By Dereck Foster
For the Herald

Words and acts can, far too frequently, fail to agree when set up for comparison. Never more so in matters gastronomic, and in gastronomy, never more so than when the eternal question of what is true English cuisine arises. Leaving aside the snide (frequently French accented) remark that one cannot discuss something which does not exist, it is no easy matter to pinpoint a basic theme or style that cries out, loud and clear: "I am the true son of bonny St. George."

The two main sources which provide much, if not all, the material on which we base our investigations, are to be found on the printed page - either when it comes to general description or down to earth practical recipes. We read of banquets and meals groveling in piles of pheasant, salmon, wild boar, saddles of beef, venison, oysters and many items which, thanks to the insatiable appetite of man are now but memories, or so rare that they are protected by law.

These descriptions open up in our minds visions of meals of superb elegance and succulence such as we can rarely conceive today. However, these images are governed by our modern standards of kitchen skills and customs, prepared by professionals who can be relied upon to provide genuine pleasures.

If, however, we delve a little deeper into our printed pages, we frequently - very frequently - discover that while the will was there, the way was definitely off the mark. Forget Escoffier, Tailevent and Careme who, we can safely assume, were skilled artisans who knew how to cook, and did so. They are but a meager minority among an overwhelming majority whose actions in a kitchen were more deserving of a prison sentence than a Michelin star. According to Philippa Pullar, in her captivating book Consuming Passions, one of the least important qualifications required to be hired as a cook in a respectable English household was knowledge of cooking. Religious background and a habit of attending regular Sunday church was far more important than frying an egg correctly. Mrs. Battiscombe, in her book Mrs Gladstone writes: "Engaged a cook after a long talk on religious affairs." A seminarian, it would appear, faced a far easier future in a kitchen than in a kirk.

Even cooks with some skills and reputations did not always make the mark. Careme wrote with disgust that English cooks were a stingy lot, presenting time and again the same elaborate center piece at dinners, dusting them carefully after each event and storing them away until the next occasion.
Frank Harris, who apart from a well defined taste for the female sex, also considered himself a gourmet, wrote that "the English ideal of cooking is the best in the world. The drawback is that England has scarcely any cooks."

Another literary figure with a fine tooth at table was Nathaniel Hawkins, who described English meals as a series of "joints, joints, joints." He went on to say that "sometimes a meat pie which, if you eat it, gives you the idea of having eaten scraps of other people's dinners."
Heine chimes in with a German warning, imploring "heaven keep every Christian from their gravies."

It is thus fairly evident that good ingredients are not enough. Skill must be applied to give them the presence and importance that each requires. Reading about what the objective was and discovering how poorly that objective was reached - if at all - is a lapidiary comment that requires no further explanation, save that it is upon this foundation that the image of English cooking is founded. It is not enough to recall that the French have, however reluctantly, conceded that a good English Roast Beef is better than anything they have ever produced. A reputation cannot be built on one achievement alone - at least, not at table.