The Greasy Spoon | Food & Culture

Gangster Chic & The Chicago Pizza Pie Factory

 

 

Faye Dunaway as Bonnie Parker (1967)

 

When was the first time you tasted the savoury delights of a pizza? If you’re under forty, this will probably seem like a strange question. It’s hard to get your head round now, but back in the 70s, pizza was an alien interloper in the land of Cap’n Birds Eye, frozen beef burgers, dehydrated Vesta Curry, Spangles, Angel Delight, soupy Brussels spouts and assassinated mutton.

I remember saving up to take a girlfriend to The Chicago Pizza Pie Factory. It must have been in 1981 or thereabouts, stylistically the fag end of the 70s. And like Joe Allen’s, I seem to remember that No. 17, Hanover Square, was hard to find: a hole situated in a dark corner the other side of Vogue House, iron steps leading down to a basement in the speakeasy manner, neon lights, soda-fountain graphics, exposed brickwork, a cocktail bar, brash American waitresses (the real thing, presumably imported en masse from a Chicago diner?), a television screen broadcasting recorded videos of American Football, background chatter courtesy of Chicago’s WFYR radio. And you could pay in dollars; at that time a genuine culture shock, especially when a waitress thrust a ghastly doggy bag in my hand and insisted that we took it away on pain of death.

The Chicago Pizza Pie Factory (“Purveyors of Chicago Pizza to London and the World...”) was the brainchild of Bob Payton, an Anglophile American entrepreneur who- in an inspired eureka moment- cooked up the concept of selling deep pan pizza to the impoverished Brits. The first pie factory was installed in Crown Passage, St James’s, a rancid Dickensian alleyway running between Christie’s and Pall Mall.

As you will remember, deep pan pizza is more like a pie or a quiche: the thick doughy crust is cooked in a special oiled pan, covered in grated mozzarella, filled with toppings such as pepperoni, mushrooms and onions, and then filled in with a thick blended tomato sauce. According to Wikipedia:

"it is often reported that Chicago-style deep-dish pizza was invented at Pizzeria Uno in Chicago, in 1943,by Uno’s founder Ike Sewell, a former University of Texas football star. However, a 1956 article from the Chicago Daily News asserts that Uno’s original pizza chef Rudy Malnati developed the recipe...”

 

A dream-like 1930’s Chicago as re-imagined in The Sting (1973): beautiful set design

 

The Sting again...(1973) 

 

With hindsight, the look of the pie factory was very much a product of the late 1970s: Gangster Chic. There’s a convincing theory that middle-aged marketing types become obsessed with the time as it existed just before they were born, which explains why the American Depression, Chicago Gangsters, Fedoras, Soda Fountains, Art Deco, Cloche Hats, Kipper Ties, Tiffany Lamps (and Chicago Deep Pan Pizza) spawned Ralph Lauren, Jack Clayton’s The Great Gatsby, Biba, The Sting (wonderfully evocative and elegant set design), Bonnie & Clyde, Strikes 1926, Soda Stream and Bugsy Malone; an appealing fashion that began in the 1960s and lasted until the late 70s, and, as with the last gasp of the wonder that was Disco, lingered on until the very early 1980s.

 

Stephanie Farrow, Mia’s little sister and the face of Biba

 

For my father’s 40th birthday party, my mother bought a vast purple feather boa from Biba in High Street, Kensington- like a 20s courtesan, although I doubt if she saw it quite like that. And then some genius had the bright idea to repackage Soda Stream with the hint of a 20s soda fountain: Coca-Cola influenced graphics and little glass bottles with impressed swirls, to which your kiddywinks could add brightly coloured cordials, which, ignoring the goody-goody instructions, you fizzed up by pressing a little button two hundred times, not unlike Gatsby’s butler and the machine that extracted the juice of two hundred oranges in half an hour.

 

Fat Sam’s Grand Slam: Alan Parker’s Bugsy Malone (1976) 

 

Alas, the Chicago Pizza Pie Factory is no more, and I can’t remember the last time I ordered a Chicago style deep pan pizza on these shores. 

 

Pinstripe suits and a Yellow Rolls Royce: Ralph Lauren’s take on The Great Gatsby (1974) 

 

 

Happy Christmas

 

 

The first commercially produced Christmas Card (1843), designed by Henry Cole (1808-1882)

 

Wishing all Greasy Spooners, wherever you are in the world, my very best wishes for a Happy Christmas and Prosperous New Year.

The free range turkey’s in the oven- stuffed with watercress, bacon and chestnuts. Elizabeth David’s Orange Sauce has been made (not at all sure about this one); the ham has been baked, glazed with honey and studded with cloves. I’m going to shred the brussel sprouts and fry them quickly in the wok with bacon and chestnuts and a bit of white wine.

The Greasy Spoon Christmas Pudding is ready to go. It’s already been cooked for ten hours. By mistake. We went to a drinks party, forgot to turn off the stove, and came home at two in the morning to find it still steaming away. It’s either going to be fabulous or a complete disaster. We shall see. And the kitchen lights have just blown and we’re cooking in the London gloom. Luckily, the stove’s still working. 

The other life-shattering event is that yesterday morning, for the first time in my life, believe it or not, I have actually, finally made a cake. A manly Scottish Dundee Cake flavoured with J & B Rare Whisky. I will be reporting back in the New Year with the results. 

 

Simon Hopkinson’s Vegetable Bouillon

 

 

 

In the last two posts we looked at two different ways to make a competent chicken stock. But have you ever tried to make a vegetarian stock? You might be surprised by the results. Here’s how to make a very simple tomato consommé: 

Take a batch of ripe tomatoes, chop them up very roughly and marinade them in the ‘fridge with a handful of sea-salt. Several hours should do the trick. Take them out of the ‘fridge and 'half-crush' them up in your Magimix, using a few jabs of the pulse button. The salty tomato pulp is placed in a muslin-lined sieve and placed over a large bowl, and the whole shooting match put back into the ‘fridge to drip over-night.

In the morning you’ll have a bowlful of clear tomato ‘water’, with the most delicate flavour. You might serve this, say, in small cups (chilled over ice, with a sprig of basil) as a trendy amuse-bouche for a summer dinner party. You could, of course, also add extra flavourings at the dripping stage- aromatics such as rosemary, thyme, basil, shallots or garlic might work well. Your friends will be amazed, delighted and amused. 

My researches into vegetable stock-making reminded me that I had a copy of Simon Hopkinson’s The Vegetarian Option languishing at the back of the book shelf. Massive fan of Mr H, and along with Richard Olney, currently one of my all-time favourite food writers. I should use The Vegetarian Option more often as it’s packed full of ideas- encouraging stylish ways with the vegetable. There should be so much more to vegetable cooking than the dreaded pasta and lentil bake. 

There’s a brilliant recipe for a vegetarian bouillon which Simon Hopkinson discovered at L’Espérance restaurant in Saint-Père-sous-Vézelay: 

You take 100g carrots, 100g leeks, 100g celery, 100g white button mushrooms and 250g white onion (peeled and chopped and the mushrooms thinly sliced) and mix them up in a large bowl. Get hold of three clean Parfait preserving jars and fill each up half-way with the vegetable mixture. Place a garlic clove, bayleaf, chopped parsley sprigs and a few black peppercorns into each jar and top up with the remaining vegetables. In goes a dash of good sea-salt and water, so that it stops about 2cm from the top of the glass jar. The jars are then sealed and placed in a deep pan of cold water until the water almost reaches the lids.

You are going to cook the jars a bit like the way you might cook a traditional Christmas Pudding. The water is brought to a very gentle simmer and the pan left (with the lid on) for two hours, topping up the level with boiling water from the kettle when you think it needs it. To prevent the jars from shattering, you will need to use either a diffuser or a folded piece of thick cardboard placed directly underneath each jar in the pan.

The bouillon is cooled and then strained through a muslin-lined sieve in the normal way. Thinking about it, this is a traditional cooking technique as used in Olde England- jugged peas and jugged hare immediately springs to mind.

The Bouillon can be served ‘ice-cold’ with a garnish of diced ‘jewel-like’ vegetables floating on the top. Simple, satisfying- and genuinely elegant. If you’re clever I expect you can think up alternative ways of using it- perhaps as an interesting re-interpretation of a Bloody Mary, with vodka and Tabasco?  Either way, the bouillon can be frozen and used to pep up soups, stews and sauces.

 

Tartiflette

 

The ski-ing season's upon us, and chalet food makes me think of Tartiflette. Tartiflette's a French dish from the Savoie region, which originated in the Aravis valley, the home of Reblochon cheese. Curiously, it was invented as late as the 1980's in an attempt to boost sales, and then heavily promoted by the relevant trade unions to increase employment in the area. 

This is how you make it: First fry some chopped smoked bacon, and sliced onions for about five minutes in your favourite pan. If you've got some goose fat, use that.

Next, slice up some waxy potatoes, and arrange them in a bottom of a dish, which you've previously greased with the goose fat. It might also be a good plan to rub half a garlic clove over the dish as well- this will give the Tartiflette a subtle garlicky flavour, without killing off all the other flavours in the dish. Season the potatoes with salt and pepper, and then cover them with the cooked bacon and onions. 

Add a layer of Reblochon cheese which you have cut into small cubes. It would be worth you while to track down some authentic Reblochon- as this gives the dish its authentic edge. Try you local deli, and see if they stock it. If they don't it's always worth making a fuss- in the nicest possible way of course, and they may be able to get some in for you. 

Finally, it's a simple matter of adding another layer of sliced potatoes, some more cheese, and finishing off the thing with a carton of double cream, unsalted butter and more salt and pepper. Bake in the oven for over an hour, until the cheesy cream topping goes brown and crusty.

 

 

Fondue

 

 

Back in the late 1960's, our Swiss au pair brought back a funky fondue set. I remember it well: a beaten copper affair, raised on a nifty wrought iron stand.

I happen to think that the best fondues use authentic cheese recipes. Recently, however, a bad, mad, and dangerous tendency has crept in for sickly, over rich chocolate fondues with cake, strawberries, sweeties, and the like. Please avoid them at all costs.

Here's how to make a genuine Swiss cheese fondue: grate ½ llb of Swiss cheese (Emmenthaler is ideal), and ½ llb of Gruyère into a pan. Start melting the cheese on a medium heat. It's important not to boil the cheese, over-stir it, or let it get cold. All these things will encourage separation and stringing.

Carefully stir in two tablespoons of flour or cornstarch. Again, the flour will help to prevent separation. Add a tablespoon of dry mustard.

When the cheese, flour and mustard have melted down, add a cup of dry white wine, a generous dash of Kirsch, a squeeze of lemon juice, and some grated nutmeg. That's it.

You then dip in hunks of fresh white bread into the cheese sauce. Traditionally, if you loose your bread in the cheese, you're supposed to pay a forfeit. Having seen The Stepford Wives, I can imagine the sort of saucy things our parents got up to forty years ago, though I stress that in our family, the forfeit was always a bottle of Kirsch.

 

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Austria Hungry...

 

 

I've just returned from a rather spectacular wedding in the pretty ski-resort of Kitzbuhl, about an hour or so outside beautiful Salzburg. The food was surprisingly good; in fact extremely good. Having just arrived, we were spirited away to join the Herrenvolk at an 18th century chalet, where they served all sorts of goodies including large dumplings (knoedel), stewed venison in a rich sauce (hasenpfeffer), noodles (fleckerl), luscious sauces made from cranberry, and mushrooms; piquant red cabbage, and tankards of the local Kaiser beer- all finished off with tots of schnapps.The Austrians don't just sing about mountain goat herds and the like- they eat them- that is the goat, not the goatherd.

On the second night, we were joined at a charming beerhall by young blades in leiderhosen, and pretty Heidi look-alikes in the traditional dirndl. On day three, I persuaded The Girl to let me drive her across treacherous mountain passes into Bavaria to ogle at Mad King Ludwig's Wagnerian fantasy, Schloss Neuschwanstein. I managed to take a few photographs, before we had to return across the werewolf infested mountain roads.

 

 

Before we crossed the border into the Fatherland proper, we pulled off the road at a hearty gasthof. I chose a massive Wienna Schnitzel. The Girl went for a better option and had an interesting Wiener Saftgulasch (goulash)- very similar to the Hungarian version; that is more of a soup than a stew; and served with dumpings.

Day Four involved a cable car ride up to a mountain retreat which would have done Dr Evil proud. At the click of Mein Host's extremely clean fingers, a bottle of the excellent local wine was produced for an impromptu tasting, while we were serenaded by old men in shorts playing tubas. The wine was similar to a Reisling- a lovely golden colour, floral bouquets on the nose, but with a dry finish to the aftertaste. If you've never been to Austria, I urge you to go there soon. The food is delicious, and the people are charming.

 

Tartiflette

 

 

 

Happy New Year! I love New Year's Day; a time to clear your debts, make impossible resolutions, and generally take stock; and it's especially reassuring if you've got the strains of the Vienna New Year's Day concert on in the background.

For New Year's Day you want something hearty, and full of carbohydrates- particularly after all that partying and excess the night before. I read somewhere that Kate Spade, the New York based fashion designer, always has a bowl of chili on New Year's Day, and I'm with her on that one. But for this afternoon's post, I'm going to take a look at a classic chalet dish, The Tartiflette.

 

  

 

If you've ever been lucky enough to have gone ski-ing, you may already know it. Tartiflette's a French dish from the Savoie region, which originated in the valley of Aravis, home of Reblochon cheese. Curiously, it was invented as late as the 1980's in an attempt to push the sales of the local Reblochon cheese- and then heavily promoted by the relevant trade unions to boost employment in the area.

And how to make it?  Fry some chopped smoked bacon, and sliced onions for about five minutes in your favourite pan. If you've got some goose fat, use that.

Next, slice up some waxy potatoes, and arrange them in a bottom of a dish, which you've previously greased with the goose fat. It might also be a good plan to rub half a garlic clove over the dish as well- this will give the Tartiflette a subtle garlicky flavour, without killing off all the other flavours in the dish.

Season the potatoes with salt and pepper, and then cover them with the cooked bacon and onions. Next, add a layer of Reblochon cheese which you have cut into small cubes. It would be worth you while to track down some authentic Reblochon- as this gives the dish its authentic edge. Try you local deli, and see if they stock it. If they don't it's always worth making a fuss- in the nicest possible way of course, and they may be able to get some in for you.

Finally, it's a simple matter of adding another layer of sliced potatoes, some more cheese, and finishing off the thing with a carton of double cream, unsalted butter and more salt and pepper. Bake in the oven for over an hour, until the cheesy cream topping goes brown and crusty.