What's for dinner? by Janie Hampton

'Simple but appetising' minced meat pie. Woman's Own, 1964

When Mary Gallati wrote her Hostess Dinner Book in 1953, she thought her recipes were the height of modern cooking. Reading it nearly 70 years later, it has become social history. Mary Gallati was the daughter of Italian restaurateur Mario Gallati, who co-founded 'The Ivy' restaurant in London in 1917. Thirty years later he opened the equally famous ‘Le Caprice’ restaurant behind The Ritz Hotel in Piccadilly.

July by Raymond E Meylan

In 1953, food rationing in Britain had another year to go, making fourteen years of miserable meals. The restrictions on the sale and purchase of all types of food, including bread, meat and eggs became even stronger after the end of the Second World War. People were fed up with dried eggs, tinned Spam, limited fruit, and the expense of using the black market. They were ready for something new, and Mary was ready to show them how to entertain. She wanted to share her cooking skills with post-war Britons. Her recipes were designed to fit the seasons, so she offered roast woodcock and ‘fried éperlans’ (smelts, a small fish) in March; and ‘kid au romain’ and shrimp cocktail in April. Lobsters and ‘potatoes parisienne’ feature in May, as do copious eggs and butter in preparation for when rationing was over.

April by Raymond E Meylan

However, tastes and ingredients were not as culturally diverse as they are now. Even Gallati with her Italian background, only used garlic sparingly. Avocadoes were a rare treat reserved for dinner parties, not for every-day sandwiches. Other ingredients were available. Not many recipe books now would include gulls eggs, smoked eel or 'cannelloni stuffed with calves' brains'. Duck aux cerises froides (duck with cold cherries) involved crushing the cherry stones to retrieve the tiny nuts. Aspic appears often, an ingredient my mother used  50 years ago for parties. With aspic and jelly moulds, she could make one chicken and tin of peas feed 20 people. I remember being surprised by old men saying with glee, ‘Mmmm, aspic! I haven’t had that since the nursery!’ Egg en gelée is poached eggs in aspic. To achieve that special 1950s look, you could mix aspic with mayonnaise (homemade, obviously) before piping it artistically onto your fish. Remember ‘Russian salad’? Tiny cubes of carrots and turnips with peas, mixed into mayonnaise, served in tomatoes with their insides scooped out, and a touch more aspic. Don’t forget the sprig of parsley!

The days of tiny supermarket trolleys, trendy baskets
and kitten heels!  Photo by Tesco Stories, 1963.

Gallati also suggested which drinks to serve, including cocktails. In January, one could drink ‘Peter Pan’, made from equal parts of gin, French vermouth, orange juice and peach bitter. Shaken not stirred, as is August’s ‘Highland Cooler’ of whisky, bitters and lemon. Whereas July’s Pimms no.1 demanded No Shaking.

February by Raymond E Meylan

The illustrations by Raymond E. Meylan still look modern – stark black and white ink drawings adorn the start of each month’s recipes. They remind me of 1950s tiles or Heal’s fabric, and would work well as tapestry designs. Meylan also designed logos for chemical companies in the 1960s, when abstract corporate logos were all the rage.

March by Raymond E Meylan

I love the mixture of French and English to give the recipes continental class, such as ‘carrots vichy’ and ‘crayfish a la russe’. ‘Moussaka á l’algerienne’ brought together Greece, France and North Africa. At my very first dinner party, cooked on my 13th birthday for six school friends, the menu I wrote by hand stated ‘Saucissons en toade dans une hole.’ Maybe Mary Gallati’s French was as bad as mine, and she just didn’t know the word for carrot or crayfish? Like Gallati, I also tried the latest pudding – Baked Alaska. Only I had never seen one, just heard about it. So the cake underneath was soggy, the meringue  chewy, and the ice cream completely melted. My friends claimed to be delighted by the glacé cherries sprinkled all over it.

'Three Course Dinner cooked in a pressure cooker'.
Why does it look so unappetizing? Maybe because it's served on school plates.
Woman's Own Cook Book, 1964.

If only I had used the Woman’s Own Cook Book of 1964 which has handy tips on ‘The etiquette of dining’, such as how to cut a grapefruit, and where to place the glacé cherry. I didn’t know that ‘the chief male guest sits on the hostesses right, and the chief woman guest on the host’s right.’ Woman’s Own usefully pointed out that if there were eight people round the table, the sexes couldn't alternate and ‘adaptations are made at the host’s end.’ How confused the hostess of the 1960s would be by same sex couples, and non-binary people. The ‘chief duties of the host are pouring out wine and carving.’ Thank goodness nowadays, we can pour our own wine, and carving meat is a rare occurrence at a dinner party.

An exciting dinner party in 1964.
Which side of the hostess will the chief guest sit? 

How do these colour photos make the food look clean but cold and dull? 
Woman’s Own Cook Book, 1964.  

The chapter about children’s food insisted that they needed bland, tasteless, preferably steamed, mush – what we used to call ’Nursery food.’ Oat or barley ‘Jelly’ was recommended to build up weak children, and raw beef juice ( i.e. watered down blood) for delicate and anaemic babies. Colour, experimentation and taste were not encouraged.

'All-on-a-level kitchen', Woman's Own 1964.
I've often dreamed of a tidy kitchen like this,
and to wear kitten heels for cooking. 

My favourite chapter, one that clearly demonstrates how things have changed, was ‘Routine for Putting on Weight’. ‘Plenty of rest and exercise, a good diet of fattening foods and no worries – those are the essentials.’ The underweight reader was encouraged to stay in bed after breakfast; eat plenty of cake and ice cream; avoid green vegetables, salads, vinegar and egg white; and drink more cocktails. That’s a diet to aspire to!

Here are some recipes from Mary Gallati’s Hostess Dinner Book:
August: Sweetbreads Maréchale Place 2 large sweetbreads (lamb’s pancreas) in water and boil. Cool and remove fat and sinew. Cut into slices, roll in breadcrumbs and shallow-fry. Garnish with points of asparagus. Pour melted butter over . [Note to reader: à la maréchale is a French phrase for cooking food à l'anglaise ("English-style"), i.e. coated with bread crumbs and fried.] 

December: Smoked Eel. Cut into 3 inch sections. Garnish with quartered lettuce and tomato. Pass round horseradish sauce separately. Horseradish sauce: 4 tablespoons fresh grated horse-radish. ½ teaspoon salt. 1 ½ tablespoons vinegar. ½ cup cream. Cayenne pepper. Mix, add cream beaten stiff.

May by Raymond E Meylan

 www.janiehampton.co.uk

DINNER.

by Antonia Senior

I am a glutton  foodie. I like eating, cooking and reading about food, although the gourmet spirit in me is somewhat crushed these days by the fishfinger-and-bakedbeans carousel of having fussy children.

In all the periods I have written about or researched, one of the most joyful parts has been thinking about the food. My excitement was feverish last term when my eight year old had to prepare food for a Roman feast at school. I reached for my books, lectured her on Apicius and the mis-labelling by history of the Epicureans.

'Can we just make some honeycakes from the internet, Mum?'
'No! What about a stuffed pigeon? Or olive and celery pate? Or smoked fish in vine leaves? Or...'
'Um. Can we just make some honeycakes from the internet?'
'Garum! Let's make garum!'

So we experimented with anchovies and a grape juice reduction, using a recipe from this brilliant book: https://www.amazon.co.uk/d/Books/Roman-Cookery-Ancient-Recipes-Kitchens-Mark-Grant/1897959605/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1486827589&sr=8-1&keywords=mark+grant+roman+cookery

The garums was, you will be astonished to hear, utterly grim. We sent it into school (with some honeycakes, of course). The teacher let some of the revolted children try it. One of them knocked it over, and it fell on the carpet, drenching the floor in a pungent fishy mess.

The teacher assures me that the classroom still smells of fish when the radiators are fierce - she is remarkably nice about it.

Alongside the disastrous garum, I have had a few successes - the 17th century meat stuffed cabbage in blackberry sauce thing was lush. The braised cucumber from Rome was surprisingly delicious.

Given my interest, then, I was seriously excited to find myself at Heston Blumenthal's Dinner for my wedding anniversary this month. Dinner serves dishes (at eye-watering prices) which draw on England's rich culinary past. (By the way, Victorians are to blame for the perceived blandness of English food - pre-Victorian cookbooks are absolutely full of interesting recipes and exotic spice.)

Each item on the menu at Dinner comes with the date and source of the recipe that inspired it. I stuck mainly to the seventeenth century - my new book, The Tyrant's Shadow, is set in 1650s London, and I felt I should be loyal.

I started with the Savoury Porridge, with frog's legs, parsley and fennel, from 1660. The source is The Whole Body of Cookery Dissected by William Rabisha.

My rubbish camera phone makes this look a little pond-like. But it was vibrant, and fresh, and unctuous all at the same time. The little froggy bonbons were worth the cover price on their own. The whole thing was a delight - and tasted of hope and joy. It made me think of the date - of 1660. Too much to read into a bowl of porridge, perhaps, but I thought of the wave of joy that year as the King returned. It made me think of the contradictions of the Restoration - of Charles 2 himself, with his lush side and his scientific mind and his ability to balance different factions by always seeming to agree with everyone.

My husband, who was very tolerant about me snapping the food with my phone for this blog and wittering on about the tenuous links between Frog Porridge and the Restoration (I married him for a reason*!), had Salamagundy. This was an eighteenth century concoction of Chicken Oysters, salsify, marrowbones, horseraddish cream and pickled walnuts from The Cook's and Confectioner's Dictionary by John Nott. I'd love to tell you what it tasted of, but I did not get a chance as he had snaffled it all while I was still working myself into a metaphorical frenzy over the frogs.

This, however, is what it looked like:

The main courses were not quite as mind-blowing - but still amazing. I had Chicken cooked with lettuces from 1670 - the source was The Queen Like Closet by Hannah Wolley.

Crisp-skinned chicken sitting on spiced celeriac, with braised lettuce and extra little shards of chicken skin - and other stuff I couldn't identify but was all delicious. The sauce was an onion emulsion. Reader -  Nandos it was not.

For pudding, I abandoned the 17th century and its Taffety Tart, for the brown bread ice cream with salted caramel, pear and malted yeast (1830, A new system of domestic cookery, by Maria Eliza Rundell). My dedication to my period has its limits, and frankly, for a bit of salted caramel I'd write about the economic detail of the industrial revolution. I don't have a picture - my spoon was at its work before the waiter had left the table...

I would highly recommend Dinner to anyone with a historical interest and a futuristic bank balance...
And if you are in the market for historical foody fiction: The new Blake and Avery thriller from MJ Carter, The Devil's Feast is set in the mythically sumptuous kitchens of the Reform club in 1842. It's wonderful mix of food and murder.

Martine Bailey has written two fabulous books which combine gothic horror with culinary delights - the latest is The Penny Heart.

But the best, richest, most unctuous and glorious writing about food I know is in Philip Kazan's Appetite. Set in fifteenth century Florence, it follows the fortunes of Nino - a chef of rare talent. Atmospheric, macabre, sensuous. If you can't be bothered to get all Heston in the kitchen here is my recipe for the absolutely perfect night in when it's sleety and rainy and cold outside.

Take 1 fire. Stoke into warmth and flame.
Take 1 glass of wine. Must be red. Must be dark. Must be the type to make you a bit trembly and sorrowful tomorrow.
Take 1 plate of very pungent cheeses.
Take Appetite by Philip Kazan.
Muffle children. Banish spouse. Euthenise pets.

Mix. and off you go.....


*Ps. This was our 12th wedding anniversary. At our very first meeting, at a karaoke night in a curry house, I reenacted the battle of Thermopylae with the mango chutney and the mint raita. He knew what he was getting into.....

THE 50th ANNIVERSARY GAUDY AT ST HILDA'S COLLEGE, OXFORD by Adèle Geras

I was going to put up the following poem at the end of this piece but conscious of the fact that sometimes people don't read the whole post, I'm putting it right at the top because I want all visitors to this site today to see it. It's published here by kind permission of its author, Wendy Cope, and it is copyright to her, of course.

REUNION

Fifty years have passed since we first met,

And forty seven since we said goodbye,

Embarking on our adult lives – and yet

You are the same, it seems to me. Am I?

Five decades of life, of ups and downs,

Of love and marriage, work and motherhood

And here we are, back in the world of gowns

And college food and essays – and it’s good,

It’s very good, my lovely, clever friends,

To travel to the past and find you here,

To share just one more evening meal that ends

In someone’s room - before we disappear

Into a future, where I’m sad to know

It’s over. It was over long ago.

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On Friday, September 20th, 2013, I travelled by train with my old friend and contemporary, Wendy Cope, from Cambridge to Oxford. We were bound for the Gaudy Dinner, and I had been looking forward to this day for many months. I had filled in the place on the form where it asked us who we'd like to have on the same corridor, as it were, and I just listed all my friends. The result of this was: we were all next to one another which made things very pleasant and facilitated the drinking of cups of tea, gossiping, and generally made all of us feel as though were were quite at home. Anne had the best view and she called us along to look at it.

We had tea. We found out what people had been doing for the last 50 years. We remarked on how very little we'd changed in spite of looking completely different in so many ways. We changed into our glad rags and made our way from Milham Ford, where we were quartered, past South to the new Jacqueline du Pre building. 36 of us were there. Someone from the College took a photo and if I ever get hold of a copy of it, I will post it here on this blog. The Principal addressed us. I can remember being quite intimidated by the Principal in 1963 but now it struck me how young and glamorous she was. She told us about life at St Hilda's since the men had arrived. Their tally of Firsts had gone up and everyone seemed happy with the arrangement, but I rejoiced that the college had been single sex when I was there. Am I an old fogey? I suppose I am, but honestly, if there were men around in the early morning before I had my make up on, I'd have been very disconcerted.

Everyone sat with their old chums. We didn't make an effort to speak or interact with women whom we'd not known when were were young. Was that bad of us? Was it natural? I don't know. What I do know is: it was delightful to catch up with those people we did remember with fondness. Anne, Ann, Wendy, Sian, Liz, another Liz and Esme. We spoke of those friends who were no longer with us, and Wendy made a toast to 'absent friends.' Tamara couldn't be there and neither could Jenny but they'd sent apologies and it's quite possible that now we've all met up again, we might do so informally some other time.

Here's a picture of us during the dinner. It's not a very good shot but if you look carefully you might just see my mugshot staring down from the wall. We were invited to send in a photo on our application form and it was good fun to see everyone displayed like that. After dinner, back we went to Milham Ford. I can honestly say that the only time I was in this building during my time at Oxford was to do Laundry. All the washing machines etc were in there...I lived for all three of my years in a building called Hall, which I always thought of as the main building, but that was perhaps a bit solipsistic! On Saturday morning, I got up early and took a photo of one of the splendid St Hilda's trees

...and went and stood under the window of the very beautiful room I had in my first year, just so that I could photograph the view I had every morning.

And finally, the gates. I've taken two shots of the gates. The first, to set them in context and to show how high and imposing they were....

...and the second to draw attention to those wicked spikes and the general dauntingness of them as things to clamber over in the dark. But I did. I, famous for not being able to climb for toffee, as we used to say; well-known for never having got over a single piece of gym equipment in my entire school career, used to get over these gates. Climb right over them: up one side and down the other. I have no idea at all how I did it. I must have been young.