Tony & Giorgio

My mum was a very good but very English cook. The most exotic thing she ever made was pavlova. There was no such thing as Caesar salad or rocket salad or Tuscan bread salad for her. In our house, salad was usually some tomato and lettuce and not much more. I guess that explains this inbred craving I have for salad cream.

I was brought up on comfort food, like shepherd’s pie, eggs and bacon, and steak and kidney pudding. I also inherited my father’s love of Scotch eggs, pork pies, and pickles such as gherkins and pickled onions. I remember when I was five or six, I picked up a pickled onion from my dad’s plate and popped it into my mouth. That sharp, tongue-curling hit of vinegar was such a shock, yet such a pleasure.

Ironically, we never had fish in our house. My father was allergic to seafood, which didn’t help. So my first real experience of fish was at the school canteen, when they served up glowing yellow, artificially dyed smoked haddock in tinned tomato sauce. I remember standing there feeling like Oliver Twist in reverse: ‘Please sir, I don’t want any more.’ It was horrible of course and, to add insult to injury, I got a bone stuck in my throat. It’s a wonder I ever became so passionate about fish.

The turning point was discovering fish and chips. What a great dish. Suddenly the world seemed a sensible place once again.

When I was growing up, meals were just fuel stops. It was stop, fill up the tank, and you’re off, without having to think too much about what you’ve just put in your gob. Things have changed enormously in Britain since then.

There is some pretty remarkable food in this country. For my money, British produce is the best in the world but we rarely do it justice. English apples are sensational. Our oysters, our venison, our wild fish and our cheeses are all bloody brilliant.

Show me a perfectly cooked standing rib of beef with fresh horseradish sauce and roasted English onions, a new season’s grouse straight from the oven, a wheel of carefully aged farmhouse Cheddar, and some magnificent wild Scottish salmon poached in a simple courtbouillon, and I’ll show you why we haven’t got a thing to be ashamed of.

I love English food - chicken tikka masala, hummous and spaghetti bolognese. You can’t get more English than that.

When I worked at the Savoy, I started to appreciate English food. I soon discovered steak and kidney pudding, which taught me how good food in this country could be. The kidneys and steak would be cooked slowly and then left overnight to build up flavour and character. Then they were put in a big bowl and covered in a mixture of flour and fat from the kidney, and the whole thing would be steamed for about two hours. When it was finished, you could push your fork in through the pudding and the steam would rush up into your face while the aroma wrapped itself around you. For something that wasn’t Italian, it was amazing.

I also love Yorkshire puddings, and the great British Sunday roast, and those marvellous bread and butter puddings. But not all English flavours are so thrilling. I remember very well the first time I ever tasted Marmite. It was also the last time I ever tasted Marmite. And I can’t stand English-Italian food – chicken surprise and spaghetti bolognese. It’s terrible.

It took me four years to discover the one true pièce de résistance of English cooking. When I was at the Savoy, I was taken to Smithfield meat market early one morning and experienced my first full English breakfast. It was all there: the salty, thick-cut bacon, the just-runny egg, the kidneys, the fruity black pudding, the greasy sausage, the baked beans, the thin, buttered toast. I loved it. Suddenly I started to understand the English.

Recipes

Italy v. England

Parsnip and smoked haddock soup Tortellini in brodo Prawn and langoustine cocktail Insalata di fagiolini con cipolle rosse arrostite Salad of cauliflower, ham hock and Stilton Carpaccio di manzo Steak and kidney pudding Insalata di spinaci e ricotta salata Slow-roasted belly pork with apple sauce and baked cabbage

Pappardelle ai fegatini di pollo, salvia e tartufo nero

Salt beef with carrots and mustard dumplings

Coniglio al forno con prosciutto crudo e polenta

Spezzatino di pollo al limone con carciofi

Rhubarb bread and butter pudding

Tiramisu

Real sherry trifle

Parsnip and smoked haddock soup

Zuppa di pastinaca con eglefino affumicato

Good smoked haddock is an art form, and it’s something that really only exists in the UK. In this soup it plays off the sweet nuttiness of the parsnips beautifully, producing a flavour combination that is unmistakably British. Tony

Serves 6

25g/1 oz butter

1 onion, finely chopped

1 celery stalk, finely chopped

1kg/2¼lb parsnips, finely chopped

1.8 litres/3 pints vegetable stock

300g/10 oz undyed smoked haddock

300ml/½ pint milk mixed with 300ml/½ pint water

150ml/¼ pint double cream (optional)

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Heat the butter in a large saucepan, add the onion and celery and cook for about 5 minutes, until softened. Stir in the parsnips and cook for a further 5 minutes. Pour over the stock and bring to the boil. Simmer gently for 20-25 minutes, until the parsnips are very tender.

Meanwhile, place the smoked haddock in a frying pan and pour over the milk and water. Bring to the boil and simmer for 2 minutes, then remove from the heat and leave the fish to cool in the poaching liquid.

Blitz the parsnip mixture until smooth, either with a hand-held blender or in a jug blender. Add the cream if required, then reheat gently and season to taste. Remove any skin and bones from the smoked haddock, discard the poaching liquid, and flake the fish into the soup. Ladle into warmed bowls to serve.

Tortellini in brodo

Tortellini in broth

What a great dish this is. Add just two or three tortellini and you have a lovely, light soup. Put a lot more in and you have a terrific pasta dish sauced with a soupy broth. I love this served with a big wedge of Parmigiano to grate on top.

'00’ flour is a special Italian fine flour used for making pizza and pasta. It is available at larger supermarkets and in Italian food shops. Giorgio

Serves 4

1.5 litres/2½ pints chicken stock (see page 241)

For the pasta:

250g/9 oz Italian ?O’ flour large pinch of salt

1 egg, plus a little beaten egg for brushing

3 egg yolks 1 tablespoon olive oil

For the filling:

200g/7 oz skinless, boneless chicken

breast, diced 25g/1 oz pancetta, chopped