Notes on Ethics: Moral value of food

Afternoon tea: beautiful and not evil

You might have noticed, dearest reader, that we have been unusually quiet of late. There are reasons for this – a small diplomatic incident that has led to my Darling Julian being dispatched to the Far East for an extended period of negotiations and to myself being confined to the Shire for a restoring lease. Rest assured, we have neither forgotten nor neglected our responsibilities, and we will return in the full bloom of our glory soon.

In the meantime, I wanted to share An Event from the Bank Holiday weekend with you.

Home comforts

It is at this time of year, dearest reader, that the mind turns towards the creature comforts. Dreary mornings spent de-icing windscreens, days at work where you don’t see daylight, cold, dark evenings – it can all get to be too much. We are, of course, still some days away from erecting the Christmas tree in Chez Peas (although I am turning my mind towards the annual conundrum of what to use to top the tree...) but even without the festive lights and the hedonistic promise of Yule, I am doing my best to warm my spirits and those of my nearest and dearest Mr Green.

And how am I doing that? You may well ask. There are many techniques, though for the purposes of this column we had best restrict ourselves to discussing food.

Soups, my dears. Stews. Savoury foods cooked on a long, slow, simmer. Scents that fill the house, promising the visitor warmth and comfort, an evening of conversation and well-chosen wine. It is a different way of cooking from the instant gratification of those summer months, when you pick a perfectly ripened ingredient and hasten home to transform it, almost instantly, into something fresh and succulent. No. This is the time of year when you choose carefully, shop days before you want to eat, bring home the bacon, the butternut squash, the parsnip, the shin of beef and plan, oh so carefully, when and how you will cook it, when and in what company you will eat.

Cooking now takes a little love – you have to respect the ingredients before they will give you their best. You have to treat them gently, give them time. This is not a moment for haste or reckless abandon.

Let me share with you a stew, so savoury and full of promise that it won a place in the heart of even the once-vegetarian Mr Green. 

The Prudent Gentleman: Pork buns

As any gentleman knows, when heading into town it is sensible to line ones stomach against the perils of the evening.  While not eating can lead to a cheap night, more often than not this is because it is short, unpleasant, and involving a gutter somewhere.  But the troublesome question is often deciding where you should sate your stomach before you slake your thirst.

One of my favourite fast options lies in Chinatown.  Not one of the fancy restaurants - this is a stall occupying a sliver of land outside a grocers on Newport Court (close to Leicester Square station).  Two steaming cabinets stand either side of the stallholder, offering a selection of treats, including oyster pancakes, tea eggs and the like.  But what we're here for is a steamed bun.  Known in the Orient as baozi, these delicacies originate from China.  They are one of my favourite snacks when heading into town for some light Bacchian debauchery, and a very prudent choice at that.

Noms and the City: Balfour - a damn fine brunch

It seems to me, my best beloved, that the mark of a civilised society is brunch. I cannot understand breakfast – it’s too early in the morning, and I’m not hungry, no matter what I have got up to the night before. No. It takes me a good couple of hours to want to eat, and when I do, I would infinitely prefer to partake of something savoury and nomsome that can get me through until afternoon tea, possibly via some sort of luncheon on the way.

I am supremely fortunate in my life that I am surrounded by like-minded folk, and so when I took my last-but-one jaunt down to the capitol and was met off the train by my beloved nephew, Julian, it seemed only right and proper that we wander the streets round Euston until we found a suitable venue for brunch.

It took a small while. We were distracted by the Black Books bookshop, and briefly considered a little café I had eaten at before until we discounted it for being too crowded. We stumbled on, lost in a haze of enjoyment at each other’s company and the promise of the weekend ahead, until we found Balfour on Marchmont Street.

Noms and the City: A belated review of Gauthier

There are many problems with having a day job. For a start it constrains my artistic bent, limiting my writing to the hours of darkness (which some would argue is strangely appropriate). For a second, I have to pretend to the world to be a demure and serious business woman and hide the fact that I am, in fact, an eighteenth century harlot, which can come as a shock to the system on occasion. One major benefit, however, are the executive junkets, which at best give me the chance to meet up with young Julian, and at least let me travel the country scouting for pretty and noms.

Thus is was that some months ago (for I am a busy woman my dears, and time simply rushes away from me, like a cheeseboy on roller-skates) we ended up in the bustling heart of Soho in the salubrious establishment that is Gauthier. Such a beautiful environment – flowers and pictures and clean white lines in a lovely old townhouse. The welcome was warm and, well welcoming.  The restaurant itself was spread over three floors, making me feel like a hedonistic Victorian lady, immersed in a society of polite manners and cheap doxies.

Breaking News: We Aren't Dead

Darling readers, you may have noticed some radio silence from the Good Ship Illustrated London Noms.  Do not panic, for we have not capsized nor been lured by sirens (well, any more than usual) and both myself and Ms Peas have been unaffected by the riots that have gripped London and the counties in the past weeks.

You see, last month I accompanied my dear Mr Apple on a trip to his homeland, exploring the delights of Nippon (and, of course, nomming everything in sight).  Rest assured I had my daguerreotype and numerous plates on hand to record the finest delights I encountered, and will be recounting some of those here when everything calms down.

And as for Ms Peas?  Well, rumour has it in my absence she eloped from the Shires to a select theatrical gathering along with Mr Green and Ms Dasher.  Of course, I am not one to listen to rumour in general (it having been so cruel to me in the past), but in this case I suspect it may very well be right.  Especially the part about colourful drinks made with flaming sambuccas, discussions on the gold standard, and Scottish thespians in revealing skirts.

In any case, normal Illustrated London Noms service will resume shortly.  And in the meantime, I suggest you amuse yourselves in whatever way pleases you most (though do try not to cause too much of a scandal while doing so…)

Yours, J Carrot (Esq)

The Gentleman Cook: Smoked Mackerel Salad

There comes a time in every Gentleman's life when he finds himself bereft of assistance about the house - your valet has his night off, cook's away visiting her sick mother, and the boy is probably off terrorising the neighbourhood.  It's at times like this one must not panic.  Instead raise your belt to a respectable height, adjust your moustache and head forth into the kitchen yourself!

  

I am well aware there are perils to this approach - society rumours suggest the remodelling of Lord P's east wing was due to an improperly boiled egg, while Sir H's whiskers simply haven't been the same since he tried to peel a potato (note: names withheld to protect me from accusations of scandal-mongering).  And let us not forget the health conscious times we live in; it is just Not Done to return home from a vigorous cross country jaunt to raid your pantry and feast upon a gout inducing banquet of jugged meats, rich cheeses and cold roast fowl, all washed down with claret and port.  Well, at least not on a week night. 

So, in light of these considerations I shall disclose to you a recipe that can save you from such a desperate situation.  This is a dish that sees me through the summer months without having to resort to utilising the hob, nor calling on my servants.  Sirs, I give you the simple pleasure of a smoked mackerel salad, with my blessings.