Apologies for the lack of recent posts. Starting a new job does that to you. Am back now though - and lots more stuff in the pipeline to write about. J.
Dinner by Heston: The Cookbook
Historic
Heston is Blumenthal’s second Big Book. Forget the TV spin-offs and the kiddies
cook-books. This is the true successor to 2008’s Big Fat Duck Cookbook. It has
a similarly commanding bulk and price tag (although the street price has been
consistently closer to £80 than the £120 list), which is appropriate as this is
the definitive record of Heston’s second Big Restaurant.
Dinner by Heston. Tell you a secret - I actually much
preferred it when it was Foliage. (Wikimedia Commons)
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Let’s be
clear although it’s never stated this is to all intents and purposes the Dinner
by Heston Cookbook. You may have heard of Dinner – it’s Heston’s London
gastronomic sextravaganza: holder of two Michelin stars, seventh
best restaurant in the world and with Saturday night reservations rarer
than a PETA foie gras appreciation party.
Okay a few
of the recipes in the book are served at The Fat Duck or The Hind’s Head
(Heston’s Bray gastropub), but the vast majority come from Dinner. It includes
all the Dinner’s most iconic recipes such as Meat Fruit and the Tipsy Cake. The
philosophy of the book and the philosophy behind Dinner are one and the same.
“A glorious culinary heritage”
One thing
that’s clear from the introduction is that Heston is most definitely Trying To
Make A Point About English Food. His basic argument has two parts:
The first is
the belief that England has a culinary heritage which is more than a match for
any other nation.
If, as history encourages, you take the long view, our culinary heritage is in fact a glorious one. King Richard II was a noted gourmet who both gave and inspired magnificent feasts. Our invention of the pudding sent foreign visitors into raptures, and our skill at the spit was once the envy of the world…
In short there
should be no cultural cringe when facing our cousins from across the channel
and two hundred and forty-six varieties of cheese! (I actually completely agree
with this thesis – a point I made in one of the earliest posts
on this blog).
Apparently English food used to look just like this!
(pocket watches optional)
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The second
is that the renaissance of British food since the lows of the seventies should
build on this history by combining new techniques with historical tradition.
This leads to the creation of a distinct culinary identity.
Somewhere along the line we seem to have forgotten that we once had an impressive culinary reputation. I want this book to provide a reminder of that fantastic heritage. Over the last decade or so, there has been revolution in British food. As a result, there is a new-found pride in this country’s cooking that has led to us regaining our culinary identity. What you’re about to read is a testament to that, and I hope it also shows how great cuisine comes from a sense of tradition mixed with the spirit of innovation.
(NB –
Although Heston says “British” food above, the book itself unashamedly revolves
solely English dishes, so any Irish, Scots or Welsh food historians out there
are likely to be sorely disappointed.)
The rest of
the book is the application of this philosophy in the real world. He takes a
series of historical recipes, shows the cultural context behind them, and
explains how he has reinterpreted them using modern techniques The dishes were
never trying to be authentic reconstructions of past dishes, simply
“inspired-by” reinterpretations.
Let’s see
how he does…
The Book
A
Bloomsbury stunna
A word first
of all on the book. It’s a stunner of a volume. Bloomsbury (who also did with
original Fat Duck book) have done a great job.
Weighing in
at 3.626kg, this is a hefty volume [note to self: when your latest accession
weighs as much as a small goose, you know it’s time cut back on your cookbook
habit]. The style is decidedly Victorian Gothic Revival: luxuriously decked out
in burgundy and gold with the edges hemmed by Tudor-roses. Alongside there’s a
matching slip-case, with Heston’s coat of arms picked out in gold. If Augustus
Pugin did cookbooks, this is what they’d look like.
One quibble
– despite their similar presentation it’s a shame that it’s a slightly
different size from the original Fat Duck book. A shame - they would have made a handsome
matching pair on the bookshelf:
Structural strengths (and one big flaw)
Inside the structure of the book is very simple. After a brief intro outlining the thinking behind the book (qv), it launches straight into the recipes. They are all laid out in the same way:
Inside the structure of the book is very simple. After a brief intro outlining the thinking behind the book (qv), it launches straight into the recipes. They are all laid out in the same way:
- A stylised "still-life" style photo of the original historic recipe.
- The text of the recipe which acted as an inspiration.
- A discussion of some historical or cultural trend which provides context.
- An account of how Heston went from original inspiration to modern reinterpretation.
- The full recipe for the modern reinterpretation.
- A picture of the final dish.
Each recipe follows this order rigidly, (so much so that actually that I could
assemble a nice grid in Excel to help me keep track of everything going on – click here to view). It’s definitely
not a bad thing given the volume of material; once you've found a recipe you clearly know what yo're in for.
Where I do have an issue is the table of contents, which is pretty much the most unusable version I've ever come across. It tries to pack far too much into one place, and by the time you've figured out if you're reading up, down, left or right you've probably forgotten what you were looking for in the first place:
Where I do have an issue is the table of contents, which is pretty much the most unusable version I've ever come across. It tries to pack far too much into one place, and by the time you've figured out if you're reading up, down, left or right you've probably forgotten what you were looking for in the first place:
Probably the worst table of contents in the world. Does someone have Dieter Rams' mobile? |
Photography to make you weep
What does deserve praise though is the stunning photography from Romas Foord, particularly the “still-life” compositions of historical recipes. These are richly textured, burnished plates which wouldn’t look out of place on the walls of a Jacobean mansion. In many cases I needed to do a double take to check they were actually photos, not paintings Heston dredged up. In many cases I’m still not sure!
What does deserve praise though is the stunning photography from Romas Foord, particularly the “still-life” compositions of historical recipes. These are richly textured, burnished plates which wouldn’t look out of place on the walls of a Jacobean mansion. In many cases I needed to do a double take to check they were actually photos, not paintings Heston dredged up. In many cases I’m still not sure!
Traditionally Strawberry Tart as photographed by Romas Foord |
Ingredients for Lamb Broth a la R Foord. Vegetarians look away now! |
Heston’s
history lessons
The
historical discussions themselves are good value, ranging across an eclectic
range of topics, from medieval medical theory to the cuisine of Pall Mall
gentleman’s clubs with stopovers to consider early Hanoverian politics, the
history of porridge and the use of snails in cookery. Culinary magpies will find
plenty to keep them amused.
One theme
that jumps out here is the ongoing relationship England has with the outside
world: We are an island but Heston shows ours is not an insular cuisine. In Tudor times the
Renaissance and the discovery of the New World had a profound influence. Pineapples from the West Indies were the height of eighteenth century refinement. And the Victorian era trade with India brought spices, pickles and chutneys
(popularised by among others Mr Crosse and Mr Blackwell).
A related theme discussed is our love/hate relationship with the French. On the one hand
much of our national identity and cuisine was defined by opposition to Bourbon
and post-Revolutionary France (for more on why we get our kicks from beating on
the French I thoroughly recommend Linda Colley’s landmark study Britons: Forging the Nation 1707 – 1837).
On the other hand it was French chefs like Soyer and Careme who came to London
and helped drag our cuisine into the modern age. The French - can't live with 'em; can't live without 'em.
Into
the mind of a the chef
However the
best part for me is when Heston talks about how he reinterpreted these
traditional recipes as modern dishes to be served at Dinner. These sections
provide real insight into the creative work of a chef – not only the sources
and inspirations, but the endless experimenting used to tune even the finest
details (e.g. the unending experimentation to get the texture of the Quaking
Pudding just right or make the orange peel on the Meat Fruit look “just so”). Even
if you’ve already been to Dinner, these parts will make you see the food there
in a new light.
A typical Heston recipe for a quick week-night supper. Although apparently a bit to much for poor Mr Levy... |
The Heston
recipes themselves are unabashed full-fat restaurant versions of the dishes.
Obviously it’s impractical to pull most of these off at home with a centrifuge,
a vacuum packer and an awful lot of time (something Paul Levy of the Telegraph rather
shrilly takes issue with), but that’s not the point. What you do get from
the pages-long recipes is an understanding of why restaurant cooking is
profoundly different from home cooking, and how the sum of many small touches
and components can create something truly magical. This is a book to imbibe,
not to cook from.
Enter the ammanuensis
This bloke co-writes all of
Heston's books (Linkedin)
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It’s
probably also worth a call-out at this point to Heston’s superb co-writer Pascal Cariss. The use of barely-credited ghostwriters
is a fact of life in the modern food industry - of course no one's going to think Heston wrote over four hundred pages of culinary musings by himself. But I do think the lack of recognition they
get is a genuine scandal. We’ll never know how much of the book is Pascal rather than Heston, but I suspect it’s quite a lot.
Heston does (eventually) give him due credit, but unless you get to halfway down the first paragraph of page 426, you'll never know. I do think even a small byline on the spine or even the frontispiece might be a nice idea (ghostwriters occasionally get billing in US cookbooks, but normally only if they are big-name food journos). Surely it won't make that much of a difference to all that gorgeous design?
When does "inspired by" become "vaguely something to do with"?
And while I'm on a critical theme, I do think that on occasion Heston stretches the historical
connection/inspiration too far. For example, Rice & Flesh may be inspired
by a medieval English conconction, but it looks suspiciously to me like a posh
risotto Milanese (right down to the saffron flavouring and using Gualtiero
Marchesi’s technique of finishing with acidulated butter). I think to say this foreign plate is forever England pushes it a teeny bit too far.
Also the
Tart of Strawberries (lovely though it sounds) has virtually nothing to do with its
alleged inspiration – Heston happily admits to swapping out the original
cinnamon and ginger for chamomile and mint because he thought it went better.
It’s certainly a fine dish which reeks of summer, but again the connection sounds a bit too generic to be convincing.
Sauce Robert: Coming soon to a supermarket near you. |
And his
Sauce Robert nags me. The justification for including this traditional French concoctions seems to be that Antonin Careme (Famous chef. Frustrated architect. Extremely French) had a brief residency at the Brighton Pavilion and therefore anything he cooked is English by adoption (by this rationale it's equally Russian, given he also worked for Tsar
Alexander I). To add insult to injury it’s then served alongside an Iberico pork
chop (although on a positive note those nice people at Waitrose now sell genuine Heston Sauce Robert in a packet - though no sign of them stocking pluma Iberico anytime soon).
But to be
honest these are a minority of the cases. For most of the recipes I can clearly
follow Heston’s thought process. And the remainder are not less delicious for
the lack of it.
The Recipes
Meat
Fruit and other illusions
There are
twenty eight recipes in total, starting with Rice & Flesh (c.1390) and
ending some six centuries later with Mock Turtle Soup c.1892). The ones that
will attract the most attention are the great signature dishes from Dinner –
the Meat Fruit and the Tipsy Cake.
The Meat
Fruit recipe has been published in
various forms before, but this is the first time the full-fat recipe has
made an appearance. The original inspiration was actually quite different from
the modern dish – Pome Dorres,
spit-roast balls of pork mince, covered in a paste of flour and sugar and made
to look like apples. As Heston says, his reinterpretation
Was to take advantage of the latest equipment and create a meat fruit that the medieval chef could only dream of. A dish that, were he transported to my kitchen in a time machine, would appeal to his wit and-who knows?-perhaps the cunning in his bowels as well.
The Meat Fruit parfait has a surprising amount in common
with the recipe in MPW's Canteen Cuisine
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Leaving
aside the bowels of medieval chefs, what we end up with is the iconic
foie-gras-chicken-liver-parfait-dressed-as-a-mandarin we know so well.
Actually the
parfait itself is relatively undemanding. Although Heston doesn't mention it, I'd put good money on the parfait recipe being nicked from Marco Pierre White (remember Heston trained briefly at Harveys). For a start, the ingredients (see pic right) are pretty much identical. Also the method that follows is pretty much identical: 1) reduce booze and aromatics, 2) chop livers and gently heat (Heston uses sous vide at this point, MPW just takes it to just above blood heat), 3) blitz with lots of butter and egg and finish in a bain marie. There are a lot of alternate ways of making a liver parfait; the fact both have chosen the same way is unlikely to be a coincidence.
The point is that people who go to Dinner and rave about how amaaaazing the Meat Fruit tastes really shouldn't. You could have had the same mouthful at The Restaurant Marco Pierre White nearly twenty years ago. What they are right to rave about is the skill with which the balls of parfait are dressed up as perfect mandarins, particularly the magic on the mandarin jelly "peel". The trick (which Heston stumbled upon by accident) is to
freeze the fruit before the second dipping, to create the distinctive dimpled
finish:
The Meat Fruit recipe in all its glory (click image for more detail) |
Actually the idea of trompe l’oeil – making a dish look like something else – is a recurring
theme in this book. It’s also deployed in the Sambocade, where a goat and elderflower
cheesecake is made up to look exactly like a log of ash-rolled goats cheese,
and in Wassail, an bracing Autumn dessert where a fake apple is fashioned from
apple mousse and gel and served alongside caramelised brioche tarts which are
charred to look like tree stumps.
It’s seem
most exuberantly though Verjus in Egg, a dessert made to look for all the world
like a perfectly boiled egg. Now trompe l’oeil eggs are nothing new (for many
years Martin Blunos served a famous Boiled
Egg & Soldiers dessert at his two-starred Lettonie). However Heston
takes it to a new level by crafting the entire egg-shell from paper-thin
chocolate (white on the inside, brown on the outside), which is presented whole and then cracked open to reveal a just-poached pannacotta “white” and mandarin-puree
“yolk”.
The only ingredient missing from this dish is actually... Egg! |
A
very, very tipsy cake
Tipsy Cake at Dinner
(Wikimedia Commons)
|
Tipsy Cake
is Dinner’s other great creation: a boozy caramelised cake, served in a cocotte
with a shard of pineapple from Dinner’s steampunk rotisserie.
This recipe
is published for the first time in this book, and it’s a humdinger. Like the
Meat Fruit, the basic components are surprisingly simple. The cake itself is
little more than a straightforward brioche dough baked in a pot (not dissimilar
a German pudding called the Dumph Noodle).
But, as with
many recipes in this book, the magic is in the small details. Instead of
soaking the brioche in alcohol at the start (too boozy), Heston concocts a
cooking cream of sauternes, brandy, demerara and whipping cream which gradually
bastes the bread as it cooks. Then to finish the cocottes go on a hot pizza
stone to crisp up the bottom, and a final lick of brandy gives the requisite
kick.
The full recipe for Dinner's legendary Tipsy Cake. |
The funny
thing is that when you get to the restaurant it is the smoky roasted pineapple
on its gleaming rotiesserie that grabs all the attention for this dish. But for
me it is the brioche which is the epitome of the chef’s craft – great cooking
is the sum of many small things done right.
Crab
loaf, pigs ears and mock turtles
Buttered Crab Loaf. Not a siphon in sight. |
Of course
there are many other recipes which stand out in this book. The Buttered Crab
Loaf for one – basically a savoury French toast made by soaking bread with a
creamy crab bisque. It’s one of those things which is just stands on its own as
an excellent idea (and owes little or nothing, I might add, to molecular
tomfoolery).
Ragoo of
pigs ears is another one which just sounds like great fun to eat. Pigs ears braised in pigs ear sauce on toast
topped with crispy pigs ears. Just the thing to terrify your vegetarian friends
with.
And that’s
not forgetting the puddings. Begging Mr Levy’s pardon, but the Quaking Pudding
is nothing more complicated than a simple set custard garnished with some
quick-pickled apple. The magic is in fine-tuning the exact proportions for a
perfect texture – thankfully Heston has done all the hard work for us. Even the
most curmudgeonly of Telegraph hacks should be able to manage that.
However the
tour de force is the final recipe – a Mock Turtle Soup which features on the
tasting menu at The Fat Duck. Again I think this is the first time the recipe
has emerged in print (the dish was developed shortly after the first Fat Duck
book came out) – but either way it’s a corker: A three page recipe for an a la minute beef and mushroom consommé
served with mock turtle eggs (made of turnip and swede), cubes of ox tongue,
cucumber and truffle accompanied by a side of egg, truffle and bone marrow
salad sandwiches.
Mock Turtle Soup with various truffley bone-marrowy sandwichy things. :-p |
It sums up
all that Heston has been trying to achieve with this book. It’s historical.
It’s modern. It’s inspired.
Postscript - Will we get Historic Heston on a budget??
One last
point; if the £120 list price of this one scares you off remember that a year
after publication the £150 Big Fat Duck Cookbook was reprinted as the £40 Fat
Duck Cookbook with virtually all of the original content intact. I’ve got no
particular insight into whether Bloomsbury do the same with this one (it makes
sense to follow the same strategy, but having splashed out for the original
I’ll be a bit hacked off if they do), but if you don’t HAVE TO have this volume
right now it might be holding off til the Autumn just in case.
EDIT (Jul-14): Yup looks like I was spot-on. Cut-price version just announced - $65 vs. $135 for the original! Out in October...
EDIT (Jul-14): Yup looks like I was spot-on. Cut-price version just announced - $65 vs. $135 for the original! Out in October...
Post-post script - A few more pics I've thrown in for good measure
Just because the photography really is that good - especially Romas Foord's retro-still life work: (clicking should open up a larger version):
Historical Still Life: Taffety Tart |
Historical Still Life: Powdered Duck |
Historical Still Life: Buttered Crab Loaf |
Modern Dish: Hash of Snails |
Modern Dish: Tart of Strawberries |
Modern Dish: Wassail (trompe l'oeil apples and apple tarts charred to look like hewn wood) |
I just stumbled upon your blog and I am having a blast! Thanks for all these wonderful reviews.
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful post, thanks for sharing! Food history is an under rated aspect of history and I also love your inclusion of his ghost writer!
ReplyDeleteX
Thanks.
DeleteGhost writers are criminally under-appreciated. Although I guess that is partyl the point...
Very interesting article.
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