Off the Towpath in London: Nitro Ice Cream, Bacon, and Eels

Part One: Little Venice to Camden Market and Chin Chin Labs

A late October visit to London began sunny and warm. It seemed like a good idea to spend our first jet-lagged day there on a narrow boat gliding along Regent’s Canal through Little Venice to Camden Lock. While we didn’t spot any gondoliers, it was a nice change from the usual circuit of Important Historical Edifices.


Mayflower, Little Venice by Josephine2004, on Flickr

According to our guide on the Jason, narrow boats transported the materials that built 19th century London. They supplied the city with coal and other commodities, competing with the railways through the post-WWII period. The traditional Roses and Castles decoration of the narrow boats reflects the countryside heritage of the families that once made their living on the waterways. While commercial traffic on the canal ceased in the 1960’s, a tight-knit community of narrow boat residents continues to live in London.


Narrow Boats at Moorings, Regents Canal, London by Josephine2004, on Flickr

The towpaths still show evidence of rope marks. We spotted no horses; however, the canal route appears quite popular with bicyclists, runners, and families with baby carriages. Commuting by bicycle along the Regent’s Canal has become more common in the wake of the 2005 bombings in the London Tube, according to Wikipedia.


Along the Towpath, London by Josephine2004, on Flickr

The most unexpected sight of the trip was the neighborhood Chinese restaurant – a floating one. We did not disembark for any duck sauce.


Chinese Restaurant, Little Venice by Josephine2004, on Flickr

The canal played an important role in culinary history as well. A Swiss confectioner and chocolatier named Carlo Gatti had the visionary notion of putting ice cream - at the time available only to the rich- within the reach of the average Londoner. He imported ice from Norway via canal boat to his ice house, now home to the London Canal Museum. The museum has collections on the history of canals, the ice trade, and ice cream. (They also serve ice cream). The big attraction there, however, is the 40-foot deep ice well Gatti built there in 1857. Wish I had known this, I’d have made a detour to Kings Cross.

Here is one of the 19th century warehouses that line the canal:


Camden Market Warehouse by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Perhaps Carlo Gatti’s spirit is still here, engaged with the basic human needs for ice cream and innovation. Can it be a coincidence that, disembarking at Camden Lock we immediately found ourselves at Chin Chin Labs, the science lab-themed liquid nitrogen-cooled ice cream atelier?


Chin Chin Labs Sign by Josephine2004, on Flickr


Untitled by Josephine2004, on Flickr

I’m told that Chicago has its own nitro ice cream, but this was my first introduction to the process and I have to say, it was delightful to watch. First, the gloved ice cream chef taps a canister of liquid nitrogen into a steel pitcher:


The Nitro Part by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Next, he mixes the ice cream or sorbet base with the nitrogen to freeze the confection in moments:

Newly Frozen Ice Cream, Chin Chin Labs by Josephine2004, on Flickr


The Mad Scientist at Work? by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Complex flavor boosters are added (I chose heather honeycomb redolent of rosemary):


Adding Praline to Nitro Ice Cream by Josephine2004, on Flickr

And a dollop of topping is added to the cup of ice cream (I chose fleur de sel caramel):

Pineapple Sorbet with Rosemary and Caramel by Josephine2004, on Flickr

As entertaining – scratch that - as astounding as the process is, the product does not disappoint in comparison. The complexity, finesse, and knock-your-socks-off flavor of the pineapple sorbet with heather honeycomb and fleur de sel caramel sauce ranks in the top three of my lifetime ice cream experiences (Don’t make me choose among the three, however). The mouthfeel of the sorbet was incredibly smooth and creamy, without cream. This supposedly is the main advantage of the quick-freeze provided by the liquid nitrogen. Another surprise was the intense taste and fragrance of the pineapple and herbs. Cold seems to numb tastes, so how did they dial up the flavors to hit maximum? In part, by drying the mix-ins. Here are some of the choices: green tea peanut brittle, hazelnut crunch, grilled white chocolate, heather honeycomb, and chocolate-dipped potato chips.


Toppings and Sauces Menu, Chin Chin Labs by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Outside, Camden Lock Market was bustling:


Camden Lock, The Market by Josephine2004, on Flickr

After the high of Chin Chin Labs, however, the food court fare was less-than-inspiring, especially with the promise, “Chinese Food Mix Everything Four Pounds”:


Chinese Food Mix Everything 4 Pounds by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Normally, I’d say I never met a curry I didn’t like, but I wasn’t sure I wanted this to be the day to begin curry-misanthropy.


Curries, Camden Market by Josephine2004, on Flickr

A tagine might have satisfied, though:


Tagines, Camden Market by Josephine2004, on Flickr

What I find wonderful about London is the synergy of old and new. Churros are consumed and cellphones are checked under the steadying gaze of Victorian beauties . . .


Camden Market Muses, London by Josephine2004, on Flickr

. . . and pubs still welcome musicians, but now proclaim their dedication to socially conscious whimsy, specifically: historically inspired mustache-growing to promote men’s health worldwide:


Untitled by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Next: Spitalfields Market and St. John Bread and Wine

Chin Chin Labs
49-50 Camden Lock Place
London NW1 8af

Canal Boat “Jason”
http://www.jason.co.uk

London Canal Museum
12-13 New Wharf Rd
London N1 9RT
+44 20 7713 0836

Camden Market
http://www.camden-market.org/

Movember
http://us.movember.com/about

Barfly
49 Chalk Farm Road
London, Greater London NW1 8AN
020 7688 8994
barflyclub.com‎

Part Two: Spitalfields Market and St. John Bread and Wine

On Thursdays, Spitalfields Market hosts the kind of antique market where one longs to buy something that one does not need, in order to capture and hold the kind of deep nostalgia usually reserved for the relics of one’s own past.


Spitalfields Market, London by Josephine2004, on Flickr

It seems a fitting location for such commerce, as the sign over the entrance reads as follows:


Spitalfields Market, London by Josephine2004, on Flickr

In fact, a jubilee of sorts awaits in the interior courtyard.

Antique Silver, Spitalfields Market by Josephine2004, on Flickr


Antique Vanity in a Suitcase, Spitalfields by Josephine2004, on Flickr


Bakelite Brushes, Spitalfields by Josephine2004, on Flickr


Green Gramophone, Spitalfields by Josephine2004, on Flickr

The toys were hard to pass up.


Antique Hobby Horse, Spitalfields by Josephine2004, on Flickr

And I nearly gave in to this bit of Chicago from long-ago London:


Toy Pullman Car, Spitalfields Market by Josephine2004, on Flickr

But a reservation at St. John Bread and Wine, Fergus Henderson’s place across the street from the market, roused me from my reverie. The Old Spot Bacon Sandwich was just the thing to bring me to my senses, while hearkening back to a style of breakfast that is as fast-disappearing as train travel.


Bacon Sandwich at St. John, Spitalfields by Josephine2004, on Flickr


Bacon Sandwich at St. John Bread and Wine by Josephine2004, on Flickr

The bacon was similar to a moister style of country ham, salty and rich, but not greasy. The char on the thick, rustic toast and on the bacon itself added bitterness that was most welcome. I even found myself induging in what I think was HP sauce. Ketchup-like and slightly sweet, it gave me some relief from the saltiness of the bacon, which, near the end of the meal, had become tiresome. Tea with milk seemed the proper beverage, though later in the day, a pint would have been just the thing to drink with Old Spot.

Wait. "Old Spot." Um, that wouldn't be the name of the pig, would it? I hope not, but it's too late now.

St. John Bread and Wine was nearly deserted on this weekday morning, and I needn’t have reserved. However, weekends may be another story. In retrospect, I ought to have reserved for lunch, which – from the looks of the earnest, white capped young staff in the busy kitchen – seemed promising. Lamb loin, I believe, was on the menu. Their twitter feed might be worth following if you have a visit planned. I noticed that recently they tweeted about a delivery of some very nice John Dory. (What is it with these foods being given proper names?)

St. John Bread and Wine also offers a wine shop and a bakery. It is not the most convenient of the Henderson outlets. That designation falls to the St. John Hotel, located at the edge of Chinatown, where it is said one can get an excellent breakfast. However, I would not have missed the antiques market for all the meat pies in London,


Steak Pies, London by Josephine2004, on Flickr

I had eels on the schedule. This did not prevent me, from musing about the implications of this :


Corporation of London by Josephine2004, on Flickr

I’m aware that, stateside, corporations are people. Apparently the British are ahead of us in this matter. Over there, corporations are cities, or vice-versa. "What will they think of next?" I thought.

I soon found out. Waylayed by two dapper, three-piece-suited young men as I passed Barclay’s Bank, cheek by jowl with The Corporation of London, I was asked my views on one of the bank’s new products, a Commodity Index Fund based on futures of farm products. Naturally, I informed them that - sarcasm alert! - it did not concern me, since I am not personally acquainted with any of the people who farm in any of those oh-so-faraway places, and that a bank is a business after all, not a charity.

The young trader types were delighted, gleeful even. Apparently these banker imposters were actors from a London improv troupe filming person-in-the-street interviews for a webcast dramatizing the impact of global finance on food production and global markets. I signed a release and, who knows, my 15 minutes may just be coming up on YouTube.

All in all, it was an interesting morning that added support to my impression that the number of Ferraris (5) spotted outside our Kensington hotel were not the only indicator of note in today's London.

Next installment: Hackney and F. Cooke

Old Spitalfields Market
16 Horner Square
Spitalfields
London
E1 6EW
Thursdays: Antique Market

St. John Bread and Wine
94-96 Commercial Street
Spitalfields, London E1-6LZ
https://www.stjohngroup.uk.com/spitalfields/

Square Pie
Spitalfields Market and other locations
http://www.squarepie.com/

Nice report! Old Spot is the name of a British heritage breed pig, and I agree that rashers taste like country ham....

Reminds me of an episode of "Two Fat Ladies" I watched on DVD recently. Jennifer breaks into song, accompanied by a pig farmer:

"Whose pigs are these, whose pigs are these?
They're old John Watts', you can tell them by their spots,
And we found them in the vicarage garden!"

Part Three: Hackney and F. Cooke


Canal, Towpath Narrow Boats and Condos #2 by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Canal boat dwellers take some of the credit for what many consider the resurgence of the borough of Hackney, once known as a crime-ridden part of London. The area is newly attractive to a class of young Londoners depicted as "creative" - or at least interested in biking, beards and organic produce. These depictions may be well-founded. When I visited in October, the Lock 7 Cycle Café and the Hackney Cycle Shop seemed to be thriving.


Lock 7 Cycle Cafe, London by Josephine2004, on Flickr


Hackney Cycle Shop by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Slow Foodists have installed themselves at one end of Haggerston Park, with Hackney City Farm's petting zoo, “Agriturismo” Italian food and film nights, and celebrations for the kids, such as "National Apple Day."


Hackney City Farm, London by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Even the local graffiti suggests the hand of a natural foods-oriented parent.


Graffiti, Hackney, London by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Some of the comparatively privileged newcomers live cheaply and flexibly on narrow boats by committing to changing moorings regularly. Security concerns related to the 2012 Olympics led to claims of discrimination against boat residents without permanent moorings. One resident, for instance, reported having to register as “homeless” when seeking medical care. This bit of graffiti near the Cat and Mutton Bridge seems to reflect Olympics-related controversies:


Olympic Protest Graffiti, London by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Newcomers to Hackney are seen as the source of difficulties associated with gentrification, including the steep rise in prices for former council flats and the disappearance of affordable shops in favor of expensive artisanal bakeries and trendy café reboots of old pubs. Indeed, the Cat and Mutton Pub near Broadway Market was hopping on the afternoon when I visited,


Hackney Corner by Josephine2004, on Flickr

but the doner kebab shop was shuttered.


Kebab House Sign, Hackney by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Whatever the losses to gentrification, at least one vestige of Hackney’s working class heritage remains: F. Cooke, Live Eel Importer. This shop dates from 1900. It is run by the Cooke family to this day.


F. Cooke, Live Eel Importer, Hackney, London by Josephine2004, on Flickr

According to British food blogger Neil Buttery and other sources, Frederick Cooke’s original eel, pie and mash establishment opened in Clerkenwell in 1862. It was one of many such shops that took the pie trade away from street vendors and relocated it to comparatively comfortable, pleasing, and hygienic tiled interiors. F. Cooke's interior remains as it was in Victorian times, furnished with marble tables and wooden benches. Sawdust on the floor originally served to corral eel bones spat out by patrons. Concessions to modernity consist of Pepsi signs and a worn photograph of Princess Diana:


F. Cooke Interior, London by Josephine2004, on Flickr


F. Cooke Interior by Josephine2004, on Flickr

The shop is one of about 80 Pie-'n-Mash shops that remain in Britain today. What is not clear is how many of these shops still serve eels, “the poor man’s delicacy”. Even as the number of London's eel, pie and mash houses expanded during the late 19th century, a filling of meat and onions was creeping into the eel pies, and then replacing eel altogether. It appears that eel pie was a bargain option (think dollar menu ca. 1880), with meat pies being more expensive. During WWII, however, eels served as a cheap local source of protein. This may have led to their postwar return as London soul food.

Eels have probably been fished in England's rivers since well before King Henry I died in 1135 after a repast of "lampreys". Sources differ on whether eels survived in the polluted waters of the Thames during Victorian times, however, Londoners’ appetites for eel seem to have outstripped the supply, and eels began to be imported from Holland. Currently, according to Buttery, eels are endangered, although it is legal to fish for them. The principal threat to the eel population appears to be man-made barriers obstructing the natural migration patterns of these catadromous fish. Ethical fishing practices have been instituted to address the problem by relocating some elvers upstream to mature, and selling others to commercial fish farms. Ron’s Eel and Shell Fish (sic) advertises its wares over Regent's Canal:


Ron's Eel and Shell Fish - Hoxton St. Market by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Although Ron may be local, it’s likely that his eels come from Ireland or The Netherlands. I found these (smoked at left and skinned at right) at Fortnum & Mason, London:


Eels at Fortnum & Mason by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Although F. Cooke remains in its original form, it was rather deserted on the day I visited. Both of the other diners in the shop were eating meat pies and mash, hold the “liquor”- a parsley-colored gravy with a base of eel stewing liquid.


Serving up the Eels, F. Cooke, London by Josephine2004, on Flickr

From the small number of eel filets in the stewpot, I wondered whether demand for eels had subsided significantly. Tasting the stewed eels, I found it difficult to appreciate their appeal.


Boiled Eels in Parsley Sauce, F. Cooke by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Normally, I enjoy eel – whether as unagi or matelote, however, this dish was challenging in ways I did not anticipate. Let’s take a closer look:


Eels in Parsley Sauce by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Notice the grey skin of the eel section. This was slimy and unpleasantly oily, which would not have been a problem had it not clung tenaciously to the flesh. I found the white flesh itself no more approachable, since a gummy clear membrane lining the darker grey skin clung to the meat and imparted the same unpleasant taste. The pretty green “liquor” tasted of starches and not much else - certainly nothing herbal - and its effect was to add bland and gooey onto bland and gooey. Clearly, I missed out on the vinegar and chili pepper, which I later learned was to be sprinkled on the dish. This might have offset the muddy, oily taste of the eel and the slimy mouthfeel of the entire dish. Considering the textural issues with the fish itself, I was very glad I had not opted for the jellied eels. I found myself wondering if eels, like lutefisk, are palatable only with mashed potato. A crust might help, but eel pies seem to have been replaced by meat pies on Cooke’s menu, and, I suspect, the menus of most eel, pie and mash shops that survive. All in all, I'm glad I tried the stewed eels, but, as with Fall River's chow mein sandwich, I will not be going back for seconds.


Menu - F. Cooke, London by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Truth be told, I approached the eel experience with a Fear Factor mentality shared by at least some who visit F. Cooke, for whom this picture is no doubt thrilling in its counter-phobic intensity:


Fear Factor, London Edition by Josephine2004, on Flickr

Puzzled at the iconic status of eel in London, I decided to do some digging around. Happily, I ran across a very charming primary source in pie-and-mash.com, a site dedicated to gathering memories of the once ubiquitous eel, pie and mash shops. A close reading of these accounts brought to life the experience of visiting such shops in the old days. In addition to being a restaurants, the eel houses were fish markets opening onto the streets, selling eels for home consumption:

“While Mum queued for our lunch my brother and I would stand outside in our grey shorts (and navy duffel coats in winter), mesmerised by the deft art of the eel man on the stall in the street. We would watch the silvery grey eels sliding lugubriously around the ice blocks in their battered steel trays. Housewives would point at the eel they wanted "for hubbie's tea" and the eel man would seize the creature and whack it down on his bloodied wooden block. Then, with a knife that seemed the size of a broadsword to our tiny eyes, he would chop off the head, slit down the still writhing length of its belly and drag it under the back of the knife to gut it. Then chop, chop, chop into sections, wrapped in newspaper, weighed and sold.”

For children, part of the appeal was in the spectacle of eel butchery. One poster (again,on the website pie-and-mash.com) reports a “first memory” of eels moving after they were cut up, just as Mrs. Beeton cautioned: “TENACITY OF LIFE IN THE EEL - There is no fish so tenacious of life as this. After it is skinned and cut in pieces, the parts will continue to move for a considerable time, and no fish will live so long out of water.”

Many who contributed to the pie-and-mash website reminisced with the kind of visual detail that only flashbulb memory can summon:

" I can remember Manze's of the fifties and early sixties as if it were yesterday: heavy white marble tables, sitting on wooden forms with high wooden backs that formed a cosy booth. Black, green and white tiles. The smell made my mouth water. The knives, forks and spoons were enormous post-war utility aluminium implements that we could just about get our hands around. No turning the pie over; it was splosh, splosh, splosh with the big pop bottle of vinegar with a nail hole in the cap, take care to select the salt shaker rather than the sugar (they were both in identical glass shakers with dull silver tops). Then admire the brown puddles sploshed in the green liquor and discolouring the mash that had been deftly wiped around the edge of the plate before getting to work on the dish.”

This man’s account of eel pie (also from pie-and-mash.com) makes him sound like an LTH-er:

“I liked to cut around the edge of the pie crust, lift it off and drop it in the liquor top-down, then another quick splosh of vinegar in the pie and on the crust. First thing to be eaten was the crust, then the mash and then scoop forkfulls of the mince from the pie. I would be left with the soft, slippery, silver pie base that reminded me so much of the underbelly of a freshly caught trout. This was my favourite part. I would cut pieces of that base off and savour them, allowing each piece to melt in my mouth before chewing. Finally, I would scrape the last remaining vestiges of vinegered liquor from the plate with a spoon. It would be quite a few years before I would learn that there were other things that could bring me such ecstasy!”

Whatever my reaction to the eels at F. Cooke, the dish is indelibly written in the life narratives of East Enders. (Again, from pie-and-mash.com):

“My Mum (who, as a little girl in the thirties, was brought up on pie and mash at M. Manze's in Chapel Street Market) had moved to Walthamstow and tells me that during her pregnancy she had those ‘uncontrollable cravings’ that pregnant women have. Her craving was for pie, mash and liquor. “

Wouldn’t you know that this man claims his first taste of eel was taken seated on his mother’s knee? Many of the memories shared In these accounts recall an eel house as the site of a first restaurant experience with beloved grandparents, a snack shared with schoolmates, or a rare family outing. The eel houses offered a meal accessible to anyone, even in hard times, if only as a plate of "mash and liquor" - potatoes and the cooking liquid from the eels, studded with parsley and sprinkled with free vinegar.

Attachment to a specific pie shop comes through in these accounts, along with claims of objective superiority that echo Pizza Preference Theory. As a repository of early memories, the eel house becomes a portal to the past and a vehicle for expressing a host of emotions, including love, pride, nostalgia, and even grief. Is it any wonder that one woman writes of her present-day dreams of eating eel pie, mash and liquor with her father at the eel house of her youth?

This brings me around to reflecting on the place of honor held by eel pie in the celebration of Queen Elizabeth’s Diamond Jubilee, referenced in this thread. The Wall Street Journal seems to have accepted at face value Gloucester's claim to ownership of this dish, which, though grounded in history (and the current survival of eels in the River Servern), does not acknowledge the tradition of eel cookery tied to London's East End, as well as areas of Essex and Kent. The significance of eel pie to Londoners of the Queen’s generation may lie in the fact that eels served as a balm for the privations of rationing during and after World War II. I'm guessing that Her Majesty ate more than the occasional eel pie - if only for solidarity's sake - during her youth in wartime London. And - who knows? -perhaps some of her kids made rebellious incognito visits to Eel Pie Island back in the 60's.

This photograph, displayed in the front window of F. Cooke under the Union Jack, shows a scene at F. Cooke as it might have looked to the young Queen Elizabeth.


Customers Lined up for Eels, F. Cooke (1940's?) by Josephine2004, on Flickr

F. Cooke
9 Broadway Market
London, E8 4PH
Tel 020 7254 6458

Having read Josephine's posts and having recently returned from a London visit that involved a long drive through South London (including Brixton), I was wondering if there might be any interest in an LTH trip to the more obscure (and more GNR worthy) corners of South, East, and North London. It would be quite a lot of fun to go to London for three or four days to eat in obscure but delicious locations.