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

The Black Rice of Venus

 

 

 

 

My latest discovery: Venus Black Rice. Originally Chinese, Italian black rice comes from the Po valley, and I gather is a relatively recent concept; the result of a noble collaboration between a co-operative of Northern Italian rice growers and a Chinese hybridisation specialist (were you aware that there was such a thing?) 

Yesterday, I made myself a simple working lunch using the remains of a packet of Riso Venere from the Sala Cereali Company of Sondrio. You can cook it very much like a risotto. The rice turns a deep purple- indeed the colour of Roman Emperors- and releases a highly fragrant starch. It's delicious.

If you cook it in a good fish stock, it's almost hard to believe that this rice hasn't been cooked in deepest black, rich squid ink. It would work brilliantly with cuttlefish, squid, octopus and the like. Highly recommended.

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Particular Delights

 

 

I'm very aware that I haven't written anything since last month. Having said that, I'm not especially keen on the blogger who only posts sporadically, with accompanying gushy excuses about "being incredibly busy" and "life is hectic". You will know the type. It's a bit like people who are late for meetings complaining about the "awful traffic". In Soho, Covent Garden or St James's.

But this time, I have a proper excuse: I've been working for the last six months on my new online decorative antiques shop (www.lukehoney.co.uk). I don't normally plug my "other life" on The Greasy Spoon, but this time I'm going to. Unashamedly. It's currently a holding page, although you can quite easily log on, and sign up for my regular newsletter. I'm expecting the site to go officially live over the next few days.

Although I'm currently known in the business as a specialist in antique games (you know the sort of thing- ivory chess sets, leather backgammon boards, eighteenth century gambling chips, mah jong, interesting antique roulette wheels) I'm also going to be dealing in other Country House goodies: Regency reverse glass mezzotints, Fornasetti, Modern British paintings and prints, Gothic revival furniture, old ikats, Chinese blue and white ceramics, convex Empire mirrors, library ladders, vintage globes, fascinating old medical charts. There's going to be a blog too, linked to the site. A new blog on antiques, architecture, design and the like; anything that grabs me- and as you've probably worked out by now, I've got eclectic interests.

In the meantime, back to the food- and long may that continue. Grub Street very kindly sent me an advance copy of Nathalie Hambro's Particular Delights through the post. I'm a big fan of Grub Street. They publish foodie authors of interest, and I love the quality of their production: lovely smooth, creamy paper; well sewn bindings, soothing typography, tasteful illustrations.

Particular Delights was first published in 1981 and won the Glenfiddich Award for food writing, and it's been a favourite on my bookshelf for some time now. Some of Nathalie Hambro's recipes are a bit weird, (I seem to remember a scrambled egg studded with kidney beans, and a celery and banana salad), but that would be missing the point; the book is stunningly original. I like the sound of Grape and Radish salad (sliced radishes, black and white grapes, bound in a yoghurt and dill dressing) and Smoked Oysters steamed in Vine Leaves (vine leaves stuffed with ricottta cheese, smoked oysters, dried fungi, coriander, spinach and spring onions and seasoned with cayenne pepper, mace and salt).

I like cooks who invent their own dishes. If this sort of thing floats your boat, have a look at Sybil Kapoor's Taste, A New Way to Cook; and Niki Segnit's The Flavour Thesaurus. Experimentation and Creativity are the way forward!

 

 

Pork Scratchings Come Out of The Cold

 

 

 

I've got a guilty secret. I like pork scratchings. Until recently, every day on my way home from the Blacking Factory (a quasi-heated, cavernous warehouse found in the scrappy, semi-industrial inner suburbs of North London), I would pull over at a garage on the A40 and buy a packet of Mr Porky's Pork Scratchings. It was sort of addictive. I kept this one quiet from Mrs Aitch, carefully removing the greasy, empty packet from the floor of the car before bounding up the steps to our shiny, Grecian knockered front door.

You see, it's been a sort of secret love affair over the years- I mean with the Pork Scratchings. If you're not British, you probably don't know what I'm talking about. Pork Scratchings are off-cuts of pork rind or skin, deep fried in fat, and then sprinkled with salt, flavourings and undoubtably, our old friend monosodium glutamate. They have a dodgy reputation; they're about as classy as a Knees Up Mother Brown at the local dog track. Those on a diet can look away now.

But now and again, you would run into tantalising, if raffish, home-made versions. The Star Tavern in Belgravia (that excellent traditional London pub; the former haunt of the Clermont gambling set and the Great Train Robbers) sold fresh scratchings, cooked to their own recipe, salted and presented in large glass jars, into which you could plunge your grubby mitts. I liked this.

And now, at last, Pork Scratchings can truly come out of the cold. Tom Parker Bowles, Matthew Fort and pig-farmer, Rupert Ponsonby, are the brainchildren behind a new venture: Mr Trotter's Great British Pork Crackling ('Hand Cooked For a Crisper Crunch'). I'm munching on a packet as I write this, it's a sort of manly, substitute breakfast. According to the packet, "it's seasoned with a special blend of ingredients, without a trace of MSG. Unlike other pork scratchings, Mr Trotter's Great British Pork Crackling is made with 100% prime British pork skin from the finest British Pigs".

They are indeed divine, and far less salty than the more ersatz brands. It's also nice to know that British pigs are being turned into scratchings- sorry boys, crackling, rather than Danish beasts. My only sorrow is that currently, they only seem to be available at the usual up-market parade:  Harvey Nick's food hall, Fortnum's, the Chatsworth Farm Shop. But you can, at least, buy them online, and in bulk (£57 for 30 bags, if you're wondering). I quite like the idea of a pork scratchings hoard; in this case, there's going to be no need to keep it a secret.

 

 

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!

 

 

Tomato, Egg and Salad Cream Sandwiches

 

 

 

 

I stopped off yesterday at a garage on the Western Avenue and bought an M & S Tomato, Egg & Salad Cream Sandwich. It was delicious: a guilty, if slightly tacky, pleasure; the substitution of Salad Cream for Mayonnaise a masterstroke. The vinegary taste of the Salad Cream worked beautifully with the egg, salted tomato and brown bread.

Making your own version would be easy enough: I would suggest that you spread the Salad Cream onto slices of brown bread; adding a layer of sliced tomatoes (removing the skin by immersing the tomatoes in boiling water for a minute or so, and discarding the pips), and a further layer of chopped hard-boiled eggs. Season with salt and white pepper, remove the crusts and cut into rectangles or fingers.

Salad Cream was invented in 1925 by our old friend, H. J. Heinz & Co; apparently the first brand developed exclusively for the British market. Oh yes, it's a very British thing, is Salad Cream. There's also a Crosse & Blackwell version. I can't honestly tell you which one is better.

There was also a rather scary radioactive substance called "Sandwich Spread"- which I haven't tasted for about twenty five years. I think I will probably leave it at that. 

Talking of which, The Greasy Spoon Kitchen is still out of action, and as I write, the vibrations of a pneumatic drill are reverberating around the house. It's like hearing Gog or Magog undergoing treatment in the dentist's chair. Today, a load-bearing wall is being demolished. We're sick of micro-waved food. Initially, it wasn't quite as bad as I thought it was going to be. This morning I'm not so sure. It's so bland. I appreciate that it is very affordable, but how on earth can people live on this stuff day in day out?

 

 

The Dilemma of Tomato Ketchup

 

 

Henry Heinz, the genius behind the "57 varieties"

 

And now for something completely different. I'm never entirely sure about tomato ketchup. Not the classic stuff in bottles, that sauce made by Heinz- but the various recipes you come across telling you a) how to make it and b) how much better it is than the shop version.

It's the same thing with several famous and established classic brands. Is fresh corn-off-the-cob really that much better than Jolly Green Giant niblet sweetcorn in the tin? I remember the Roux brothers admitting on camera that they most certainly used tinned sweetcorn ("it is a good quality product"). Are home-made baked beans really that much better than the Heinz version?  Isn't it a case of the Emperors' New Clothes?

The more I think about it, there's a group of food brands and products which are, frankly, sacrosanct. Many of them were dreamt up in the Victorian, Edwardian or early 20th century periods. It's partly do to with childhood nostalgia, it's partly to do with the packaging. It may have something to do with the taste. Like old friends, they've just got that je ne sais quoi, they never let you down. The following, in my opinion, are members of this august club: Heinz Baked Beans, Kit-Kat, Mars Bars, Heinz Tomato Soup, Jolly Green Giant Sweetcorn, Lea & Perrin's Worcestershire Sauce, Schweppes Tonic Water, Hellman's Mayonnaise, Colman's Mustard, Marmite, Coca-Cola, Jaffa Cakes, H.P. Sauce, Tabasco, Angostura Bitters, Cadbury's plain chocolate digestives, Pimm's, J & B Rare blended whisky, Bournville dark chocolate, Camp coffee. 

Do you notice how most of these brands have more-or-less never changed the general style of the package design, although there may well have been very subtle changes to the overall packaging over the decades? Tamper with the classics at your peril! I'm not at all happy with what Heinz have done to our very own Lea & Perrins. They've simplified the label, and introduced nasty thick funeral black borders. Mr Lea and Mr Perrin, I think, have disappeared too. Having said that, the last time I was at the supermarket, I saw a shelf newly stacked with bottles of the old design, so it looks possible that the re-branding has failed, and Heinz have been forced to revert to the original packaging.

Another disaster (from my point of view, I have no idea if they have increased sales or not) is what the Kraft corporation have done to the classic Terry's All Gold, first produced in 1932. It's now a completely different product, split into two separate boxes, one for plain and one for milk chocolate. The fondants taste different. And where's the barrel of rum?

Anyway. Back to the Tomato Ketchup. If you feel like running against the grain, here's Lindsey Bareham's recipe for fresh tomato sauce, from her excellent Big Red Book of Tomatoes, published by Grub Street: 

Cut 350g tomatoes in half lengthways, then grate the tomatoes with the cut side facing the grater. Discard the skins and season with salt, pepper, a tablespoon of vinegar and a crushed clove of garlic. Beat in four tablespoons of olive oil, and shred basil over the top. 

 

 

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Coca-Cola

 

 

 

Doesn't it just taste so much better in a bottle?

 

An Apple a Day...

 

Lovely graphics from the William Tell Apple Co. of North Carolina. 1940's. As it's Burns Night this evening, I'm am also featuring one of my early posts on Haggis at the top of the page.

Greenall's Gin

 

 

 

 

Currently the routine gin of choice in The Greasy Spoon Residence. It's a classic no-nonsense gin in the London Dry manner: crisp and clean, with juniper and citrusy tastes. I've discovered that it makes a fabulous G & T when mixed with Fever Tree Naturally Light Tonic. A subtle, light and deliciously clean drink, especially when mixed with a slice of lime.

Founded in 1761, G & J Greenall is one of the older distilleries, which also happens to make the perfectably drinkable and reasonably priced Sainsbury's own brand gin. They also distill Bombay Sapphire. Personally, I find Bombay Sapphire a bit too sickly and floral for my taste; originally aimed at the 80's cocktail crowd- the sort of people who added cherries to their drinks, wore Hawaiian Shirts with Ray-Ban wayfarers and approved of cocktail umbrellas.

Greenall's have very recently redesigned their packaging, presumably aiming the brand at a younger market. Gin's suddenly hip again! But of course!  Gin never went away, did it?  This time round, I like the clean lines of their new look, and the rather Forties looking- and very British- typeface.

Kallo Organic Chicken Stock Cubes

 

I tried these the other day and thought they were good. They're "Improved Recipe Original Organic Free Range Chicken Stock Cubes" by Kallo; gluten and lactose-free, too- whatever that means. No Monosodium Glutamate (boo hoo!), artificial colours, flavours or preservatives.

If you can't be bothered to brew up your own chicken stock (we do this on a regular basis, and freeze it), this could be your answer. They've got an intense chicken flavour and, in my opinion, are most certainly better than the good old Knorr's version- unbelievably championed by than none other than one Marco Pierre White of infamous Wheeler's fame.

I once had dinner with a pair of sophisticated Italian sisters in Milan. They had a thing about "Mr Knorr" (along with the American Campbell's soup) which they seemed to think was the height of retrospective British cuisine. What they didn't realise is that Knorr, in fact, is a German brand, now owned by the Anglo-Dutch corporation, Unilever. And, no- I haven't got shares in Kallo, or had temptation dangled in front of me by some eager PR girl. This is a genuine recommendation.

 

 

Innis & Gunn Beer

 

 

 

This has been a recent discovery: it's Innis & Gunn beer from East Lothian, Scotland. It's got an especially scrumptious taste- butterscotch, toffee, hints of vanilla, caramel. Despite the Victorian style label, the brand was only established as recently as 2003, and the "unique" brewing process was discovered by accident.

The beer is brewed at Dunbar, East Lothian, before being matured in American White Oak Bourbon barrels for thirty days, and then for a further forty seven days in a marrying tun. There's also a limited edition beer, matured in Navy Rum barrels.

Boodles British Gin: Over There, But Not Over Here

 

 

I'm currently in the mood for a good old rant. And Jiminy Cricket you're about to get it, big time. It all started like this: on Wednesday we were having some friends over to dinner, and I had the bright idea of serving them my raw herring, keta salmon "caviar" (roe) and dill canapés beforehand.

Waitrose Belgravia stocked bog-standard mock "caviar". It would have done the job, but I had a very real craving for the keta stuff. For some bizarre reason (which escapes me now) I seemed to recall dimly that none other than Sainsbury's Nine Elms stocked keta "caviar" (that's the delicious orange coloured salmon roe, often used by the Japanese and usually priced at about £6.50 for a small jar) in their deli or "Foods of the World" section.

So off I went, happily hopping and skipping down the South Lambeth Road, my naive optimism glowing with a capital "O". And how wrong I was to be.

I spent a frustrating ten to fifteen minutes trawling the aisles, and walking round in circles: couldn't find anything remotely caviar or roe-related, let alone of the keta or even mock varieties. Finally found a member of staff. Could barely speak English: didn't know what "caviar" was, couldn't give a toss, to be frank. His friend behind the fish counter had to explain that the mysterious ingredient I was searching for was, in fact "fish eggs". Titters all round. It was a bit like the time (same branch) when I asked for White Spirit, and was taken over to the Gin section.

Eventually another member of staff waddled up, and shaking his head sadly, explained that he hadn't seen that sort of thing for some time now. Wasn't entirely sure, was he? Didn't think they stocked it.

And in case you think I'm being horribly unfair (or even dare-I-say it, snooty), this isn't some small out-of-the way branch. I'm talking about a big "flag-ship" store, located about a mile south of the Houses of Parliament, in an area which is about to go through a massive urban re-generation. It's the general apathy, lack of enthusiasm, and sloppy standards that I find so depressing. Utterly wet. Mealy mouthed. You could push them over.

One of the things I like about America is the generosity of spirit. Go into any small newsagent, and you will find virtually every and any magazine currently available and in publication laid out for sale; in serried rows, on wooden racks. It's all about choice and range: if that's what sir wants, we'll get it for you, no problem!

The American-owned Wholefoods in Kensington High Street has this excellent philosophy in abundance. The range of foods for sale there is superb. If you want that horseradish root, they'll stock it. If you suddenly feel like buying a Jersualem artichoke or an unusual Mexican chocolate, they'll have it. In American supermarkets, there are smiling and eager members of staff- in uniforms- God Forbid- to pack up your groceries in large brown paper bags, and wait for this- to carry your bags out to your car!

A great friend of mine, currently living in Bangkok, thinks that people here get an appalling deal when it comes to choice, price and service. Rip-off Britain. I'm beginning to understand what he's getting at. Keep reading.

 

Ever heard of Boodle's British Gin?  If you live in Perfidious Albion, chances are that you haven't. Founded in 1845 apparently, named after the famous Gentleman's Club in St James's Street, and by repute, the tipple of choice of none other than a certain Sir Winston Spencer Churchill, KG, and Mister James Bond himself.

If you look it up on the internet, you'll find testament after testament from gin aficionados; waxing lyrical about Boodle's subtle taste, its smoothness, its wonderful properties as used in the Perfect Martini, for the making of.

According to the net, it's made here in Britain and distributed in the United Kingdom by the firm of James Burrough for Pernod Ricard. I've read this over and over again. Except that it's not. I've done my research and I can tell you now that Boodle's British Gin seems only to be available in America. So if you want to drink it in Britain, I've got some bad news for you- you can't. Many gin drinkers seem to think that it's possibly one of the best tasting British gins of all time; an absolute classic. Lovely packaging, too.

It's just not fair! I want to join the club and taste Boodle's British Gin!

Coca-Cola Glazed Ham

 

 

 

Last Christmas or so, I wrote a post about a slightly weird recipe: "Ham Glazed in Coca-Cola".  It's still one of my most popular posts, and as I'm currently getting increased hits (no doubt because of Thanksgiving), I'm going to give you the recipe again.

It doesn't sound that great, does it?  However, as Coke is really just a very sugary, brown and fizzy syrup, there's no reason why it shouldn't work nicely with a lovely, juicy ham.  And the recipe's an old favourite from the American Deep South, too- which is no bad thing.  So, here's how you make it:

Put in a medium sized unsmoked gammon into a large pan.  Add a peeled onion (for flavour), and then pour in a litre of coca-cola.  Bring to the boil, put the lid back on, and turn down the heat.  Let the ham braise in the liquid for 2 ½ hours.

Take the gammon out of the pan, and let it rest.  Remove the skin and preheat your oven to 210˚C.  In the meantime, mix up a glaze from 100g breadcrumbs, 100g brown muscovado sugar, two tablespoons of French Dijon Mustard, and a tablespoon of Colman's Mustard Powder.  With a sharp knife, scour the gammon to make a criss-cross pattern. Stir in a spoonful or so of coca-cola into the sugar and mustard mixture, and then slap it onto the gammon. 

Roast the gammon in the hot oven for about ten minutes, or until the glaze has cooked.

 

Lea & Perrins Tomato and Worcester Sauce

 

 

 

Many of you will know that I am a huge fan of Lea & Perrins; indeed, "The Greasy Spoon" has almost become a tribute website to the stuff.  "Tomato and Worcester Sauce" is their latest sensation. I'm not entirely sure about it: it's a bit like a pair of co-respondent shoes or a variegated shrub- it can't make up its mind whether it's Worcestershire sauce or Heinz-style tomato ketchup.

What does it taste like, I hear you ask?  Well, either like Worcestershire sauce with a dollop of tomato ketchup, or tomato ketchup with a dollop of Worcestershire sauce.  A sort of British version of American barbeque sauce, without the hickory bit.

A few days ago, Mrs Aitch treated me to a superb lunch at The Boundary- currently my favourite number one restaurant.  I would love to know how they made their Bloody Marys.  They were sweeter in taste (sherry and lemon juice?), spicy and dark red in colour.  I've got a sneaky feeling they may have added a significant dash of Lea & Perrin's new sauce.  It's the sort of thing they're selling in the Albion Food Store, which can be found on the ground floor above the restaurant.

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Coca-Cola Glazed Ham

 

 

There's an urban myth currently doing the rounds that Santa Claus (or as we say here in Blighty, Father Christmas) was invented by the Coca-Cola Corporation of America. Well, there's a little bit of truth in the story. Santa Claus is an amalgamation of the 17th century English folk personification of Christmas, "Father Christmas" , and the 19th century "Saint Nick" of Clement Clarke Moore's poem, "The Night Before Christmas". Father Christmas was usually portrayed as a scrawny, bearded old man wearing a fur robe, and the "Spirit of Christmas Present" in Charles Dickens's "A Christmas Carol" was illustrated wearing a similar robe, but in green. In Europe, "St Claus" was sometimes imagined as a sprightly little elf. 

The modern image of Santa Claus (the one you see at your local department store grotto); the red cap and suit, huge buckled belt, enormous stomach, black boots and Mr Kiplingesque whiskers was, in part, invented by a series of Coca-Cola advertisments illustrated by Haddon Sundblom. These ran from the 1930's.

Talking of Coca-Cola, I've got a slightly weird recipe for you: it's "Ham Glazed in Coca-Cola". Okay, it doesn't sound that great; but as Coke is really just a very sugary, brown, fizzy, syrup, there's reason why this shouldn't work nicely on a lovely, juicy ham. And the recipe's an old favourite from the American Deep South, too. Here's how you make it:

You get hold of a large pan, and into that you place a medium sized gammon. Throw in a peeled onion (for flavour), and then pour in a litre of coca-cola. Bring to the boil, put the lid back on, and turn down the heat. Let it braise in the liquid for 2 1/2 hours.

Take the gammon out of the pan, and let it rest. Remove the skin and preheat your oven to 210C. Meanwhile mix up a glaze from 100g breadcrumbs, 100g brown muscovado sugar, two tablespoons of French Dijon Mustard, and a tablespoon of Colman's Mustard Powder. Add a spoonful or so of coca-cola to the mixture, and then slap it onto the gammon.  Roast the gammon in the hot oven for about ten minutes, or until the glaze has cooked.

Incidentally, I've just had an interesting comment from "carrotosaurus": it's a recipe for White Borscht. Go and have a look...

You either love it or your hate it...

 

 

 

 

What can be more British than Marmite? To my American readers, Marmite is a thick, dark, tangy, rich and glutinous mess that you spread on your toast, typically at breakfast or perhaps as a late night supper snack. For years I assumed, wrongly, that it was some sort of meat derivative, but it's actually made from brewer's yeast, and so in theory at least, is suitable for vegetarians.

The Marmite Food Extract Company was founded in 1902. Some clever spark realised that you could manufacture an edible savoury paste out of the waste yeast used in beer making. In fact, the Edwardians were heavily into these yeast extracts ( Bovril being another example, but with the addition, shock horror, of beef ); one reason being that you could make up a cheap but nourising bouillon with the simple addition of boiling water.  As you gourmands all know, the word Marmite means a pot or casserole in French, and that's why the cultish jar is shaped, er- like a marmite.

And now ( trumpet fanfare, gasps of amazement ) there's new limited edition Guinness Marmite. It's got Guinness in it! I am dying to try it, but it seems to have sold out across the nation, and the supermarket shelves are bare. There's seems to be some sort of dubious looking trade in the stuff on ebay, but I have yet to bring myself to fork out the obligatory ten quid or so required to get hold of a jar.

Tabasco

The famous McIlhenny company of Avery Island, Louisiana, has been producing their inimitable Tabasco pepper sauce for five generations. According to legend, the bottle shape was derived from the original cologne bottles used by Edward McIlhenny in 1869.

Until recently, the sauce was made from peppers grown entirely on Avery Island, though peppers are now sourced from Central and Southern America. I've recently started using the subtle green jalapeno version, and have to admit that it's currently my number one choice, which, no doubt will brand me as a Tabasco heretic amongst die-hard Tabasco afficinados.

For some reason the green sauce is incredibly hard to find in Britain, and most supermarkets don't seem to stock it; but my local corner shop in Battersea, bizarrely, seems to have an inexhaustable supply.

In a later post, I'm going to look into Louisiana Gumbo, that wonderful stew of meat, shell-fish, onions, celery and bell-peppers. Several gumbo recipes call for a liberal dash of Tabasco; and in a grey, and often uninspiring world, that's a marvellous thing.

 

 

It has to be Colmans'...

I remember as a child being taken by my grandfather to the now sadly defunct London Steak House, and being especially impressed by a fawning waiter, no doubt in an egg stained maroon mess jacket, offering me a suave choice of English, German or French mustard. And, when you're ten years old, that's a big deal.

One of the greatest brands of mustard is made by Colman's of Norwich. Founded by Jeremiah Colman in 1814, it's a classic English mustard with a deep yellow colour, tangy taste and powerful kick. Connoisseurs of the brand reckon that the best version is Colman's mustard powder, which you mix up with water, and then leave for about twenty minutes to bring out the oils and for the full powerful flavour to develop.

I'm also fond of the classic all- American French's Mustard, which has as about as much to do with France as the Empire State Building. Created in 1904 by Robert Timothy French, this is a creamy, bland mustard. which is similar in some ways to milder German varieties.

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• The Dilemma of Tomato Ketchup
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Worcestershire Sauce

Let's start with a look at the iconic Lea & Perrin's Worcestershire Sauce. In effect, it's a fermented fish sauce. I read somewhere about a nauseating Eskimo delicacy. They would make a large hole in the ground, chuck gobbets of raw fish down there, relieve themselves all over it to get the fermentation going, and then dig it back up again after a month or so. Sounds good, eh?

The British version was first sold by Mr Jon Wheeley Lea and Mr William Henry Perrins in 1838, from a family recipe given to them by a Lady Sandys recently returned from India. They were a pair of enterprising, and no doubt, bewhiskered chemists from Worcester and their world famous sauce is still made at the old Worcester factory, close to the Malvern Hills; although the company is now part of the French food conglomorate, Danone.

The "original and genuine" stuff is made from: malt vinegar, molasses, sugar, salt, anchovies, tamarind extract, onions, garlic, flavourings and salt; although the American version uses distilled white vinegar and has a slightly less rich flavour. And it's an essential ingredient in two all-time American classics; the Bloody Mary Cocktail, and the Caesar Salad.

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