The Greasy Spoon

Aspic

If you leaf through old cookery books from the 60's and 70's, you will find illustration after illustration of bizarre looking dishes covered in a thick layer of aspic jelly. Tastes have changed, but, now and again, I think there's still a place for using the stuff. A few years back, I was lucky enough to sample some canapes at the Hotel Crillon in Paris; they were utterly delicious; tiny crutons topped with all sorts of goodies set in a rich meaty aspic, which melted smoothly on the tongue.

Most of those retro recipes called for a packet of aspic. I've a feeling that packet aspic has either been banned in the EU, or it's just not made anymore because of a lack of demand. In any event, it's probably a better idea to make your own aspic, as the packet stuff had a similar texture to industrial rubber. If you want to make your own aspic, here's how you do it:

Make a brown stock in the usual way. Leave it to cool, and then skim off all the fat. Pour four cups of the stock into a decent sized pan, and add two tablespoons of white wine vinegar, a bouqet garni, the whites and crushed shells of two eggs, four tablespoons of white wine, and 40-50g of gelatine. (You can buy leaf gelatine in wafer-thin strips which you need to break up into small pieces.)

Bring to a near boil very slowly, whisking the whole time. (It might be a good idea to melt the gelatine in a separate pan first (ie a bain marie), as you will find that it sets very quickly). A thick crust should develop at the top of the pan. This is a good thing, and will help to clarify your stock. Stop whisking for a minute, and let the liquid rise up to the top of the pan.

Finally, strain the liquid through a muslin cloth, trying to keep the crust intact, as it will act as a filter. Strain the aspic a second time, and you should end up with a crystal clear liquid, that will set- and become- trumpet fanfare- aspic...

Pepper

It's about time I wrote about pepper. Black pepper (Piper nigrum) is a flowering vine in the family Piperaceae, cultivated for its fruit, which is usually dried and used as a spice and seasoning. The same fruit is also used to produce white pepper, red/pink pepper, and green pepper. Pepper has been with us for a very long time: black peppercorns were found lodged in the nostrils of the Egyptian Pharaoh, Ramesses II, placed there as part of the mummification rituals shortly after his death in 1213 BCE.

For general use in the kitchen, it's probably a good bet to buy good quality black peppercorns, and then grind them yourself in a decent pepper mill. I've got one of those obscenely vulgar and gi-normous wooden pepper mills; you know- the sort of phallic things that those irritating Italian waiters pester you with, just as you're about to tuck into your gnocchi alla Romana.

If you're in a foodie sort of mood, may I point you in the direction of the Paramesaran Wynad Black Peppercorn from Kerela; considered by many connoisseurs to be the best pepper in the world. Usually pepper is picked before it has ripened. The Paramesaran pepper is picked after it has ripened, is never sprayed (and therefore, genuinely organic), and involves workers slithering up long poles to get to it. It's all very labour intensive, as you can imagine, and of course, fiendishly expensive.

Baked Beans

One of the amusing things about Fortnum & Mason in London's Piccadilly, is that they stock Heinz Baked Beans. Apparently, they always have, and always will. During the late nineteenth century, Baked Beans were considered a delicacy, and were extremely expensive. They still are- if you insist on buying them at Fortnum's.

Incidentally, when you're next in The Big Smoke, drop into the newly re-furbished Fortnum & Mason. I think they've done a terrific job, and managed to keep the old-style charm of the place, even though they have completely re-built the interior, and made it into the sort of store genuine Londoners might shop at; rather than just for the good ol' tourists (God bless 'em)- and that's how it always used to be.

Anyway, Baked Beans. Baked Beans have a mysterious past, and are probably descended from the cassoulets of Southern France. I suspect, of course, there is also a considerable American influence. The first tinned Baked Beans were produced by the Burnham & Morrill Company in 1876, for use by the fishermen of Maine.

But why the 57 varieties? It's nothing more than Henry Heinz's clever marketing ploy, first used in 1896; and has nothing to do with how many different products Heinz was selling at the time. There's a photograph of the Baked Bean King, below.

I do make my own home-made Baked Beans from time to time, but frankly, I reckon the genuine stuff in the tins (and always by Heinz) is the best bet. If you do want to make your own, its simple: just heat up some cooked haricot beans in stock, add some tomato puree, onion salt, pepper, a tiny bit of vinegar, and some sugar.

And remember, if you're going to cook dried beans, it's essential that you soak them in water over-night, otherwise you could suffer a serious stomach upset. You've been warned!

Guinness

Today's post is about that classic stout, Guinness. Guinness is a form of porter, a beer which originated in London in the early eighteenth century, and has been brewed at the St James's Gate Brewery in Dublin since 1759. The dark colour, and bitter flavour comes from unfermented roasted barley. The creamy head comes from nitrogen.

I've got a great recipe for you: Beef Stew in Guinness with Parsley Dumplings. What could be better for a cold December day? This is my own recipe.

It's easy to make, but remember, as ever, keep the stew cooking at a low temperature for at least three hours. This will help the toughish cut of beef to break down. Let's start:

Slice up some onions, and saute them in butter. Chop up some stewing steak, dust it with flour, salt and pepper, and fry it in the butter. When the meat is brown, add some beef stock, and a pint of Guinness. Bring to the boil to burn off the alchohol, and then reduce to a simmer. Add a dash of good old Lea & Perrins. Next throw in some carrots, which you've previously peeled and cut into batons. Add a tablespoon or so of tomato puree. This will help to thicken it up even further.

Simmer in a medium oven for at least three hours. At least. You should end up with a reasonably thick sauce, and nicely cooked beef- which should be beginning to break down.

Now it's time for the dumplings. Very easy to make. In a bowl mix some dried suet (the EU has banned the real thing; what on earth's going on there?), with twice the amount of self raising flour. Add some salt and pepper, and some chopped parsley; and form smallish balls with your hands. Float the uncooked dumplings on top of the stew, and shove the thing back into the oven. Cook until the dumplings have risen and the flour in them has cooked. It shouldn't take too long. Ideal for December. I like it.

Brown Sauce

Nothing can be more reminiscent of a British Greasy Spoon than a bottle of H P Sauce. H P Sauce was invented by Frederick Gibson Garton, a grocer from Nottingham, in 1896. He named his tangy new concoction after the Houses of Parliament in London. For years H P Sauce was made in a factory in Birmingham, but now- shock horror- the stuff is made in the Netherlands.

What's it made of? Well, amongst other things, Malt Vinegar, Dates, Molasses, Onion, Tamarind, Garlic and Mustard Flour. The rival brown sauce, Daddie's Favourite, was launched in 1904, and, apparently, is still in production, though I haven't seen a bottle on the shelves for years. Both brands are now owned by none other than our old friend, Heinz.

Brown Sauce is an acquired taste, and I suspect that anyone not born on the Perfidious Isle is probably going to hate it. Personally, I have a nostalgic thing about the fruity combination of brown sauce mixed with a runny fried egg. But then, our American cousins eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which sounds to me like something from Planet Nine. Enough said.

Black Pudding

I love Black Pudding. There will be unfortunate finickity and squeamish individuals out there who will take one look at this post, and want to run for the hills; so my mission this sunny October morning is to try and covert them to the cause. It's like that Scottish favourite, Haggis, which actually tastes a bit like a spicy American meatloaf. Yes, the preparation sounds, and probably is, gothic; but the taste and result is something to be recommended. So, let's get the gothic part out of the way: how is Black Pudding made? What exactly is Black Pudding?

It's a sausage made from the blood of a pig. The blood is then cooked with a variety of ingredients, which could include goodies such as suet, oatmeal, milk, onions, breadcrumbs, cayenne pepper, and nutmeg. Cooking the blood in these ingredients will make the blood congeal, and hey presto! you have a black pudding; or blood pudding in America, blutwurst in Germany, boudin noir in France, and white pudding in Ireland. You eat it for breakfast. I cook mine very gently in a knob of butter for a few minutes on each side. In Britain, Black Pudding tends to be a local speciality of the northern counties such as Lancashire, but in fact, similar puddings are found all over the world.

I'm going to take this opportunity to have a little rant about the reputation and state of British Food. Okay, we now have some top-notch (and fiendishly expensive) restaurants in London; and generally the standard of food in Britain is better than it was in the post-war period of rationing, spam fritters, and dried eggs. But the tradition of cooking food at home, especially the local tradition, has been lost. Many of the old-fashioned British classics, are similar- if not identical- to dishes you can find in the French Countryside. They make Moules Mariniere, we have Devon Mussels in Cider. They make Boudin Noir, we have Lancashire Black Pudding, they make Boeuf Bourginon, we have Beef in Guinness with Dumplings.

The difference is, that your typical French grandmother will have a whole list of local specialities up her sleeve- and she will know how to prepare them with love and attention. In Britain, granny is far more likely to be found slumped in front of East Enders eating Sainsbury's Chicken Tikka Masala Surprise straight from the packet. Look at our food shops. In France, you will find endless small corner shops selling wonderful selections of beautifully presented ingredients. Like this boulangerie in Paris, pictured above. In Britain we have er- the supermarket (with, in my opinion, pretty dire stocking policies), and miserable corner shops selling dusty tins of this and that at inflated prices. And look at the amazing selection of foods you can find in New York delis! Fantastic! Rant over.

Tomato Ketchup

I know there are other brands on the market, but for me, tomato ketchup has to be Heinz tomato ketchup. In 1801, a recipe for tomato ketchup appeared in an American cookbook, the Sugar House Book; and by 1837, a certain enterprising character, Jonas Yerks (great name!) was selling it across America. F & J Heinz first marketed their version in 1876.

What's in it? Well, tomatoes (obviously), vinegar, salt, allspice, cloves, and cinnamon. I've tried to make it at home (by reducing tomatoes, adding a bit of sugar and some decent vinegar), but although the results have been reasonably good, I still prefer the famous stuff in the bottles. Oh- and I miss the glass bottles. I know that the new plastic squeezy ones are much more practical, but there was something wholesome about the old classic glass bottles- even though you had to turn them upside down to get anything out, and then suddenly all the ketchup would be over the floor.

Why the 57 Heinz varieties? It was an original slogan of the H. J. Heinz Company of Pittsburgh; used as a marketing tool. Although the company had more than 60 products in 1892, the number 57 was chosen because the numbers "5" and "7" held a special significance to Mr Heinz.

In a later post, I'm going to have a look at two British classics: HP Sauce, and Daddie's Favourite Sauce- two variations on brown sauce made from molasses. I have a feeling that Daddie's is now defunct. Put it this way, I haven't seen a bottle on the shelves for a long, long time. The world is becoming too sophisticated, by half.

Clamato

I've always assumed for years, wrongly, that Mott's Clamato was Canadian. It's not. It's originally American. The drink was invented in 1966 by the Duffy-Mott company of New York. If you don't know it (and there may be many in Britain who don't), it's a blend of tomato juice and clam juice, with a few extra spices thrown in.

The Canadian connexion comes from the Bloody Caesar, Canada's favourite cocktail. In 1969, Walter Chell was challenged to create a new cocktail to celebrate the opening of a new restaurant, Marco's, in Calgary. He came up with a variation on the Bloody Mary, but decided to add clam juice to the tomato juice instead.

Today, Mott's Clamato is owned by Cadbury-Schweppes, and is popular throughout North and South America. The photograph shows the picante version- which is slightly milder in taste. It's estimated that approximately 70% of Clamato sold in the United States is bought by Hispanics. The Mexicans mix it with Budweiser beer to make the Chavela cocktail. I think I'll stick with the Ceasar for the time being.

Mushrooms

It's Autumn, and I'm thinking mushrooms. Moist, meaty, woody mushrooms. There's a place I know on a wooded hill in South Oxfordshire, where at this time of the year top London chefs drive out to and pick fungi for free; then charge a fortune for them in their fancy restaurants back in The Big Smoke. Believe me, I've seen it with my own eyes: Volvo estates loaded up entirely with mushrooms; every variety of mushroom you could ever think of.

The English have never really been into mushroom hunting. It's far more common in mainland Europe; and in France you can take your crop into a local chemist, and get them to point out which are the deadly ones; in other words, whicha the ones that are gonna kill you. If you're going to go mushroom hunting, you really need to know what you are doing, otherwise you could end up in trouble- serious trouble. So kiddywinks- a word of advice from The Greasy Spoon: please, please don't do this at home...

As I was in an autumnal mood, I decided to make Mushroom Risotto. And who better as a guide than Arrigo Cipriani of The Harry's Bar Cookbook. The Harry's Bar Cookbook is one of my all-time favourite foodie reads. The recipes are unpretentious, delicious, and always seem to work out. The next time you're in Venice, save up, and enter the hallowed doors of Harry's (It's next to the Gritti Palace, near the Grand Canal, opposite a rather dubious dive called Haig's Bar)- you won't be disappointed,; although I have to admit that it has a reputation for being fiendishly expensive. Fiendishly. Anyway, this is how you make Harry's Bar Mushroom Risotto.

First, you need to make a "mushroom mixture". Sweat some porcini mushrooms in olive oil, for about seven minutes or so, until they are cooked and golden. Next add some crushed garlic, and some chopped flat leaf parsley. Cook for a bit. Add a cup or so of white wine. I used a dry Italian Soave. Put to one side.

Now for the risotto. They say that the mark of a good chef is how well he or she makes risotto. This could be true. I'm usually quite good at it, but now and again I go wrong; especially if my attention span starts wandering, which as my ex girlfriend contests, happens on a regular basis. Heat some olive oil in a pan. My much loved and battered bright orange Le Creuset thing was perfect. Now saute a minced onion. I chopped up my onion in the Magimix. Cook for a bit. Now add your rice. It's very important that you use risotto rice. Under no circumstances use any old rice you've got hanging around in the cupboard. The best rice to use is either Carnaroli rice or Arborio. Let the rice absorb the oil for a minute or so. Add your mushroom mixture and stir.

Now for the important stock bit. You need to use a chicken stock, which you have kept on or near the boil. You are going to ladle in your hot stock bit by bit, so that the rice absorbs the liquid. What you must not do is tip in the stock all at once. Stir like crazy. Ladle. Stir. Ladle. Carry on adding the stock bit by bit. Risotto always takes much longer than the cookery books say. I would guess at least half and hour, to forty five minutes. When the stock runs out, use boiling water. You should finish up with a well-cooked risotto. I like mine to be fairly sloppy, though the Italians prefer the rice to be slightly crunchy. Grate in some fresh parmesan cheese and stir in some butter. That's it. Perfect for October. And I expect you want to know where that mushroom hot spot is in South Oxfordshire, don't you? I'm not gonna tell you.

Paprika

As I wrote about Hungarian Goulash the other day, I thought it would be a good time to investigate paprika. Paprika was unknown in Europe until the discovery of America. It's made by griding up dried red chili peppers to form a colourful powder. It's used in the cooking of Eastern Europe, Spain, Portugal and in the American Deep South; where they cook interesting dishes like Paprika Chicken and Sour Cream. Hungarian paprika comes in all sorts of shapes and sizes: Eros (Hot), Rozsa (Rose), Csemegepaprika (Exquisite Delicate); and there are also smoked varieties for increased flavour.

Here in jolly old England, it can be hard to find the better brands. For years, we've been used to buying our paprika in little glass jars from the supermarket spice rack. Out of sheer laziness on my part, I used an old jar of this the other day, and my goulash went brown in colour; and didn't taste that great- so be warned. But if you have a look in the deli sections, you may well be able to find decent Spanish smoked paprika. It comes in small tins. I'm currently using the "smoked and sweet" version for my goulash, but should also be able to find "bitter sweet" and 'hot".

One of the advantages of the recent influx of East Europeans into London is that Polish food is beginning to creep onto supermarket shelves as a matter of course. I was down at my local corner shop yesterday, and there were interesting jars of pickled sausages and seurkraut, and god know what else, in a newly created section.

I realise that there are less Hungarians here, but it would be lovely to see proper Hungarian paprika making an appearance too. Otherwise it's going to have to be a trip to the new Wholefoods Emporium in Kensington High Street.

Chicken Stock

A good home-made stock is one of the most useful ingredients in the kitchen. Okay, there are endless types of processed stock cubes out there, but for the most part, I find them far too salty. So, unless you want to go for the Pot Noodle effect, avoid them. However, when you're in a hurry (and most people are these days), Reduced Salt Marigold Bouillon Powder (from Switzerland of all places) is a worthy substitute. But how to make the real thing?

Chop up a chicken carcass and put into a large stock pot or saucepan. Ideally, this will be a mixture of bones, scraps and meat. A fresh chicken would give you a superb stock; otherwise chicken left-overs will do the trick. Next, pour in some cold water, so that your bones are covered. Place the pan over a moderate heat. It's very important that you don't boil the stock. What you want is a gentle simmering process, so that scum, fats and other stuff start floating gently to the surface. Remove the scum floating on the surface with a spoon. Keep on skimming away. Don't stop.

Next add a peeled onion, a few peeled carrots, a bayleaf, a clove or two, and a celery stalk. Keep the stock at a bare simmer, with the lid half-on. You want to see a few bubbles rising up- but no more. Keep this up for about three to four hours, topping up with water if the levels start getting too low. Skim now and again.

When the stock is ready, strain it into a bowl and let it settle. When it's cold, you will see that a layer of fat forms at the top of the stock. You can now remove this. If you've been skimming properly, you should be left with a clear broth. But remember, if you boiled your stock by accident (very easily done, I have to admit), your stock will go cloudy.

A nifty idea is to freeze your stock in ice-cube trays- and then keep them in bags in the deep-freeze for future use. And, if you've followed my instructions, you will never, ever have to buy those scary processed stock cube things again, will you? I'll believe that when I see it...

Salt

If you've ever read one of Len Deighton's cookery books such as his Basic French Cookery Course, you will know that he has a pathological hatred of salt, describing it as "the enemy of the palate". Well, as much as I admire Mr Deighton and his absorbing and brilliantly illustrated books, I take this one, yes you guessed it- with a pinch of s...

There are various different types of salt. Most table salts are refined and probably obtained from rock, and the refining process involves chemicals and other nasties. Sea salt is obtained from the evaporation of sea water by sunlight. Fleur de Sel is an expensive hand-harvested sea salt found in Brittany and the Camargue.

One of the most delicious salts on the market is made by Maldon in Essex. The company's been around for a long time, and their natural sea salt is produced from the flat salt beds of the East Coast of England. Maldon salt looks slightly unusual, and has a different taste too. Instead of crystals there are flakes; and the salt has a natural, sea-sidey taste that melts on the tongue. If you haven't switched to Maldon yet (or a similar traditionally made salt) please do- because it will make a genuine difference to your food. I promise.

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Gin

I've really been looking forward to writing about gin. I suspect among the younger hip crowd, gin is considered slightly old-fashioned and fogeyish; and there's now a general gravitation towards vodka in cocktail bars and night-clubs: how many times have I heard some blade, or party girl for that matter, ask for a Vodka and Cranberry Juice? Anyway, back in the good old days of wife-swapping, bridge parties, and twiglets, gin was the tipple of choice, and, of course the basis of, perhaps, the greatest of all cocktails, The Dry Martini. But more about that in a later post.

Gin was invented in the Netherlands in the 17th century, and was distilled from barley. London Dry Gin is different. It's made from a neutral grain spirit, and then re-distilled after botanicals have been added; and the most important botanical, which it gives it that particular taste, is juniper.

What's fascinating about gin is how the different brands vary in taste. This is because of the wide range of botanicals that can be used, ranging from lemon peel, anise, angelica root, coriander, cinnamon, to cassia bark. For a standard gin and tonic, I happen to like the 40% proof Beefeater; 94.6% proof Tanqueray for a Dry Martini, and Plymouth Gin (the sailor's choice) for Sloe Gin- if and when I ever get around to making it. It may surprise you to know that Bombay Sapphire- that's the gin in the lovely blue coloured bottles with Queen Victoria on the front, is a fairly recent new-comer to the market. It's slightly sweeter, highly flavoured with lots of botanicals, and deservedly successful.

In the eighteenth century, the government allowed gin to be distilled without licence, and, as a result, the ale-houses and taverns were flooded with cheap gin, which was, in effect, fire-water. Underneath you will see a picture of "Gin Lane' by William Hogarth. Actually, if you know the Leicester Square area of London, I'm not sure that a great deal has changed since then, except it's now beer and bizarre cocktails mixed with Red Bull which is causing all the excitement.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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.