EATING FOR BRITAIN: A DAY IN THE KITCHEN AT RULES

With the writing for EATING FOR BRITAIN well under way, it is interesting to see what sort of picture is being formed of Britain past and present by its food. It is not meant to be a history book. There would be little point to that when Colin Spencer has already completed that mammoth task better than anyone else has and probably ever will. However, amongst what I hope will be amusing and readable chapters of my journeys to meet producers, chefs, farmers and shop owners, I hope there will still be enough information to form a worthwhile opinion about the way we eat in the UK.

While the notion that the Industrial Revolution and rationing fractured links to a glorious past of rural abundance and recipes passed from grandmother to mother to daughter may be far fetched, so is the idea that all strata of society viewed food as fuel and of function rather than of beauty. Feasting and fine dining may have only been the pleasures of the wealthy few, but that does not mean they did not exist. Just as they do today for those who wander around, er Borough Market to buy their produce.

You will thank God that there is actually a point to this, as a little over a week ago, I spent a day in the kitchen of a restaurant which truly does have links with our past, Rules. Opened two hundred and fifteen years ago as an Oyster house, Rules was a last chance for Thomas Rule who had led what their history calls a “wayward” life. Over the years, it seems to have maintained that slightly louche appeal and it is little wonder that King Edward VII made it his venue for a bit of rough with Lilly Langtry.

I have always been a fan of Rules, even as it went through a down period in the 1990’s when waiters wandered around with mini computers taking your orders and some wines were listed as “from the former colonies” Now, after considerable refurbishment and the opening of London’s best cocktail bar, it seems to have regained much of it’s former glory. The kitchen too had its challenges until five years ago, when the owner, John Mayhew brought in Richard Sawyer as Head Chef. Richard, is the sort of “old school” chef whose food I always love to eat, with years at the Savoy followed by almost as many working with Michel Bourdin at The Connaught behind him before he finally pitched up at Rules.

I had asked Richard if he and his crew could show me how to make two dishes for my book; Potted Shrimps and Steak & Kidney Pudding. Staples of the Rules menu for just about ever, these dishes really do have a link with our past. The earliest cookery manuals giving advice on potting for preservation and Hannah Glasse's instructions on how to make a good beef & oyster pudding are precious little different to making the ones I would see today.

Richard was already monitoring deliveries when I arrived and half of the thirty-person brigade were at their sections preparing for the fully booked lunchtime service. I was soon dressed in whites and then spent the next seven hours wandering around the kitchen trying not to get in anyone’s way as I flashed away with my camera and recorded video footage of the dishes being made.

You can see from my pictures and videos that, while I certainly saw the two dishes I had come in search of being prepared, thanks to the generosity of Senior Sous Chef’s Paul and Gary, I also saw a whole lot more during my time in the kitchen. The first thing that struck me was how quiet the place was with little shouting as people got on with their tasks in a hugely professional manner. The second was the quality of the ingredients, delivered in a constant stream down a steel chute from street level to await inspection by Richard. Whole Salmon, Plaice and Halibut ready to be trimmed by Richard himself. Lobsters from Scotland and The Scilly Isles, Beef from Rules's own closed herd of Belted Galloway and young grouse and roe deer from their own Lartington Estate. It’s impressive stuff and, as Richard himself put it

“If you can’t get excited about ingredients like this, you must be dead”

As the lunch service approached, I watched the two dishes I had come to see being prepared and the care both Paul and Gary took confirmed to me why they usually form my first two choices whenever I visit Rules. While I knew they were well made, in my ignorance, I had little idea that so much work went into making the relatively small portions that make it onto the plate.

When it came time to choose my own lunch, however, I shied away from my normal choices and turned my attention to the fabulous looking grouse that sat in the cool room ready to be roasted. I am one of those people who like their game to taste of game, so the notion of eating grouse a mere nine days after The Glorious 12th would normally not appeal, but when Paul showed me one plated up ready to head to the restaurant, I changed my mind and asked for one of my own, which they offered me as their guest.

It had been pan fried on each side to take on some colour and then just roasted for fifteen minutes and rested for a further ten minutes until the flesh was a perfect and consistent pink. It was topped off with bacon andsat on a bed of hispi cabbage sweated off with chestnuts and lardons. Traditionally, the livers would have been served with the grouse, but at Rules they use a duck liver pate and then serve the bird with the classic accompaniments of Madeira sauce, game chips, breadcrumbs, Cumberland sauce and bread sauce topped with a thick slick of clarified butter. Quite frankly, it's superb stuff and I stood at the pass gnawing at the bones and spooning the sauces into my mouth until I realised that I was in the way of service.

My time in the kitchen at Rules was coming to an end. I stopped for half an hour to watch Richard trimming three large saddles of Roe deer, removing every last scrap of meat until what remained looked like the result of a piranha attack. Then I did a quick round of the kitchen to say a heartfelt “thank you” for the good humour and generosity of the staff as I asked stupid questions and got in the way

I am hoping that my time at Rules will make an interesting chapter for the book, but what I am certain of is that after my time there, I shall never look at the restaurant or the dishes that come from its kitchen in quite the same way ever again.

LE CAFE ANGLAIS: GOOD GAME, GOOD GAME

On our recent visit to Something Fishy HS pointed out that it didn’t smell right. Having been brought up in the Sixties when most chippies used Beef Dripping as the frying medium, a place that doesn’t have that instantly recognisable smell will not engage us on a more visceral level.

This will always be the case no matter how good the finished product and despite the fact that I actually prefer a lighter oil so that I can taste the fish. Walking past The Fryer’s Delight in Holborn, however, will take us back to a place with steamed up windows, an impossibly high counter and newspaper cones heaped high with Fish and Chips and the smell of frying mixed with non-brewed condiment. Such is the emotional resonance of olfaction.

I had another such souvenir involontaire last week at Le Café Anglais in Queensway. The whiff of cloves from the bowl of Bread Sauce accompanying my Roast Grouse took me back to Sunday Dinner at our Nana’s. Her bread sauce was great - all thick and creamy. Rowley Leigh’s version was pretty good too: a bit looser, a bit more refined. Not bad – just different.

The Grouse – this was the day after the Glorious Twelfth, the start of the shooting season – was predictably lovely. The young bird had a sweetness to the flesh that you lose with long hanging and yet there’s still a gamey quality that adds complexity and hints at the coming Autumn (can’t wait).

I believe that if animals are going to get slaughtered on my behalf then I should at least try eat as much of them as possible. As a consequence there wasn’t a great deal of my Grouse left. The FOH said it was the best effort she’d seen so far. Bet she says that to all the patrons.

With a bird as good as this there’s no need to gussy things up so all it needed were the classic accompaniments which were all present and correct. A pile of Game Chips were light and crisp and grease-free. There was the Bread Sauce of course, a small bunch of Watercress and a light gravy to keep it all moist, although the latter wasn’t really necessary as the bird was cooked perfectly.

As on my first vist , almost two years ago, starters were a bit of a mixed bag. Salsify was covered in a thick batter that masked its flavour. They tasted like Churros which might have been down to using the same oil that the Chips were cooked in. Not a bad thing in itself but wrong in this context. Compare with the light, oil-free version from that first visit.

Parmesan Cream is a great Hors D’Oeuvre although the Anchovy Toasts always seem a bit, well, crude next to the pot of elegant Cheesy Cream. It’s less than a fiver though so I’m obviously just being my curmudgeonly self. Half a dozen plump and briny Oysters were as good as you’re going to get of the Rock variety.

Those Fritters sans Salsify with a pot of Hot Chocolate would make a good if filling dessert but in their absence I had to settle for the excellent Ice Cream, the Coffee variety being particularly nice. I got two (count ‘em) wafers and the hot chocolate was probably unnecessary but, er, glorious.

You can currently get Grouse at several several London restaurants including the venerable Rules and at the French restaurant Racine whose versions I’m sure will be impeccable. But for eating it in one of London's nicest rooms and with good service and a great atmosphere to boot it's hard to beat Le Cafe Anglais. The Bread Sauce may not be as memorable as my Nan’s but then nothing ever will be.

EVERY DAY IS LIKE SUNDAY

Things may get a whole lot worse
Before suddenly falling apart

I used to loathe Sundays - couldn't get a drink after two, everything was closed and Sweet FA on the box. Then I started liking it a lot more. I liked and still do like the routine: gym, stroll, coffee and a pastry. Home to some good music, a chilled manzanilla and some marcona almonds. And the Sunday papers are always worth a chuckle for how little there is in them. To top it all off there is the Sunday lunch which usually involves a large piece of protein.

Dos Hermanos certainly needed a classic Sunday today. Saturday was a washout. Shit weather, another dire England performance and several pints of what the pubs concerned laughingly described as beer. Ice cold, expensive, tinted liquid would be apposite. Lucky then that I had something a little different planned for lunch.

Game is one of those foods that people don't seem to eat very often. Maybe it's the closeness of the meat to its origins that make people a bit squeamish. Maybe it's the thought of having something that's very gamey in taste. Maybe it's the maggots. Whatever the reason, it's available now in a good butcher or supermarket near you.

Oddly, Borough Market didn't have any game save for some wild rabbit (well it didn't look very happy) when I visited on Saturday morning but a quick trip up to the West End saw me walking out of Selfridges with a Brace of Grouse.

Preparation was very straightforward. The beasts were eviscerated, which entailed getting my hand well in there and pulling everything out. I dried them up a bit and seasoned them well and rubbed in lots and lots of butter inside and out. The birdies then went into a hot oven for 20-25 minutes and given the occasional basting with all the buttery juices.

Once done I allowed the Grouse to rest. The offal went into the pan to cook through and was then mashed and spread on some fried bread. Some breadcrumbs were thrown into the hot pan until golden brown then a little sherry poured in (an idea from Simon Hopkinson). The sherry was cooked out leaving lovely crisp crumbs with a deep taste..

There were other accompaniments in the traditional vein as well: some clovey, nutmeggy bread sauce, game chips (actually a decent quality commercial brand warmed through in the oven), crisp rashers of bacon and watercress. Some celeriac purée was good but probably unnecessary. A bottle of claret worked exceptionally well with the rich gamey meat.

Pud was some peaches I'd baked in Marsala with cinnamon and a vanilla pod and left overnight. I just served it with a blob of marscapone whipped up with some fromage frais, sugar and some more vanilla. It was surprisingly light, not too sweet and was a lot more enjoyable than a lot of restaurant desserts (even though I do say so myself).

So, despite the best efforts of the gods to ruin it, the weekend ended on a pretty high note. Next week I believe my estimable brother has something special in mind. Over to you HS.