leyton.org

Yesterday I posted a transcript of the 1967-68 Good Food Guide review of my Grandparent’s restaurant, The Miners Arms. It rather appealed to me for the brief insight into the character of my Grandfather.

Another review followed in 1969-70, and was also available at Thornbury Castle, so I snapped a copy. It too has a wonderful anti-garlic quote (my Grandparents were famous garlic haters), and I love the comments about the size of parties, and opening hours being dependent on the boiler. Marvellous. Note it also got a Good Food Award.

I should stress, the Miners’ Arms is now a residential house (has been for quite some time).

Anyway, without further ado:

PRIDDY, Somerset   Miners’ Arms 4 Miles NW of Wells. Map 2. Priddy 217

Paul Leyton and his wife continue the individuality and excellence of their cuisine and wines at this remote and rather drab-looking inn. It is not even in Priddy, which is remote enough; it stands about two miles to the north-east, at the junction of the B3134 and B3135; a small off-white building. The food is a la carte only; an average lunch will cost you 22/-, and dinner is 27/6, excluding wine; the menu is unusual and imaginative. Among the best dishes are Mendip snails a la sauce du patron, cooked in a mixture of English herbs and ‘not obliterated by garlic’ (1/2 dozen, 6/6); clear snail soup (5/-); quenelles of Chew Valley trout with Normandy sauce (8/- as a starter); chicken in cider (10/0); quenelles of veal with mushroom sauce (11/6 as main dish); smothered chicken (with cream, onions an white wine (9/-); steak Theodora (with herbs), (17/6) ; lemon syllabub (3/6); and Miners’ Delight (cream ice and apricot in a pastry case with hot sherry sauce and cream, 3/6). As is perhaps inevitable in such a position, the deep freeze is used, but if it was always used so skilfully we should not complain. It is no place for large party, as everything is cooked to order. ‘Six is the maximum we can cope with in one party,’ states Mr Leyton, ‘to cook for more at the same time seizes up the kitchen.’ You must be prepared to wait half an hour in the lounge while your starters are cooked and be some time at table. The rooms are rather simple. The wines, about 85 in all, are chosen with great skill, and as things are (alas) can’t be called expensive. Quarter-pint glasses of French red or white cost 3/6 to 4/6; among the more expensive wines, a personal choice would be Ch. La Louviere, white Graves, ‘59 (22/-) or Scholls Bockelheimer ‘64 (21/-) to begin with, Ch. Bourgneuf ‘55 (26/-) or Volnay Caillerets ‘57 (28/-) to follow, and thereafter ask Mr Leyton’s advice.

Cl. Chr. & Boxing Days; probably 2 weeks end Nov/Dec; ‘and when the boiler bursts’. Must book. Meals 11.30-2; (summer) 6-9.45 (Su 7-7.30); (winter) 6.30-8.30 (Sa 9.3, Su 7-7.30). Alc main dishes 5/6 to 17/6. Cover 2/6. Seats 24. Restaurant & residential lic. Car park. No dogs in d/r. B&B from 30/-. STABILISED PRICES

GOOD FOOD AWARD CLASS C

Whilst at a family wedding last week at Thornbury Castle, my father showed me a copy the castle had in its library of the 1967-68 Good Food Guide, which contained a review of my Grandparent’s restaurant, The Miners’ Arms.

My Grandfather died back in 1998 (his obituaries are available to read here), and throughout my life I’ve always been very interested in what he got up, and what people had to say about him. So this rather tickled me, as it gives a bit of insight into my grandfather’s character.

That said, perhaps I’m rather affected by my own memories. Reading it now, I’m sure he probably annoyed a few people in his time with his idea of refusing to serve people particular dishes who ’spoilt their palettes’, but as somebody who’s toes curl whenever I see anybody unthinkingly applying salt to a meal (particularly one I’ve cooked) before tasting it, I can certainly sympathise.

Another anecdote relayed to me by one of my uncles was that of my Grandfather’s refusal to wear a morning suit to his wedding very much the standard custom at the time I gather. Very good to hear of his dislike of tradition, and his independent views very much to the fore.

Anyway, without further ado, here’s the extract from pages 261-262 of the 1967-68 Good Food Guide, by Raymond Postgate.

PRIDDY, Somerset. The Miners’ Arms, near Wells. At junction of B3134 and B3135. Map 2. Priddy. 217

During 1968 Mr and Mrs Paul Leyton, whose cuisine and wines at this whitewashed inn on the Mendip plateau have for six years earned the highest praise members can bestow, became known to an even wider public as the people who turned away ‘a four-guinea orange slubbed silk Cecil Gee roll-neck shirt’. This matter is referred to in the Preface: Mr Leyton’s own staff are informal both in dress and manner. Anyway, in the evening, though not at lunch, women must wear skirts and men jackets, collars and ties. Mr Leyton is strict in other respects, too – he will not service his more delicate dishes to people who insist on spoiling their palate by drinking martinis beforehand – and, not surprisingly, some people think the food does not justify the fuss. But most are content to take the Miners’ Arms on its own terms. Mr Leyton uses his deep-freeze cleverly and defends its use elegantly, but an occasional dish of some freshly-dug and cooked root vegetable might with advantage appear more often on his menus. The restaurant is well known for its morning-gathered Mendip snails (7/6 a half dozen, or 5/- as a clear soup) but for delicacy his quenelles of trout (8/6), or loin of pork smoked in his own vast chumney (7/6) are better starters. Main courses, though very good, especially steak Theodora (rare with herbs, 17/6), are less remarkable. To finish, try orange conserve (5/-). The wine list has been reconstructed: there is still a ‘49 Ch. Petrus (80/-) or a ‘59 Musigny (50/-) or other even dearer bottles for a great occasion, but there are also five simple draught wines at 16/- a pint, and a charming English rose from Lt-Col Gore-Browne’s vineyard at Beaulieu (26/-).

Cl. Chr. & Boxing Days; 3 weeks Nov-Dec; Su D. Must book. Meals 11.30-2; 6-9.45 (winter, 8.30). Alc main dishes 7/6 to 17/6. Cover 2/6. Seats 24. No dogs. B&B from 35/- p.d.

* Class C

App. by too many members to list.

I consider myself an ethical shopper. I endeavour where practical to choose food products that are raised in a considerate and compassionate way, with a concern for the long term sustainability of the product and our environment. This includes local producers (at Glasgow’s Farmers markets), supermarket badged UK Organic produce, or Free range. I’m fortunate that I have money to spare for this choice (although I don’t feel that it’s that much more expensive than many people seem to think), but appreciate that it’s not for everybody. I also like to think that by increasing the demand for such products, prices will start to come more in line with non-organic food, and it will become a more realistic choice for others with more constrained budgets.

I didn’t see all of the recent Horizon programme on ’super foods’, the little I caught it seemed to contain reference to a view being (rightly) dismissed that Organic food is somehow ‘better for you’. Seems strange, but I choose Organic because of what it means to the animals and environment, not to my health. I can do plenty more for my health by cutting out a bit more of the salt, sugar and alcohol I enjoy, in moderation, than eating exclusively organic food.

I’m undecided on taste when it comes to Organic vegetables. I certainly feel that Organic meat, which are more usually free range, non-intensive breeds are tastier (particularly chicken and turkey, which can be horribly intensively raised) if cooked considerately.

But I digress. I do not buy two classes of Organic produce. One is the air-freight variety. Grown in Kenya, Israel or Thailand, or some other reach of the world, and badged Organic, and then stuck in a 747 and flown at great expense across the world to salve my conscience. No thanks. I’d rather buy more local produce that isn’t Organic, than such ‘Organic’.

I also draw the line with the second: Organic Mushrooms. Mushrooms, other than the ones sold in posh delicatessens having been collected in the wild, are almost exclusively grown in artificial, commercially huge sheds (see here), and from what I understand of the process, don’t understand how you can brand mushrooms as Organic. Water, soil, and, er, a large warehouse to grow them in. My reason for choosing Organic pertains to the impact the process has on the land, and commercial mushrooms don’t impact, as far as I understand it, in anything like the same way as growing vegetables. You could perhaps argue that there may be fewer pesticides or fertilisers being used with mushrooms, or a slower growth process, but it just doesn’t feel in the same class of choice as a farmer making a decision to grow his vegetables organically, and going through the long and difficult Organic certification process. Plus, frankly, most ‘button’ or ‘chestnut’ mushrooms in supermarkets are bland and largely tasteless, organic or not.

There is a minefield of choice for the considerate shopper. The process of doing our weekly shop has become politicised, and ‘organic’ and ‘free range’ are becoming a new type of ‘brand’ in themselves. Hopefully the end result will be a more informed public with more information and accurate labelling, enabling them to make genuine and informed choices, that suit every wallet and conscience.

I know roughly where I fall. Do you?

I still can’t think of Masterchef without thinking of Loyd Grossman’s “MaaaaasteurChef” pronounciation, the Sunday evenings at home, and that dark studio with the three coloured kitchens, and the “deliberating, cogitating and digesting” remark he always seemed to use that wore out after the first use.

But the re-invention of the format – with the final episode on tonight – has been an absolute triumph. Until this series, I’d only ever caught it in the ‘Saturday kitchen’ repeats, and normally it was the shorter (but no less serious) ‘celebrity’ version. But this series I’ve seen most of the episodes, and last night I was quite frankly on the edge of my seat watching three amateur cooks cope with cooking a three course meal for cooks with 17 Michelin stars between them. And being given universally excellent praise. OK, they were following a recipe, but they were extraordinarily intricate recipes that were seven hours from start to finish. They pulled off the challenge with aplomb. Oh, and this was the day after cooking for 120 wedding guests: were the bridge and groom mad!?

Normally I avoid ‘reality’ TV shows (does this count as one?), but what I like so much about it is that there is a real and useful skill, with real enthusiasm on display. The contestants really are putting their all in to the challenges. Plus the judges are proving really very good at balancing enthusiasm and praise, with constructive criticism and solid advice.

The three contestants are all very capable cooks. My take is that the winner is going to be either Jonny or James. Emily, whilst clearly talented, struggles under pressure, and whilst has a mature pair of shoulders still has (it would seem) a frustrating teenage self-belief and lack of experience that is her undoing. I’m also baffled why an 18 year old with her educational options in front of her (a place at Oxford!?), is interested in a competition at this stage of her life. If she did this full-time she could go on to great things. Jonny and James seem to be neck and neck at times, with neither getting the edge, and both seem very determined to win, both with serious plans to make (or already have made) changes in their lives. Quite how the judges will separate them I know not. I suspect James could just edge it (being told to ‘give up your day job’ by 2 Michelin star Michael Cane is not to be sniffed at), although Jonny’s recent performances have been excellent too. Very tough decision.

There does appear to be a new seriousness about BBC food programming. Perhaps as a result of Gordon Ramsey on Channel 4? It began to be come through when the new Saturday Kitchen was launched, and they – I think for the first time – got Michelin star chefs doing cookery demonstrations. It’s great to see such esteemed cooks showing how great food can be made. That they are able to get them involved in more programmes – as last night on Masterchef – is also good. Or perhaps the BBC’s budget has been increased enough to afford them?

Whatever the result, the BBC’s food programming has come a long way in the last few years. Channel 4’s too. Not quite sure where ITV is, other than a bizarre Saturday morning programme that seems to be stuck in a strange ready-steady-cook style configuration. It’s not so much as aspiring as trying-too-hard-to-be-realistic. Life Style TV, I suppose, much in the same way as Top Gear isn’t about the cars we’re likely to drive, as a particular outlook on life.

Anyway, I’ll be gripped to the Masterchef final. It’s a long long way from Mr Grossman’s Sunday evening programme, and is really a brilliant and compelling re-invention.

Two brief Glasgow restaurant posts, that seemed as well to roll in to one.

Bouzy Rouge’s Seafood and Grill

We popped along to Bouzy Rouge’s Seafood and Grill on Saturday. We’d hoped to get in somewhere else to be honest, but every restaurant we’d tried was booked up, until we hit on this part of the Bouzy Rouge chain, and they had tables available. Whilst the food tasted very good, we were a bit disappointed for a few reasons:

• We weren’t offered any bread, despite having butter knives on our place settings. When it did arrive, it seemed like a sandwich loaf they’d got down the supermarket rather than anything else.

• Start portion sizes for two of us were rather small, especially given the £8 price tag. Tasted good, but tiny portions at that price tag needed to make you feel really special, and these didn’t. 

• Sluggish service in what was not even a half-full restaurant. If it hadn’t been for a large-ish party in at the time, I’d have been worried! That said, if there had been more diners, I’d have been worried we’d not have had any service at all. Whether it was the fault of the kitchen or the waiting staff, or even my perceptions, I don’t know, but we stated to feel a bit conspicuous as people paid and left.

• Prices seemed generally high for what was on offer.

My suspicion is that the ‘Seafood and Grill’ outlet is perhaps struggling to compete with other, newer fish restaurants in Glasgow, including the town-centre Two fat ladies, and the new Gandolfi fish over in the Merchant City.

Perhaps we hit them on an off day, or just a strangely quiet day. But whilst the food at this restaurant was certainly good, the prices were high and the quality of service too sluggish. We’ll probably not be rushing back.

Miso no more

Whilst heading over to the Bouzy Rouge Seafood and Grill, we walked past Bar Miso, and it appears to be no more. Frances and I had been there a few years back, and really enjoyed it. To see that it had closed down was a shame.

That said, I suppose I’d never quite worked out if it was a bar, club, or restaurant. I fear it was trying to be too many things, and not coming across as anything. If it had been a more focused Japanese restaurant, it would have been a more regular part of our eating, but as it was we always felt out of place squeezed on to some stools, and never too inclined to try booking a table given it always felt more of a bar.

Japanese food has a few remaining outlets in Glasgow. Ichiban, Wagamama, Oko and a few others remain, but there’s still nowhere offering brilliant Sushi (We go to Ichiban when we want such, but I wish they’d be a bit more generous and use better looking/tasting tuna). But Miso going means there’s a Sushi chef there in need of a new outlet, so here’s hoping something new may come along

I’ve previously confessed that I have a bit of a thing about small print. The radio equivalent ‘advert post script’ is particularly enjoyable, as the actor doing the reading has to rattle through the ’small print’ in double quick time, and anybody who’s even paying half a bit of attention will probably pick up it’s not quite an attractive offer as the main body of the advert makes out.

But take any newspaper or magazine advert that reads “Bloody good offer” in large bold type and if there’s not an asterix saying something akin to “Real offer is a bit crap, we just don’t like to say it in a large font size” at the bottom something is probably wrong. You should probably think about complaining. Stick with it though, the real nasty stuff is usually buried deep inside the large paragraph I’m sure they bolster with irrelevancies. “Offer is not suitable for aliens, pianists or people who like jam” etc. They really do hope people don’t read these things. So, of course, I like to*.

Anyway, I digress… Earlier I tucked in to my first Cherry Bakewell in quite a time. Some readers may recall from back in 2004 that I, along with my esteemed co-author Paul, wrote the definitive comparative study of Cherry Bakewells. For reasons I’ll not dwell on, I’ve not had a Cherry Bakewell in a long while. But I saw them in the supermarket last night and decided it was time to revisit this trusty friend. I went for Mr Kipling, as I correctly recalled the Asda ones were “a bit shit” (That’s a technical term).

Opening the box, my secret passion for small print and cherry bakewell tarts collided in a way I’d never thought it would. There was that infamous small print on the front of every piece of food packaging:

Serving Suggestion

Is it just me or are they always statements of the utterly blindingly bloody obvious? Here is some food, and this is how you eat it. One of the oh-so-perfect tarts on the front of Mr Kiplings packaging helpfully has a bite taken out of it, just in case their was any doubt in the matter (to counter the thought that these were a suppository, perhaps?). Sorry about the image, but what else are you supposed to do? Not serve it like that, I hope. Maybe that should be “Eating suggestion”?

The Mr Kipling Cherry Bakewells helpfully have a reinforcing Cherry on the front too, just in case you’re a complete numpty. But complete numpty’s may not know what a Cherry is I suppose… Food packaging as education? It’s been the case with cereals for a long time.

The pictures they use are an art form of course, as has been the case with cover models for a long time. Always perfectly formed, and for many products made to look fresh by being sprayed with water, if not plasticised.

As I think about this (somebody has to; it’s the law), I realise that the supermarkets own ‘Value’ ranges rarely actually feature pictures of the food inside. I’m beginning to wonder if we should be drawing a conclusion from this.

I’ve a tin of Christmas pringles here by me as I type. We got given more party food than we could deal with at New Year, and I’ve remembered why I dislike the homogenised bland and uniform pringle. Or maybe they’re just stale, even though I only opened them yesterday. I’m certainly very disappointed to report that levitating and glowing pringles, as they seem to be on the front of the tin, is not considered a ’serving suggestion’. Maybe they should err on the side of caution and advise such literally? Oh, and more news: “Christmas time is Pringles time!”. Mmmmm.

Ironically, I am actually in a good mood at the moment

* – Well done! Now, keep at it.

A little while back I’d noticed that my website was getting lots of search hits for “Tiddy Oggies”, a variety of which were developed by my grandfather back in the 1960’s alongside snails, of course. It was a pork based pasty (with a nice cheese pastry), and called the “Priddy Oggy” as a play on “Tiddy Oggy”, Priddy being the village in Somerset which my grandfather’s restaurant was located (and I grew up).

I’d been rather perplexed as to where all this traffic was coming from, but Frances popped up to my office earlier to announce she’d stumbled on the reason, and that was the ‘Somerset Tiddy Oggy’ was featuring as a candidate for “Britain’s Best Dish”, on ITV. It seems to have made the cut as the “best starter”, but lost out in the final to the main course.

The “Priddy Oggy” does seem to appear every now and then in various recipe guises – frequently and bizarrely dubbed as “Cornish”, “Celtic” or even “traditional” (I’m puzzled that 1960’s culinary concoctions can be construed as such!). So I don’t think I’m stretching things that far to suggest that this recipe is in many ways a derivative of my grandfathers own. But certainly I could be getting a bit carried away after Wednesday’s Snail segment on BBC1 West.

No matter, I can’t help but get a little excited by the thought that my grandfathers culinary legacy is being picked up all over again, and I’m very minded to see about transcribing some of the other recipes I have available. LLEBS anyone?

BBC West had a special programme tonight that tackled a subject dear to my heart: Snails. And how to eat them.

The programme I gather will appear is here at www.bbc.co.uk/insideout/west/

I had a brief e-mail exchange earlier this year with the chap behind the programme, as – like many other people – he’d come across my transcript of my grandfather’s recipe that was the origin of the “1960’s popularity”. You can read the comment (no. 3) that started it all.

A number of villagers – including Pat and Bob Reynold’s (who were the last to serve snails at the Miners’ Arms) and my parents – helped prepare the snails and appear in the segment. Quite how much of them is shown is still to be seen. Editors decisions being final and all that. My parents appear at 12.50; Bob and Pat feature strongly. Plenty of references to my grandfather too. Marvellous. Just wish the presenter didn’t go “oh, but not me!” after everybody else seemed to rather like them.

But it’s great to hear that the owner of the Old Spot in Wells is sounding keen to put them on his menu. We had the pleasure of eating at the restaurant ourselves a while back, and it was very nice indeed. Putting snails on the menu is certain to get me back again! Especially if he’s to use the recipe my grandfather was so successful with so many years back.

See also:

• The website post that accompanies the programme

I work from home for a number of clients, and whilst it does have a lot of drawbacks, there are a couple of things I’ve become quite fond of in recent months. Perhaps surprisingly, for somebody who isn’t really much of a morning person, my morning breakfast routine has become perhaps the best overall part of the day.

Thinking back I’ve never really been that much of a breakfast person. That said, I think it’s mainly London that I didn’t ‘do’ breakfast: At university I might have grabbed a bowl of crunchy-nut cornflakes or something, in Duesseldorf a ‘Brötchen mit Käse und Schinken, bitte‘ (that’s a cheese and ham roll) and gloriously strong coffee. In London however, the stress of the morning rush hour meant that most of the time I’d skip breakfast, preferring to get a coffee and a sandwich/pastry/bun closer to the office. This even became the norm when working in central Glasgow.

I have now come to realise that caffeine depletion is, perversely, a Good Thing to maintain when dealing with the hum-drum or tedious. The fuzzy haze that hangs about is a great aid in getting through the journey to work, or dealing with something really rather dreary (in my central Glasgow case, dealing with Lotus Notes and tedious overnight e-mails; Oh, and the job itself). I really do pity the poor souls who don’t have this otherwise negative affliction when standing in a crammed tube, train or bus. iPod’s can only get you so far…

Anyway, back to the breakfast routine. The fuzzy-haze thing is good for getting the porridge done. Yes, I’m a porridge person these days. Although summer starting to show some tentative signs of appearing has reinvigorated my weetabix-and-fruit notion. Microwave porridge sachets from quaker or whomever is a stroke of genius I tell you. Sure, it’s overloaded with sugar, but that’s a good thing too. A big glass of orange juice (A large bottle of tropicana has become a regular purchase/treat; Supermarket own orange juice is just awful in comparison). I’ll munch and slurp these things as I get through the initial checks and e-mails.

But it’s the coffee that’s glorious. With my ‘Fellowship of the Ring’ mug that for some inexplicable reason I’ve developed a strong preference for (I’ll even wash it when it’s at hand, rather than grab a comparable one that might be clean). Frances noted the ‘Not suitable for Dishwashers and microwaves‘ instruction on it’s base just the other day. Oooops. Oh well, three years of dishwasher and microwave re-heats haven’t done it any harm so far. I’d also wondered why the mug got hot instead of the liquid when in the microwave. Now I know… But I’m wary that it may all go horribly wrong very very suddenly. Probably over my new computer if I’m not careful… And that’d be a bad start to the day.

The taste of coffee is of course perfection in a cup. But the smell of the coffee brewing downstairs is a delight that heralds the treat ahead. Traipsing downstairs after having eaten my breakfast to get my first cup is anticipation itself. I feel like a cartoon character being dragged by their nose by the alluring smell of a freshly baked pie…. (Why is it always on the window ledge? That’s a silly place to put it!)

Then the initial flow of caffeine back into the bloodstream, and then the brain and enthusiasm get going.

Yes, coffee. It’s great. Both it’s absence – strictly for dealing with the mundane of course; But by far the better is of course the delight of imbibing it, absorbing it, making it one with you. Marvellous.

The only problem is the rest of the day. It’s sadly only downhill now…

At least until the next cup.

You don’t think I waste any of the coffee in my coffee pot do you?

I’m sorry to report that a dear friend that had become an integral part of my life has very recently departed. This has left me feeling somewhat at a loss for a few days, although I seem to have found a way of coping with this most unexpected of exits. This is probably the reason I’ve not posted much in the last few days. It’s tough dealing with loss, as I’m sure every reader can relate.

You see every morning for the last couple of years this close friend has felt like, no not ‘felt like’, was an integral part of my morning routine. It really felt like we knew each other in a very intimate way. We certainly had a mutual dependency that, I like to think, made my friend feel they were instrumental in my productivity – I certainly felt I couldn’t go about my day without our brief encounters each morning.

The first signs of a serious problem only occurred one day before they departed. I put it down then to my being distracted with work pressures, but I fear they knew the severity of the situation better than I. In retrospect, it felt an altogether mournful day, despite it’s successes in other fields. So the sad reality dawned the next morning (Wednesday just passed), when they weren’t there to great me with the usual aplomb I’ve really come to expect.

In the few days since the departure, I’ve struggled to cope. I found solutions to my pangs, but it really wasn’t the same. No excited look about it when I saw it, and so much more effort that really didn’t work for me in the same way.

So today I went to look for new member of my family. All struck me in different – exiting – ways, each with their own unique appeal. However, whilst you can’t really rush a decision like this, my internet searching hadn’t revealed many candidates, so I ultimately decided that I should go for the first that jumped out as me, without breaking the bank. I made my choice, and I think it’s fair to say I await our first full encounter with some trepidation: They are big boots you are filling, but ultimately I think the relationship should be one of mutual benefit and pleasure, although I feel I need to stay current with developments, just in case.