Former auction specialist turned antiques dealer, amateur cook and second-hand book obsessive, Luke Honey has been writing The Greasy Spoon blog since 2007: a personal, unashamedly nostalgic and sometimes irreverent take on the link between food and culture. He lives in London with his wife and book-munching whippet. Current enthusiasms include the food of the American South and London Dry Gin.
Here's a Greasy Spoon classic for that most British celebration, "Bonfire Night": The Bullshot Cocktail.
It's supposed to be served cold, on ice; but I see no reason why it shouldn't be served hot (in a similar fashion to mulled wine or cider) and I have a sneaky suspicion that you might find it even better this way.
Empty a tin of beef consommé soup into a large pan. Pour in a large slug of vodka and add a dash of Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce, a squeeze of lemon juice, a pinch of celery salt, and finish it off by seasoning it with salt and pepper.
Warm up the bullshot on a medium heat, making sure that you don't boil it. If you've got guests, I would suggest serving it in small coffee cans or cups. If you're going to the Park, I would urge you to fill up your hip-flask and pass it around.
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?
Another terrific reprint. This time it's Picnics by Claudia Roden, first published by Jill Norman in 1981. For some reason, food writers seem to have avoided the subject, which in some ways, seems surprising. This one fills a gap in the market.
The book's very much an international affair; an erudite and idiosyncratic discource on picnics, and the art of picnicking. As Claudia Roden says in her introduction: "Everything tastes better outdoors." Picnics is published by Grub Street, priced at £14.99.
With Her Majesty The Queen's Diamond Jubilee- and River Pageant- just around the corner, I thought it appropriate to turn our thoughts to Coronation Chicken. I admit that I like it. It's slightly bland, perhaps even a trifle unfashionable, but the originalConstance Spry recipe is, undoubtably, a classic; far better than the ubiquitous, bog-standard chicken, mayonnaise and curry powder versions you will have come across. It actually tastes of something, too. It's going to be worth making that special effort:
Constance Spry's Original Coronation Chicken
Ingredients (Serves 8):
2.3kg (5lb) chicken
1 tbsp vegetable oil
1 small, finely chopped onion
1 tbsp curry paste
1 tbsp tomato purée
100ml red wine
1 bay leaf
1/2 lemon juice
4 finely chopped apricot halves
300ml (1/2 pint) Mayonnaise
100ml (4 fl oz) whipping cream
Salt and pepper
Watercress to garnish
Instructions:
1) Skin the chicken and cut into small pieces and grill it until cooked.
2) In a small saucepan, heat the oil, add the onion and cook for about three minutes, until softened.
3) Add the curry paste, tomato purée, wine, bay leaf and lemon juice.
4) Simmer, uncovered, for about 10 minutes until well reduced.
5) Strain and leave to cool.
6) Purée the chopped apricot halves in a blender or food processor or through a sieve.
7) Beat the cooled sauce into the mayonnaise with the apricot purée.
8) Whip the cream to stiff peaks and fold into the mixture.
9) Season, adding a little extra lemon juice if necessary.
10) Fold in the chicken pieces, garnish with watercress and serve.
I've got another bit of good news: I've started another blog. It's called The Education of a Gardener, a title nicked unashamedly from the great landscape architect, Russell Page. It's a sort of diary or scrapbook about my efforts to transform a tiny, dingy London backyard into a garden. It's going to be a very different blog from The Greasy Spoon. Simpler, less cluttered. I'm really not worried about how many people can be bothered to read it; it's going to be more of a personal diary, a chart of my progress; my struggle to turn a depressing, shady backyard into a something that I can call truly, a garden.
There was a brilliant little feature on the Robert Elms radio programme yesterday (click here to listen again). It was about Scotch Eggs. Now, I haven't had a Scotch Egg for ages. If truth is to be told, I had almost forgotten about them. And I rather like them. Maybe it's a boy thing? I mentioned it to Mrs Aitch, and she pulled a face and pretended to puke. And I have to admit, now thinking about it, who can forget those dubious Scotch Eggs of past memory? School-outing Scotch Eggs rolling around in clouded tupperware containers, with dry, blackish egg yolks and soggy breadcrumbs eminating sulphurous lingering odours.
What is a Scotch Egg? It's a shelled hard-boiled egg, wrapped in a sausage meat mixture, coated in breadcrumbs and then deep-fried. I have no idea if it is genuinely Scottish or not, alhough I hear that the Scots like to dip Mars Bars into batter and then drop them into a deep fat fryer- which could explain many of the strange things that go on north of the border. According to wikipedia (so it must be true), Scotch Eggs were actually invented by the very English Fortnum & Mason in 1851. This has the ring of actualité about it.
Anyway, on the programme, Mr Elms and his guest blind tasted all sorts of tantalising Scotch Eggs from The Hand-made Scotch Egg Company. This noble organisation will deliver beautifully made Scotch Eggs to your door, individually placed in those pâpier-maché egg trays. And what a choice!
"Colonel" is made from British Saddleback Pork with Shropshire Lad Beer Mustard and fresh watercress. "Pippin" comes with free-range pork, smoked bacon and apples. Or how about "Aztec" ?- that's made from free-range pork, Moroccan harissa, smoked paprika, red chili and dark chocolate. If that strikes you as a trifle over-the-top, they also sell the "Classic Mac"; cooked in the traditional way, with free-range pork, lightly spiced with a blend of seasonings.
I think I'm going to order some for Easter. Their "wee ones" (smaller Scotch Eggs made from quail's eggs) might work well as some sort of first course? We shall see.
Hand held up high, I think that potted shrimps are, perhaps, one of the best traditonal British dishes of all time. Recently, I ordered some at the downstairs bar below Bibendum in the Fulham Road. They were completely delicious, buttery, flavoured with nutmeg and served with simple brown bread. By shrimps, I mean those small brownish Morecambe Bay shrimps, rather than the large Oriental variety.
Melt some unsalted butter with mace, cayenne pepper, paprika and some grated nutmeg in a small pan. Add the peeled brown shrimps and cook them very briefly in the butter at a low heat, ideally adding any juices left over from the shrimps. Squeeze in a generous amount of lemon juice.
Season with salt and pepper and divide the mixture into ramekin dishes. Let them set in the fridge and then top them off with some unclarified butter. The butter will act as a seal. When they're ready to serve, spoon out the potted shrimps and spread them on slices of brown bread.
It's best if they're served at room temperature, so that the slightly spicy butter goes soft. Perfect for this time of year or for picnics.
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