All hail the Victoria Sandwich

Roger Fry
 Still life with chocolate cake

The first cake I learnt to cook was a Victoria Sandwich. For many years it was the only cake I made and it remains the one I make regularly because the recipe is simple (I can remember it without reference to any book), its quick to prepare and pretty much foolproof. The result is a moist, light textured cake which is perfect for afternoon tea and belies its ease of preparation. A friend asked me for the recipe recently and when I explained what was involved she replied -'Oh you mean pound cake'. I was a little taken aback because 'Pound Cake' seems rather a coarse and common name for something dainty to serve for afternoon tea and for some reason I had always thought of 'Pound Cake' as an Americanism. 'Victoria Sandwich' on the other hand comes with connotations of very ladylike behaviour and is indeed, according to The Oxford Companion to Food, named after Queen Victoria but there is no mention of by whom and why. So I was inspired to go off in search of the Victoria Sandwich.

Mrs. Beeton seemed like a good source for a recipe with Victoria in the title but all I could find there (in my 1861 version of The Book of Household Management) was 'Pound Cake' (so named because it calls for a pound each of butter, sugar, flour and eggs) made with currants, candied peel, citron and almonds, a recipe lifted from dear old Eliza Acton. Acton suggests adding a glass of brandy, Mrs. B a glass of wine. A variation to the basic method involves beating the yolks and whites separately and adding separately so that the cake is lighter. Both women call for a round baking tin. This was not quite what I was looking for since this cake was neither a sandwich nor plain but my prejudice against 'Pound Cake' as un-British seemed unjustified.

James Beard's American Cookery claims that 'every homemaker in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century kept a loaf or two of [Pound] cake in the pantry to serve to unexpected guests'. Beard claims that it is customary to use several flavourings for example orange juice and vanilla or rum or brandy with vanilla and that some cooks 'insist that pound cake should also have 1 teaspoon of nutmeg or mace added, which was invariably true of New England pound cakes'. Beard goes on with elaborate instructions to aerate the flour and then beat the egg whites, stabilising them with lemon juice or cream of tartar and adding some of the sugar to them before folding them into the batter. The mixture is then baked in two 23cm loaf tins. Beard also gives a recipe for 'Fruit Cake with Pound Cake Base', very similar to the Acton/Beeton recipe, and this too is baked in a loaf pan.

In English Food Jane Grigson traces 'Pound Cake' back to Hannah Glasse. Her four egg version is also baked in a 23cm loaf tin. She also suggests a number of variations – adding caraway seeds (a Hannah Glasse innovation which Beard also mentions) or chopped nuts, adding walnuts and flavouring with coffee or rum, flavouring with orange rind and juice or a butterscotch version using brown sugar and rum.

The basic premise for the regal sandwich cake is the same as that of the metrically challenged version i.e. equal amounts of all the vital ingredients – eggs, sugar, butter and self-raising flour . In the case of the 'Pound Cake' a pound of each, hence the name. The difference between the substantial Pound Cake and the more sophisticated sandwich appears to lie both in the quantities of ingredients used and in the execution. In all post-Beeton recipes I could find in my collection the 'Pound Cake' is traditionally made in a loaf tin while the sandwich, perhaps not surprisingly, is made in a round tin and usually cut in half. The two halves are then sandwiched together with jam and/or cream. Why it is called 'Victoria' still remains a mystery.*

I only have two books with recipes specifically for 'Victoria Sandwich' both of them owned my mother and dating from 1948 when she was recently married, living in England and coping with rationing and food shortages. In Cooking with Elizabeth Craig the recipe is for a traditional four egg sponge – that is there is no fat in the mix at all. Ms Craig is indifferent as to the the shape or size of the baking tin. My mother's recipe came from the Good Housekeeping Cookery Book where there are two versions. The 'Economical Recipe' calls for only one egg – either fresh or reconstituted egg powder. We always used the 'Standard Recipe' which was more extravagant and required two eggs.

My mother always made two small cakes which were usually sandwiched together with either raspberry or strawberry jam and sometimes with home-made lemon curd. The top was always dusted with icing sugar. This is the recipe which I have always used – cake making doesn't get any easier than this.

Prepare two pans by lining with baking paper. (I use the pans I inherited which are 7" or around 16-17cm.)
Weigh 2 eggs (in the shell) and then weigh out an equal amount of butter, sugar and self raising flour. I don't remember that we ever added baking powder but the official recipe calls for ¼ teaspoon.
Cream the butter and sugar. Beat in the eggs one at a time (if the mixture starts to curdle add a spoonful of flour). Fold in the flour with the baking powder and add a little milk if the batter seems to be very thick (once you have made this a few times you will know when it is right – if unsure then don’t bother with the milk).
Bake at 190ºC for 25 – 30 minutes (longer if only baking in one tin).

Over time I have discovered that you probably don't need any other cake recipe. You can add all the flavourings already mentioned, flavour with spices (1teaspoon mixed spice), replace a tablespoon of the flour with coconut or cocoa, use the mixture as the cake part of an upside down cake (make a four egg version and bake in a 22 or 25cm tin) and even bake the mixture in patty cases (the two egg mixture makes around 16 small cupcakes). But what happens the day the battery in your electronic scales gives out and you are alone in the kitchen with four eggs of indeterminate weight?

I could have done the conversions myself but it is much easier to refer to Jane Grigson's 'Orange Syrup Cake' ('one of the best variations on the pound cake theme'!) in her Fruit Book. Not only has she done all the conversions (for four eggs use ¾ cup sugar, 1 cup butter, although because butter is sold by weight it shouldn't be too hard to at least estimate 250grams, and 2 cups of self raising flour with 1 teaspoon of baking powder) she also introduced me to another excellent idea. The cake is flavoured with orange rind and orange juice or liqueur and then the hot cake is drenched in a syrup made from orange juice and sugar. Using the same technique you can also produce a lemon syrup cake (which is fabulous iced with passion fruit frosting) and a lime version. What's more, emboldened by Ms Grigson, I found that, as she suggests, it isn't really necessary to do all the creaming of butter and sugar followed by carefully adding eggs one at a time. Although the resulting texture isn't quite as good you do get a perfectly acceptable result just bunging all the ingredients into the food processor and whizzing until you have a smooth batter. And I have subsequently discovered for myself that you can produce a reasonable result using plain flour with 1 teaspoon baking powder rather than self-raising flour but that was by accident rather than by necessity.

The most important lesson I've leaned is not to be intimidated by cake recipes. If you read them carefully many of them are just a variation on the 'Pound Cake' theme. So rather than keeping a file of different recipes all you really need is a bit of confidence, the 'Pound Cake' formula and a pinch of common sense.

* Whilst the 1861 Beeton does not include a recipe for 'Victoria Sandwich' the 1874 version does. This time frame neatly fits the period during which Queen Victoria reputedly becomes acquainted with the new vogue for afternoon tea and the custom becomes firmly entrenched amongst the middle classes. It is not difficult to imagine someone making a dainty version of the 'Pound Cake', prettied up with jam and cream, and serving it to Queen Victoria or at least using her name to suggest that it had the royal imprimatur. Nor is it difficult to imagine that this version of a basic cake, probably already known to many cooks, and now with royal connotations would become popular in the kitchens and salons of the nouveau riche.

'El Bulli,Cooking in Progress' and 'Jiro Dreams of Sushi'

This year's Sydney Film Festival screened two food films El Bulli, Cooking in Progress, about,unsurprisingly, Feran Adrià and his team at el Bulli and Jiro Dreams of Sushi, about Jiro Ono and his Tokyo restaurant Sukiyabashi Ono.






Both films concentrated on the chefs and the work which goes on in the restaurant kitchen and showed lots of close-ups of food. Both were interesting but not especially informative – it was interesting being a fly on the wall but there wasn't much depth to either film.

Cooking in Progress assumed the audience was already familiar with the reputation of el Bulli and some idea of the sort of food likely to be served there. Feran Adrià spent a lot of time looking enigmatic but there was no insight into what drives him to keep experimenting with food. Oriol Castro has been with Adrià since 1998 and seems to do most of the hard work but there was no hint of what he gets out of his job, why he spends his time analysing, documenting and perfecting. Nor was there any sense that any of the chefs had a life outside the kitchen but surely they must. Although the film starts in the laboratory with the ideas that might become the season's menu and finishes in the restaurant with the food being prepared and sent out to the diners there was no sense of tension or drama and no clear progression from initial idea to finished dish.

Jiro Dreams of Sushi gave some of Jiro Ono's background and attempted to be more personal but also assumed that the audience was well informed about sushi and understood something of the history and culture of the sushi kitchen and the sushi master. I would have liked to be told more about sushi in general and what makes Jiro's sushi unique rather than having to make my own inferences.

But personal gripes aside both films were fascinating because of what they have to say about restaurants and dining out in general .On the one hand we have a restaurant which seats 52, situated in a quiet oasis at the seaside, where the meal takes four hours or more and consists of thirty odd 'courses'; on the other a little hole in the wall in the basement of a city office block which seats 10 people, where the meal consists of nineteen or twenty mouthfuls of food and takes about 30 minutes to consume. Both restaurants have three Michelin stars and neither offers the diner a menu. One is all about experimentation, innovation, constant change and challenge to traditional expectations, the other is all about precision, practise, perfection and the maintenance of tradition. One embraces technology the other shuns fancy equipment.

Seeing the workings of both kitchens and the contrasts between them begs the question of what a restaurant should be and, by extension, what diners expect from restaurants. Fundamentally there is the question of what role food plays in the dining experience – is what Adrià serves food at all or just a series of taste and texture sensations, is a series of twenty mouthfuls of raw fish and rice a meal, is the drama of the meal and the atmosphere of the venue more important than what is eaten?

What neither film explored was the role of the diner and the relationship of the diner and the chef in these two very different situations. In both cases the diner is at the mercy of the chef, to an extent that is not always usual in a restaurant, since without a menu he cannot choose or even anticipate what he will eat. How much he enjoys his meal will depend to some degree on the extent to which he understands what he is eating.

In Cooking in Progress we don't see anything of what happens once the food leaves the kitchen but reviews of el Bulli suggest that many diners struggle with the unfamiliar and the unexpected. They rationalise their reactions to the food on the basis that the meal is essentially an event, an entertainment, that they are there for the experience. Dining at el Bulli is at once all about the food and nothing to do with the food. At Sukiyabashi Ono the food and its freshness and simplicity is everything. For the diner to fully appreciate the chef's creation he must also appreciate the aesthetic. The only surprise from Jiro Ono is the perfection of his offerring.

At el Bulli the kitchen is full of people each preparing separate components or specific dishes, many hands make a contribution before the waiter takes the dish to the table. The diner sees little or nothing of the preparation of the food he eats and in many cases the waiter has to explain not just what he is presenting but how it should be eaten. The chef and the diner occupy different worlds where the intentions of one and the experience of the other may not always coincide. At Sukiyabashi Ono the diner and the chef inhabit the same space. Jiro Ono prepares each portion literally with his own hands, the food passes directly from the chef to the diner, and the chef then watches the diner eat. In this situation there is little scope for ambiguity but who wouldn't be intimidated eating under the watchful gaze of the sushi master.

Come to think of it my family eat their dinner every night under the scrutiny of the kitchen master, which is just one of the many reasons why eating at home is not the same as eating in a restaurant.

The latest rant from David Mitchell - Chef's Special

Pellegrino Artusi and some thoughts on a national cuisine.

I knew nothing of Pellegrino Artusi until I read Exciting Food for Southern Types* recently published by Penguin as part of their Great Food series. Exciting Food for Southern Types consists of extracts from Artusi's La scienza in cucina e l'arte di mangiare bene (translated as Science in the Kitchen and the Art of Eating Well). Apparently what was remarkable about that book when it was first published in 1891, and why it remains an Italian favourite, is that it was the first attempt at a truly Italian cookbook.

Today we have a fairly clear idea of what we understand by Italian cuisine but Italy as a unified country only came in to being in 1861 and in Artusi's day, although unified politically Italy was still coming to terms with cultural unity, an overall national identity and a national language. What he attempted to do in his cookbook was present a practical manual, meant to appeal to the newly affluent middle-calls housewife, bringing together recipes from all over the country and written in a language which every one could understand. As such La scienza in cucina e l'arte di mangiare bene is seen as a revolutionary contribution to Italian culture and is credited with creating a language which allowed people in Italy to talk about food.

According to John Dickie** what culinary language there was in Italy in 1891 was split between French, the language of high-class cookbooks, of banquets and menus, and regional dialects, the languages actually spoken around the dinner table. In his discussion of 'Cacciucco' (fish stew) Artusi explains that this word 'is understood perhaps only in Tuscany and on the shores of the Mediterranean' elsewhere it is known as 'brodetto' whereas in Florence 'brodetto' means 'a soup with bread and broth, bound with beaten eggs and lemon juice. In Italy the confusion between these and other names from province to province is such that it is almost a second Tower of Babel.' He goes on to lament

After the unification of Italy, it seemed logical to me that we should think about unifying the spoken language, and yet few can be bothered with such an undertaking and many are outright hostile to it, perhaps because of false pride and the ingrained habit that Italians have of speaking their own regional dialect.

Artusi chose to use the formal, written language of public affairs, the Tuscan dialect and to make this accessible to his readers he included a glossary.

For his recipes Artusi drew on his own knowledge of food, derived from his travels and restaurant experiences and (in subsequent editions) on those provided by his readers, to record and codify what had until then been an almost entirely oral tradition of domestic cookery. The Italy of 1891 was only tenuously united, the various regions divided by history, climate and economics, the biggest divide being simply between north and south. The poor, hungry south with their olive oil, dry pasta and tomatoes, and the affluent, cultured north with their butter, polenta, rice and boiled meats. Born in Forlimpopoli, in Romagna, and living much of his life in Florence, Tuscany, it is hardly surprising that Artusi has something of a bias towards the food he knew best and subsequently the cooking of Emilia-Romagna and Tuscany came to represent the ideal of Italian cuisine.

In an oft quoted article Arjun Appadurai ('How to Make a National Cuisine: Cookbooks in Contemporary India', Comparative Studies of Society and History, 30 (1), pp. 3-24 (1988)) makes the case for cookbooks allowing women from different groups to represent themselves to one another and communicate by exploring different tastes. Artusi's middle class audience were no doubt keen to learn more about their new country and what better way for the different regions to represent themselves to one another than through food. Over time recipe books play their part in breaking down geographic, cultural and class barriers to create some sort of homogeneous 'national' cuisine. It follows that in a culture where the traditional cuisine is handed down orally and by demonstration, and particularly in circumstances where there are tremendous regional differences there can be no national cuisine until someone writes it down. Now different parts of the one country can represent themselves to each other but further to that a codified, national cuisine allows the nation to present itself to the wider world. It seems to me that what has emerged in Italy is similar to the Indian situation Appadurai describes 'a national cuisine in which regional cuisines play an important role, and the national cuisine does not seek to hide its regional or ethnic roots.' The problem then becomes that the established notion of a national cuisine often involves regional stereotyping on the one hand and the inflation of a specific tradition to exemplify the whole on the other. The national cuisine becomes a simplification and it becomes what the outside world sees as the authentic/traditional cuisine. So Italian food outside Italy becomes nothing like Italian food served in Italy. The national cuisine which is exported to other countries atrophies because it is standardised. Even at their best cookbooks can only describe what ought to be done or what used to be done but can't quite get at the essence of what cooks are actually doing in the kitchen. Pizza and pasta for example are now ubiquitous but the pizza we get from the take away at the end of the street is nothing like an Italian pizza. The idea of pizza has been subsumed and perverted to suit Australian culinary concerns. When Pellegrino Artusi asked for 'Pasta margherita' he expected to get a sponge cake.
Even in his day Artusi observed that the 'other', the foreigner may then have expectations of 'traditional' food which adversely influences the cuisine so that what is served in Italy as traditional fare becomes a caricature.

Italian cuisine can rival the French, and in some respects actually surpasses it. However, due to the hordes of invading foreigners … our cuisine is slowly beginning to lose its special character in the swirl of wandering nations. These unfortunate changes in our diet have already begun to appear, particularly in the larger cities and in those areas heavily frequented by foreigners. I recently became convinced of this on a trip to Pompeii, where my travelling companion and I were preceded into a restaurant by a group of German tourists, ...and were served in the same fashion as they were. When the proprietor later came up and courteously asked how we liked our dinners, I took the liberty of commenting on the nauseating slop of seasonings we had just been served. He replied, 'Our cooking has to please these foreigners, since this is how we make our living'. Perhaps this is the same reason Bolognese cuisine has begun to change,...and no longer deserves the reputation it once had.

But I digress. Artusi was not a chef. In 1891 he was seventy one, a retired silk merchant with literary pretensions and a passion for food. When he had no success finding someone to publish his recipes he printed the first 1000 copies of Science in the Kitchen at his own expense, with a dedication to his two white cats. According to Dickie he initially managed the whole operation himself, selling the book from his home and personally signing every copy. His original volume contained 475 recipes which had grown to 790 by the fourteenth edition published in 1911, the year of his death. Since then it has never been out of print.

Much of the original appeal of Science in the Kitchen, and what makes it appealing to the reader today, is it's style and tone. Artusi was well educated, well read, well fed and well travelled. He was a noted raconteur and a celebrated host and his text flows much like a lively conversation at a dinner party. He addresses the reader as a friend and confidante in a witty and chatty tone interspersing recipes with anecdotes, historical asides and advice such as 'the best sauce you can offer your guests is a happy expression on your face and heartfelt hospitality'. The title Exciting Food for Southern Types comes from his observations on the English taste for unseasoned vegetables, 'we southern types need our food to be a little more exciting.'

I don't know how representative Exciting Food for Southern Types is of the whole of Artusi's work but he certainly sounds as though he would have been a charming dinner guest. Who could resist his introduction to 'Salsa di magro per condire le paste asciutte' (Meatless sauce for pasta), 'this sauce is like a young woman whose face is not particularly striking or attractive at first glance, but whose delicate and discreet features you might indeed find attractive upon closer observation' or his address to 'Dear Mr. Meat Loaf',

I know that you are modest and humble, because, given your background, you feel inferior to many others. But take heart and do not doubt that with a few words in your favor you shall find someone who wants to taste you and who might even reward you with a smile

Artusi never married. In his will Dickie says 'he left the bulk of his estate to a home for Forlimpopoli's least fortunate inhabitants' and the future royalties from his book to his servants Marietta Sabatini and Francesco Ruffili who had tested all his recipes and without whom there may not have been a book at all.

*All Artusi quotes are from Exciting Food for Southern Types, Penguin Books, London, 2011. These extracts are taken from the translation published in the USA in 1997 which I think must be a translation of the final 1911 edition. Clues in the text suggest that it is certainly later than 1900. I reviewed Exciting Food for Southern Types  for The Gastronomer's Bookshelf  here.

**John Dickie, Delizia! The Epic History of the Italians and their Food, Hodder & Stoughton, London, 2007

Eliza Acton and Modern Cookery

Everyone (well everyone that is who writes an introduction to one of the editions of Modern Cookery*) agrees on the bare bones of Eliza Acton's life. She was born in 1799 and her father was a brewer. At 17 or so she opened a school for girls which ran for a few years and then she went to France. By 1826 she was back in England and a book of her poems was published. Other poems and articles subsequently appeared in newspapers but when she approached her publishers, Longmans, to print another volume of poetry (some time in the late 1830s) they sent her away suggesting that she might prefer to write a cookery book.


Was the publisher serious or was this his idea of a cruel joke? “My dear Miss Acton, you have as much chance of getting these poems published as you do of writing a cookery book!” Or was he in the same entrepreneurial mould as Sam Beeton? “My dear Miss Acton, don't waste your talents on minor poetry. The future lies in the kitchen. If you want to make us both rich go forth and produce receipts.' Did he just want to be rid of her or did she already have a reputation as a bit of a foodie? Had he been to dinner at the Acton's and realised there was potential here? Did they discuss her future over lunch and did Eliza give him her views on the present state of English food? Why suggest to Eliza Acton, a spinster in her late 30s with literary pretensions, that she go away and write a recipe book? Sad to say we may never know, but in 1845 she was back on the door step with the manuscript of Modern Cookery for Private Families and the rest is history. The book was still in print in 1914, having run to forty editions (the last was 1908) and sold 60,000 copies.

So what was so modern about Modern Cookery?
Acton is concerned with with addressing a modern audience, hers is perhaps the first cookery book written specifically for an urban middle class. The full title Modern Cookery for Private Families makes it clear that her work is concerned with domestic cookery in the private home, not with professional cooks or haute cuisine. She dedicates Modern Cookery to 'the young housekeepers of England'. Were they servants employed as housekeepers or middle class women much like herself who were running their own household with limited means and few staff; women who may have been able to employ maids but probably didn't run to a full-time cook; who aspired to gentility but were also having to devote time to the management of their own homes in the absence of a professional housekeeper.

In her preface she makes her intentions very clear

It is a popular error to imagine that what is called good cookery is adapted only to the establishments of the wealthy, and that it is beyond the reach of those who are not affluent. On the contrary, it matters comparatively little whether some dishes, amidst an abundant variety, be prepared in their perfection or not; but it is of the utmost consequence that the food which is served at the more simply supplied tables of the middle classes should all be well and skilfully prepared ** (1855)

She aims to present 'thoroughly explicit and minute instructions ' which may be 'readily comprehended and carried out by any class of learners'. She did not expect her readers to have had much if any previous cooking experience.

To achieve her goals she employed two very modern approaches. She 'trusted nothing to others' and tested every receipt herself and she introduced the novel feature of a 'summary appended to the receipts, of the different ingredients which they contain, with the exact proportion of each, and the precise time required to dress the whole'. Hers is the first recipe book to suggest that cooking might be reduced to a rational and almost scientific discipline. It is these innovations, her personal comments and observations and her precise and practical approach, which really single Acton out as the first truly modern cookery writer.

For the twenty first century reader it is the mix of the modern, ideas and recipes which still sound modern to our ears, with the quaint and old fashioned which makes Acton particularly interesting. Although her audience was becoming increasingly urbanised and able to purchase a wide range of ingredients she still writes for cooks who will have access to their own supplies of seasonal fruit and vegetables – she goes into great detail about the making of jams for instance and the likely variations in crops from year to year and her recipe for 'Birthday Syllabub' calls for a large bowl containing sugar, lemon juice, port wine, sherry and brandy to be placed directly under the cow 'and milk it full'. At the same time she is familiar with the work of 'Baron Leibeg' and the latest thinking on the nutritional value of foodstuffs. She is more cosmopolitan than her predecessors including recipes for curries and even recommending the use of ready made 'currie- paste' (preferably Captain White's), alongside exotic dishes such as 'The King of Oude's omlet' and 'Risotto à la Milanaise,' In the preface to the original 1845 edition of Modern Cookery she notes that although 'until within very recent years [English] cookery has remained far inferior to that of countries much less advanced in civilisation … we have ceased to be too bigoted, or too proud to profit by the superior information and experience of others upon any subject of utility.'. All the same there is a preponderance of traditional, often stodgy, recipes, for example nine different ways of preparing a calf's head. However modern some of the tastes roasting is still done on a spit, the oven is addressed as something of a novelty and although 'a goose, a leg of pork and a suckling pig, if properly attended to while in the oven, are said to be nearly, or quite as good as if roasted' baking is only really considered an option if you have no other choice. Along with a Bottle Jack for roasting meat Acton's well equipped kitchen requires 'two or three mortars in varying sizes', hair sieves and well tinned copped pans. Cooking was labour intensive and time consuming.

The preface to the 1855 edition of Modern Cookery begins with a familiar, modern lament

It cannot be denied that an improved system of practical domestic cookery, and a better knowledge of its first principles, are still much needed in this country; where, from ignorance, or from mismanagement in their preparation, the daily waste of excellent provisions almost exceeds belief'

and her disdain for style over substance also has a modern ring to it,

Merely to please the eye by such fanciful and elaborate decorations as distinguish many modern dinners, or to flatter the palate by the production of new and enticing dainties, ought not to be the principal aim...of any work on cookery.

Her detailed instructions on how to 'broil' beef steaks (only season with pepper but never salt, heat the grid iron, turn the steaks 'but once') and how to make marmalade, and her recipes for very many dishes such as Christmas Pudding and 'English Sauce for Salad' can be followed just as easily, and with excellent results, today as they could be in 1845. That said however the need to translate the original recipes into modern measurements and cooking times and temperatures perhaps makes Modern Cookery less appealing today than it was originally (although the Quadrille edition does come with a conversion chart). A close reading of Acton only confirms that whilst the present day modern cook has access to a bewildering range of ingredients and kitchen equipment may have changed significantly basic techniques of course have not. It is equally clear that her attention to detail has ensured that her recipes have provided the foundation for subsequent generations of cookery writers.

Acton writes with authority and conviction, in the same vein as say Elizabeth David or Stephanie Alexander, and, like them, with the knowledge that can only come from personal experience and observation in the kitchen. She assures her reader that all her recipes, 'with a few trifling exceptions which are scrupulously specified', can be 'perfectly depended on, from having been proved beneath our own roof and under our own personal inspection' and the detail provided in her observations would suggest that she may have actually put on her apron and rolled up her sleeves to do the cooking herself. It is her confidant voice, her enthusiasm and her somewhat convoluted prose which makes this book such a pleasure to read. Every page yields some little gem of wisdom or insight into the Victorian kitchen such as

• potato flour 'can at present be procured at most foreign warehouses and general grocers'; but we would recommend its being home-made'
• 'Genuine amateurs seldom take prepared sauce or gravy with their steaks, as they consider the natural juices of the meat sufficient'
• 'the quantity of onion, eschalot, or garlic used for a currrie should be regulated by the taste of the persons for whom it is prepared; the very large proportions of them which are acceptable to some eaters, preventing others altogether from partaking of the dish'
• 'Fruit steamed in bottles is now vended and consumed in very large quantities in this country, but it is not wholesome, as it produces often...violent derangement of the system.'
• 'No attempt should be made to braise a joint in any vessel which is not very nearly of its own size'
• and her advice on beating egg whites 'it is a mistake to suppose that they cannot be too long beaten, as after they are brought to a state of perfect firmness they are injured by a continuation of the whisking'

Where did her recipes come from? She tells us that the 'toil' of writing Modern Cookery was 'so completely at variance with all the previous habits of my life' which suggests she may not have had much first hand experience of cooking. Her mother had taken in boarders from the Tonbridge School so perhaps some like that for 'Bordyke Veal Cake' (named after their residence in Tonbridge) and 'Acton Gingerbread' originated in the family kitchen. She makes clear that some s are the 'Author's original recipe'. Eliza had travelled to France so perhaps some of her knowledge of French and even of German and Italian cooking was acquired then. Perhaps she had a reputation for keeping a good table and a good cook in her kitchen who did much of the experimenting (Although given her attitude too plagiarism, the 'unscrupulous' appropriation of 'large portions' of her work 'without the slightest acknowledgement', she would undoubtedly have given credit where it was due if this was the case.). She was the eldest of five children so perhaps she swapped recipe ideas with her siblings and other members of her extended family ('Aunt Charlotte's Biscuits' for example). She credits some of her sources such as 'a highly intelligent medical man who has been for twenty years a resident in the Mauritius', 'a friend who had long experience ...in India, 'an American gentleman'. The range of her recipes and the depth of her knowledge, both of techniques and of foreign foods, suggests a lively interest in all aspects of food and its preparation and a broad circle of friends and acquaintances with whom she discussed her work.

Recipe books don't tell us what people actually ate. They give us an idea of what the household might have aspired to eat, what foodstuffs were perhaps generally available but not which dishes actually appeared regularly on the dinner table. Regardless of social status the Victorian dinner was very much hostage to the cook and her skills, enthusiasm and experience. Acton's book is a mixture of nostalgia for the past, traditional plain English fare, up to the minute ideas and exotic specialities. In England, French food or French influenced cooking had been the preserve of the wealthy who could employ foreign chefs. Acton brings 'foreign' food within the realm of the those 'private families' with social pretensions and a regard for fashion. Did the households who still had access to their own cow for fresh milk also experiment with 'A Simple Syrian Pilaw'? Did families sitting down to a boiled calf's head accompany it with 'Curried Macaroni' or with a 'Puree of Tomatas'? The food on the Victorian dinner table had the potential to be appetising and varied although it might only have been the tables of the wealthier more urban families which ran to such variety. The best pasta for example was to be had from Mr Cobbett's of Pall Mall which 'is not a professedly cheap house, but all that he supplies is of excellent quality'. What Modern Cookery does do is give a glimpse into a world on the verge of great changes, a taste of cookery on the brink of what we now call modern.

Isabella Beeton's Book of Household Management may be better known today but given that a fair percentage of Beeton's recipes are lifted straight from Modern Cookery ***, Acton should at least be credited with her contribution to Beeton's success. Elizabeth David asserts that 'it is difficult to find any standard cookery compendium of the latter part of the Victorian era ...which do not include a quantity of Miss Acton's recipes'. Moreover Mrs David considers Miss Acton's volume to be 'the greatest cookery book in our language'.

*Modern Cookery for Private Families,Quadrille, London, 2011 (with an introduction by Jill Norman)
The Best of Eliza Acton, Penguin Books Ltd., Harmondsworth, 1974 (Edited by Elizabeth Ray with an introduction by Elizabeth David)
Penguin have also recently published a selection from Modern Cookery entitled The Elegant Economist (Penguin Books, London, 2011)
A biography of Eliza Acton The Real Mrs Beeton. The Story of Eliza Acton by Sheila Hardy is due to be published by History Press in October 2011.
** She goes on to say 'particularly as it is from these classes that the men principally emanate to whose indefatigable industry, high intelligence, and active genius, we are mainly indebted for our advancement in science, in art, in literature, and in general civilisation' which just goes to show that she wasn't all that modern in her thinking!
*** In The Short Life and Long Times of Mrs Beeton (Harper Perennial, London, 2006) Kathryn Hughes attributes a third of Beeton's soup recipes, a quarter of her fish dishes and 'many other preparations besides' to Eliza Acton.

Adrian and Tony come to town

Both Adrian Anthony Gill and Anthony Bourdain were in Sydney this month for the Sydney Writer's Festival. Any of  the writers who were in town must have thought they had died and gone to heaven - the weather was perfect, gentle autumn sunshine everyday, the venue (down by the harbour, in the shadow of the Harbour Bridge) is gorgeous and there were huge crowds of people milling around ready to hang on their every word and buy their books. For me the Festival is an opportunity to put a person to the face you've only seen on television or to the voice you've heard on the radio or perhaps just in your head. And there seem to be precious few opportunities to hear interesting people talk about food so I was a presence at several of the  Gill and/or Bourdain sessions.
Adrian was just as eloquent and angry in the flesh as he is in print, although perhaps even more arrogant and uncompromising and dare I say it somewhat rude and ungenerous, both to his interviewers and his audience. I know his raison d'être is to be provocative but constantly playing for the laughs and the boos wears a bit thin after a while. They both appeared relaxed and confident but Adrian seemed more like a clever school boy compared to Bourdain who was suave, urbane, patient and polite. Both of them were however very honest and Gill spoke quite freely about his alcoholism and his dyslexia while Anthony certainly has made no secret of his past.
As is nearly always the case with interviews the interviewer rarely asks the questions you might want to hear answered and you can't help but feel sorry for 'celebrities' who have to come up with some sort of answer never mind how inane the question, however there were one or two exchanges which were at least worth thinking about.

1. One of Gill's criticisms of Britain is that it is a nostalgic country, that there is a general feeling that the best is in the past and therefore that the past has to be preserved. So the modern is just a reworking of what has worked before which is debilitating in contrast to countries like Australia where there is a general sense of optimism and looking outward rather than inward and backward. It struck me that this is exactly the contrast between what say Blumenthal is doing at the Fat Duck, and more particularly his London restaurant Dinner, and Redzepi is doing at Noma. The food that Blumenthal presents is often grounded in some historical precedent, as though it needs some sort of justification, although it uses modern techniques, whereas Redzepi and Adrià don't appear concern themselves with the past at all.
Both Gill and Bourdain think Adrià is a genius but at the same time they were scathing about interminable degustation menus, restaurants serving food which has to be explained and the notion of a landscape on the plate. Would that someone had asked how they reconcile what appear to be opposing views - the menu at elBulli is interminable, many of the dishes need to be explained and the appearance of the food on the plate is highly contrived. The answer I expect lies in the notion that Adrià knows/understands what he is doing whereas lesser mortals don't and are just being pretentious, but I'm not so convinced myself. However I can't claim to have actually eaten at elBulli so herewith an excerpt from Gill's review which appeared in The Sunday Times on September 28, 2008 (which you can access here)

This is just very, very good cooking: intense, and obtusely original, in the sense that it’s not rooted in history or region or culinary orthodoxy or fashion. It certainly isn’t Spanish. It manipulates a worldwide variety of ingredients. We were given 38 courses that came without fuss or fanfare, at intervals dictated by how fast we ate, not how slowly the kitchen could cook. Most of it was eaten with fingers in a mouthful or two. The combinations of flavours and textures and methods are challenging, but never overpowering, and often astonishing. I’m loath to describe the ingredients: they sound comical or disgusting. Food on paper is only ever an approximation of food in the mouth, and it relies on a shared experience, and if you haven’t eaten here, you haven’t had the experience.

2. Both men were asked on more than one occasion to comment on organic food. There was a consensus that the 'movement' was more of a marketing campaign than anything else since 'organic' does  not necessarily have much at all to do with quality but  has everything to to with creating feelings of guilt and promoting a two tier food system. Whilst a general concern about food politics and food policies, about the provenance of our food, should lead to improvements (more options, more variety) for all (food consumers and food producers)  anything which promotes elitism and snobbery ('farm to table' for example is a bit of a nonsense since all food comes from some sort of farm) is antithetical  to good eating.  Bourdain  in particular argued that the chef is not in the business of politics but the business of pleasure, his concern is deliciousness so, for example, he wouldn't use animals which had been mistreated because said animals wouldn't taste good.

3. On the ethics of eating or at least on the ethics of eating meat it appears that the current criterion is whether or not you would be prepared to eat human flesh. Well it goes without saying that Adrian would and Tony seemed to think that it made sense in the right circumstances, given that both of them had to admit that there wasn't much that was edible that they hadn't  already tried at some time. But Gill went on further to suggest that food is all about eating other people, that is their fresh air, their labour, their water, their land and their culture. Is this a profound statement or just more Gill-speak?  He also said that he didn't much care if animals did suffer, reasoning that we should be giving our time and attention to human rights -his example being that most Ghanaian dishwashers are treated far worse than the geese force fed to make foie gras. We should be more concerned about the welfare of people who work in kitchens (and by extension the people who produce our food at all levels) before we started worrying about animals.

4. Both also agreed that eating is less about what we eat and more about who we eat with. Gill makes the point that humans are the only animals who can make eye contact while they eat signifying that we can eat together without being competitive. Which might be true (more Gill-speak?) but humans do use food to demonstrate status - both intellectual, cultural and social - so eating is to some extent competitive albeit on a more sophisticated level that actually snatching the food off someone else's plate.

5. Adrian Gill also had some thought provoking things to say about electronic media. Not surprisingly he remains a staunch advocate of the free press, by which he means printed newspapers.(He does work for Rupert Murdoch.) He spoke particularly about the discipline involved with print, the editing and peer review, the attention to quality which was, in his opinion, not evident in most of the material churned out on the internet (in particular by bloggers whose opinions are worthless  - he called the internet a virtuous circle of self-satisfaction!). More particularly, and this from someone who is regularly in trouble for his caustic comments, he doesn't like the tone of the internet, the indiscriminate anger evident in the anonymous comments people make, going so far as to say that anonymity is offensive to humanity.

So I wouldn't invite A. A. Gill home for dinner (well he wouldn't come anyway because he doesn't go to dinner parties - not since he sent the food back at the last one he was invited to) but he certainly isn't afraid of being controversial and contrary. He might be a bit smug and self-satisfied but you could never call him boring or predictable. The world would certainly be a poorer place if we didn't have people like him to make us think and question, to justify our own stance on food issues and face up to our prejudices, preconceptions and pretensions. Anthony Bourdain on the other hand could come round for dinner anytime, he would be much too polite to refuse the food on offer, but I doubt the conversation would be as lively.

The Food Fighters panel,  Gill and Bourdain 'moderated' by a hapless Tony Bilson (recorded live at the Sydney Town Hall on 19 May) can be accessed here

Apple Season

For those of us who live in the suburbs of Sydney, this is what apple season really looks like. (Not a Pink Lady in sight.)