's Oldest Wine Lodge"). Originally serving Polish food to the sound of Greta Garbo 78's, it expanded its repertoire to include Mexican food- accomodating the Mexican Embassy nearby.

 

The food in these places was invariably Mediterranean. The post war boom meant that European travel became accessible to the middle classes for the first time, and the affluent Conran generation wanted the food they had sampled in Italy, France, Greece and Spain back home: garlic mushrooms, taramaslata, olives, coq au vin, deep fried camembert, goulash, paella, beef stroganoff, piperade, l'escargots, garlic bread- all washed down with a cheeky little Spanish Red.

And then there was Nick's Diner in the Ifield Road, opened in the early 60s' and the haunt of fashionable Swinging London. It features in Joseph Losey's The Servant; one of my all time favourite films- there's that wonderful sequence with James Fox: camel hair coat, upturned collar, cigarette, striding past a grainy Woolworth's, Davey Graham's haunting "Rock Me Mama" filling the cold night air...

 

 

 

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