The New English Kitchen: Changing the Way You Shop, Cook and Eat

Tuna can be added to semi-soft-boiled eggs and lettuce hearts (see here (#litres_trial_promo)).

Tuna is always good with Mayonnaise (see here (#litres_trial_promo)). For an interesting sauce to eat with cold veal or chicken, blend 150g/5oz tuna with 2 anchovy fillets and 150ml/

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pint mayonnaise, then stir in 1 tablespoon chopped capers. This is a take on the dish Italians love – vitello tonnato.

canned anchovies

The best-quality anchovies have a sleek, carefully handled appearance, and come from artisan fisheries. Spanish groceries are a good source of the best, which come packed in olive oil (see the Shopping Guide).

anchovy butter

Melt this butter over green beans, haricots or even a dish of hot new potatoes. If you like anchovies, make a pot and keep it, covered, in the fridge.

Serves 6

150g/5oz unsalted butter

60g/2oz canned anchovies

4 sprigs of parsley, chopped

freshly ground black pepper

Soften the butter in a bowl with a wooden spoon. Drain the oil from the anchovies and pat them with a paper towel to remove any extra. Chop finely, add to the butter with the parsley and mix thoroughly. Season with black pepper and mix again; it will temper any saltiness.

canned tomatoes

Buy canned tomatoes from Italian specialist food shops, choosing authentic brands from the south of Italy. They will be genuinely sun ripened, and canned at source. The tomatoes should have a rich dark red appearance and a thick juice. It does not matter whether you buy whole, quartered or chopped tomatoes, but if you use whole ones for the following sauce, chop them roughly using a pair of kitchen scissors while they are still in the opened can.

canned tomato sauce

Since beginning to make my own Tomato Sauce (see here (#litres_trial_promo)), I have used canned tomatoes less, but was once shown a clever technique for an instant sweet sauce that has rescued a meal or two.

This sauce has been very useful in emergencies for pizza or pasta. It is rather thick because the hot oil instantly caramelises the tomatoes, but it has a character of its own. The technique was shown to me by Carla Tomasi, a wonderful cook from Rome.

3 tablespoons olive oil

1 can of chopped tomatoes

8 basil leaves

salt and freshly ground black pepper

You need a heavy frying pan with a lid to make this sauce safely and successfully. Have the canned tomatoes open and ready.

Put the oil in the frying pan and heat to smoking point. Working quickly, pour in the tomatoes and slam on the lid, otherwise the sauce will spit. When the sound of sizzling has died down, remove the lid and add the basil. Season with salt and pepper.

kitchen note

Substitute passata for tinned tomatoes for a very smooth sauce.

tomato juice

The strained juice from canned tomatoes makes a wonderful Bloody Mary. For every 90ml/3fl oz juice, add a dash of Lea & Perrins, a pinch of celery salt, a shot of vodka, half a shot of sherry and as much Tabasco as you like – start with 2 drops. Shake in a cocktail shaker with ice.

canned artichokes

A secret store-cupboard weapon. Canned artichokes come in brine, cost very little and taste bland – until you get to work with your olive oil, herbs, garlic and lemon juice. Eat them on toast, with chopped hard-boiled eggs or soft, fresh cheese.

bottled and canned sweet peppers

Much less fuss than roasting peppers yourself, bottled peppers in oil should be an ideal store-cupboard food but the majority of them are sour from undercooking and, worse, still have leathery skins attached. Go in search of Navarrico, a Spanish brand (see the Shopping Guide). The outlay for a can seems high until you realise that it contains over 20 genuine Spanish, sun-ripened, wood-roasted peppers in olive oil. They have so much flavour you need add only a few to a paella, or use a few at a time in Roasted Pepper Mimosa (see here (#litres_trial_promo)).

cured meats

Bacon is the most obvious example of British cured meat, with hams following closely behind. There’s a lot of dry-cured bacon about, but virtually no culture of dry-cured ham such as prosciutto at all. Every other European country has its dry-cured saucissons and salami; its charcuteries and salumerie – where are ours? The answer, as explained to me by a successful English butcher, is very interesting: ‘We are happy to make sausages and bacon; they’re quick to make and we sell them fast. But why would we want to put money on a shelf for six months?’ Because you would reap more from it if you waited – there’s a real passion for this stuff and we are importing tonnes of it.

The analogy brings Tabasco to mind. Its Louisiana originator, Henry McIlhenny, made the first batch, then forgot about it for a year. When he came back to it, the sauce had fermented slightly and developed a mellow, mature flavour, though it still had the heat of red chilli. It has been made in the same way ever since. Long maturation gives Tabasco its subtle taste. Pity the poor Caribbean sauce makers. They make superb hot sauces but, try as they might, they cannot make a similar sauce or a similar sum of money because they cannot afford the time for maturation. It’s an attitude to aged food shared by most British meat curers. We are slowly but surely reviving genuine mature Cheddar and making better wine. But, with few exceptions, British butchers will never see the point of the great starter plate of thinly sliced, dry-cured meats and sausages, with a little pile of vinegary cornichons beside.

Cured meats such as chorizo, bacon and ham hocks are very useful in the New English Kitchen. They can be served as instant meals or used to flavour stews. Take advantage of British-based charcuterie makers (see the Shopping Guide) – your spending power will see others jump on to the bandwagon.

herbs

Herbs give so much to cooking. They lift and freshen dishes and, when matched to the right foods, they turn the flavour volume up – by this I mean they sing, not shout. Herb oil half stirred into a potato soup invades it with its flavours; the same beside grilled or roast meat, or spooned over boiled meats and offal, will make the grey-brown of the dish evaporate and give it a new vitality.

herbs and english cookery

Herbs have always belonged in English cooking. There is a general idea that the English are a nation of rehabilitated mistresses of the bland, rescued by Elizabeth David’s Book of Mediterranean Food in 1952. Wrong – David herself was perfectly aware of that, as her later books testified. If you believe some of what is said about English cooking, we are masters of roasting joints but otherwise stole everything from the French and Italians. Many people believe the first statement and are subsequently shamed into accepting the second. But this is not an argument about cookery – who made custard first, the English or the French – it is about the real tools: ingredients.

Visit a house that still has its eighteenth-century gardens and you will see a herb or knot garden. Fresh herbs once had a vital place not only in the kitchen but also in the medicine chest. They were used in early recipes for salads along with edible flowers, and in sauces, soups and stuffings. Cooking with them was considered an art. I blame the puritanism that invaded the kitchens of this country in the nineteenth century for the disappearance of fragrant green leaves from our cookery – the twisted concept that exotically flavoured food is vulgar, suspect and bad for the gut. In the southern Mediterranean, aromatics are used to bridge the gap between humble, locally grown ingredients and elegant cuisine, creating an egalitarian cookery available to people on every income level. The prime example is the addition of basil leaves to a plate of sliced tomatoes, refining and cultivating the salad.

Now to those silly plastic packs of herbs that hang on hooks in supermarkets. Hopelessly, guiltily smitten is how I feel about them. They make wonderful food possible, yet I know they should be in big, generous bunches or, better still, in pots on my windowsill. I do grow a few herbs in pots but what I really want is a knot garden because I use a lot of them.

If you can, buy herbs in bulk from Middle Eastern shops. Many of them are grown in the Middle East and arrive here impeccably fresh. Wrap them in damp newspaper and then in a plastic carrier bag – they will keep for at least a week. They are ten times cheaper than the triangular, plastic containers sold in supermarkets and it is well worth lobbying the supermarket you use for larger bunches of a wide variety of herbs. Insist!

kitchen note

My sister Laura, unlike me, has only to glance at a plant and it seems to do whatever she wants. She takes home from the supermarket a potted herb such as basil or coriander. These are usually immature and soft, being 30 or so plants crammed very close together, which is why they do not grow, and drink like camels at a watering hole. She pulls them apart at the root, replants them in compost, three to a pot, and keeps them on a windowsill that gets the sun. Two weeks later, she has ten healthy pots of basil, all from one pot. If you have the time, this is well worth it; the supermarket has done the tricky part for you, you reap the reward.

green sauce

This is a standard to eat with poached, roast or grilled meat, poultry and fish. You can also stir it into mayonnaise or salad dressing. Make a small jar to store in the fridge; it will keep for 2 weeks.

Serves 4–6

5 sprigs each of tarragon, basil, chervil and parsley