The (Perhaps Surprising) Joys of English Food

England may have history and it may have culture, but there is a general consensus around the world that English food is just not good. There are bangers and mash (sausage and potatoes), tatties and neaps (potatoes and turnips), English breakfast, fish and chips, Cornish pasties, and all sorts of filled pies.

Despite the stereotype, I am quite fond of all of the above.

Some of my favourite (English) writers characterized the label best, like Virginia Woolf in ‘To the Lighthouse’ with: “What passes for cookery in England is an abomination … It is putting cabbages in water. It is roasting meat till it is like leather. It is cutting off delicious skins of vegetables … A whole French family could live on what an English cook throws away," and W. Somerset Maugham who said: "To eat well in England you should have breakfast three times a day."


Well, I agree about the breakfast. While I do miss real Canadian bacon and maple syrup (not necessarily in combination) along with my favourite weekend brunch spots in Toronto, I am also rather fond of the spread that counts as a proper English breakfast here: bacon, sausage, eggs, cooked tomatoes, baked beans (I could take or leave these), toast, and sometimes black (also known as blood) pudding.

The latter is probably the most disturbing, but actually quite tasty when it is done well. It is a type of sausage that is made by cooking blood with a filler – typically oatmeal, barley, bread or suet – until it is thick enough to congeal when cooled. According to my father, it originated during bitter-cold famines in northern Scotland when peasants simply bled their farm animals and mixed it with whatever was lying around so that they could infuse some protein into their diet. Yes, it sounds gross but is not at all bad. Not quite as tasty as haggis – my favourite Scottish dish – but I will break down that one once I return from my homeland in mid-August.

I think I could write a weekly blog on food over here, because I am constantly discovering weird combinations, flavours and names for things. I have had prawn cocktail crisps, curry on my chips, the delicious Branston pickle in ploughman sandwiches, more malt vinegar than any person needs, and squash (which is essentially concentrated juice that you dilute with water).

Besides the weird and the wonderful, there are also amazing cheeses, cured meats and outstanding beers, proper English tea, and all sorts of delicious fish and game birds (At my cousin’s one evening, I ate a pheasant that was so freshly killed that I got a little shot in my mouth). For me, Borough Market is the best place to find all these cheeses and meats, plus amazing beer-battered fish and chips, the best cup of coffee in the city, falafels, raclette, fresh fruit and veg, and a selection of curries one could only dream of.

It is my favourite Saturday excursion and, this past weekend while my friend Paul was visiting, I had my most learned outsider tour of the market. You see, Paul is currently working as a chef at a Michelin-star restaurant in Paris and knows more about food – where it comes from, how to cook it – then anyone really needs to. Saturday morning at Borough Market was just the opening of my culinary education that spanned the six days he was in London.

Part of living in an amazing city like London is dining out at amazing restaurants. I have been to some truly outstanding Thai, Japanese, Indian, French, Cuban, Spanish, Turkish and Greek establishments in my 10 months here. When Paul arrived he had a few choice spots he wanted to check out as well but he also wanted to cook a little something up for us. So, after spending far too long at Tesco’s, we returned to Marge’s flat one night, laden with grocery bags and watched the magic happen.

The homemade burgers – consisting of ground beef and pork, chopped parsley, shallots, eggs, and more – were about to hit the hob when suddenly the power went out. Gathering on the stoop with neighbours and multiple bottles of wine we waited out the blackout. We started off very hungry, then rather drunk, and ended up having a hilarious evening with local West Kensingtonians, the culmination of which was a spectacular 1:30 am feast of homemade Shropshire cheese burgers and a delicious, simple, salad of rocket, tomatoes, parmesan, lemon and E.E.V.O. Thanks Paul!

I was unable to partake in the big feast out that week because I had a work dinner with my editorial team, hosted by a company that specializes in the communication of employee benefits and pension schemes. It actually turned into two big feasts out. My work dinner was at the Coq D’Argent, a gorgeous French rooftop restaurant at 1 Poultry Street. It started with cocktails on the gardened terrace followed by, for me, my first oyster, a sumptuous piece of foie gras, duck confit and crème brulee, interspersed with multiple bottles of superb French wine. It was gluttonous and incredible. The rather large oyster went down smoothly, the foie gras blew my mind, the duck melted in my mouth, and the crème brulee was perfection. The only complaint was that the service was slow and kind of discourteous. It was just like being in France.

Around 11 pm I hopped in a cab and headed up to Smithfield where I found Paul and Marge, plus Michelle and Dom, at St. John’s, a truly English restaurant (especially when compared to the French restaurant I had just dined at) that celebrates eating the animal from head to tail. My friends had eaten all sorts of delicacies – Marge even ate ox heart! I showed up for the best part of the night: dessert. I snagged a few bites of Paul’s crème brulee ice cream and some of the freshest madeleines ever (literally made while we waited). It was the climax of a week of absolutely great food.

I could write much more in this blog about all the interesting food in England. Even if some of it is not technically English food, the melting pot of ethnic flavours in this country is enough to rebuff the stereotypes of eating in England. And then there are the standard staples that I mentioned above. I mean, if you really think about it, at least England has defining foods – even it they are fish and chips or steak and kidney pie. In Canada, we don’t really have a cross-country standard dish, just a favourite in each province. (Poutine in Quebec, beef in Alberta, salmon in BC or lobster in PEI). Even if it might be in a mocking tone, at least people talk about the food in England.