The Bunch of Grapes - A Choice Pick!

I’ve been to The Bunch of Grapes pub a bunch of times.  It’s on Brompton Road, a few short blocks from the polished brass doors of Harrods Department Store. Convenient.  But, in London, convenience does not trump great beer, wonderful food, or startlingly posh décor.  The Bunch of Grapes has all three, PLUS the convenience.  Don’t bother to search. Great is right down the street.

In 1777 The Bunch of Grapes had just opened, making it older than the United States.  Wait a sec.  Didn’t the U.S. start in 1776.  Nope.  Not until 1783 and the Treaty of Paris. Win that bar bet!

Inside this pub, the pure Victorian décor dates from the late 19^th Century.   Dark wood.  Magnificent cut-glass privacy panels.  Privacy was essential to the Victorian upper classes. Women and men did not sit together, for the simple reason that upper class men did not drink or smoke in the presence of ladies.  For the upper classes, the key was etiquette and decorum in all things. 

Discretion ruled, as did Queen Victoria, from 1837 until her death in 1901.  Often called the Pax Britannica, it was not as stagnant as some think.  The population of England, Scotland, and Wales nearly doubled.  Peace has a tendency to do that.  Unfortunately, it was also the time of the potato famine, which cut the population of Ireland nearly in half.

Victorian names you might remember:  Disraeli, Gladstone, Arthur Conan Doyle (Sherlock Holmes), Charles Dickens.  In this pub, you’re in the middle of that famous era.

The etched glass panels are extraordinary!

It's the small touches that add atmosphere

During Victoria’s reign, both prosperity and poverty increased.  Child labor at it’s worst. Sections of London were poor, in the dire sense that those of us in the west can no longer comprehend.

Time to get back to the pub, but it pays to remember the time period that envelopes you as you sit on your comfortable posterior and sip a pint of English ale.

The very word pub comes from the Victorians.  It’s short for Public House and it was often asked of a man, ‘Where do you drink?” as opposed to “Where do you live.”

Want to read more about the Victorians and pubs?  http://www.victorianlondon.org/entertainment/publichouses.htm

So sit back, have a pint of The Bunch of Grapes eponymous ale, and enjoy stepping into another era.  Eponymous??? Means taking the same name.

While you’re ordering that second pint, take a gander outside, along Brompton Road.  It began as open country, morphed to gardens, which in turn gave way to grand houses. King William III, established his court at Kensington Palace in 1686, and a town grew around it.

1851 brought The Great Exhibition.  Buildings sprang up, many of the stately homes came down, and after The Exhibition museums and Harrods took their place. The Piccadilly Metro Line opened in 1906 and is still one of the main arteries and the one you rode if you got off at Knightsbridge or South Kensington station.

See what you can learn sitting in a stylishly elegant Victorian pub, in the heart of upper crust Knightsbridge, sipping a real ale and washing down some steak and ale pie, or fish and chips?  Some folks only wander through the wonders of Harrods and rush off to another place, blissfully ignorant of the history in front of them and beneath their feet.

A great lesson for all of us:  The more beer you drink, the smarter you get!

http://gkpubs.co.uk/pubs-in-london/bunch-of-grapes-pub/

Chicken Pot Pie - Inspired by True Events!

For me, chicken pot pie is a warm memory of my mother’s kitchen.  She always made it from scratch, but that was a different era, when almost everything, including socks and baseballs, was made from scratch.  I loved her version. Later, some evil person, cursed be his name, introduced me to the perversion of clotty, tasteless muck you find in the frozen food section. For years I wandered in culinary purgatory.

Then, one happy day, I was in a London pub and a friend ordered the pub’s version of chicken pot pie.  I silently mourned his unfortunate choice.

He took a forkful, licked his lips and smiled.  Unexpected.  I had already cleared a path for him to make a galloping exit toward the Gents.

He offered me a bite.  Years of disgust faded like the memory of the time I discovered the difference between super glue and lubricant.   This was a heavenly blend of creamy flavors, dotted with herbs and sealed in a joyously flaky crust.  At that moment I made a vow to bring joy to the world with a startling reintroduction of chicken pot pie, as it should be.  Light. Delicious. Amazingly satisfying.  Needing only a soft white wine to bring comfort to the masses.  My gift to the world.

For the crust:

2 ½ Cups all-purpose flour

½ Tablespoon Salt

½ Cup (1 Stick) of chilled butter

½ Cup shortening

4 Tablespoons ice water

Mix the flour and salt.  Using forks or a pastry cutter, cut the shortening and butter into the flour.  Sprinkle on the ice water.  (I normally do a bit of this and that, but the ice water should be measured, or the dough will be too soggy.)

After cutting in the flour and shortening

After adding the ice water

Note:  Do not use a food processor to make pie dough.  The butter and shortening will be cut in too finely and the crust will not be as flaky.

Press the dough out into a rough circle, cover it front and back with plastic wrap and put it in the refrigerator for at least an hour.

For the Filling:

4 large chicken breasts  (1 ¾ pounds) cut into bite sized chunks

2 Cups chicken broth, plus another heaping tablespoon of granulated chicken broth, or one of the small cups of concentrated, jellied chicken broth, to intensify the flavor

1 Cup dry white wine

4 Cups sliced mushrooms

1 large onion, cut in quarters and sliced thinly

1 ½ Cups celery, chopped, including the leaves

1 large carrot, split and chopped

3 Tablespoons of chopped fennel leaves or tarragon, or another fresh herb

6 ounces of soft white cheese (I used a neutral cheese.  Brie or       Camembert will work, but will give a different flavor.)

1 Tablespoon butter

1 Tablespoon olive oil

Celery leaves add a lot of flavor

A very soft, neutral cheese

Heat the oven to 375ºF

In a large skillet (I used a 12 inch), add the butter, olive oil, wine, and one cup of chicken stock.  Next add a half-cup of celery and onion, plus the chicken.  Stir over medium heat.  (You want the chicken juice to remain, so do not use high heat.)  After 2-3 minutes, when the chicken has lost its pink color, add the remainder of the chicken stock, as well as the granulated chicken stock.  Stir and bring to a boil. 

As the mixture comes to a boil, add the mushrooms and remaining vegetables.  Sprinkle the fennel over the mixture and continue to cook and stir. Don’t worry if the skillet is full.  Vegetables cook down nicely.

When the chicken is cooked, stir in bits of the soft, white cheese.  When that is blended, remove the mixture from the heat, while you roll out the piecrust.

Put the chicken mixture in an oven proof baking dish and lay the rolled piecrust over the top.  With any excess dough, make crust decorations as desired, or as your wife insists. Remember to poke holes in the crust to allow steam to escape while it bakes.

Slide the chicken pot pie into the pre-heated oven and bake until the pie crust is golden.  About 35 minutes.

Serves 8 to 9 hungry folks.

I prefer hot chicken pot pie, but it is also good at room temperature.

Tea at Harrods

I keep telling myself I’m not going to Harrods this time.  Been there over and over. Trotted through the misty rain.  Pushed through the fumbling crowds.  Met the security guards’ stares with a sunny smile.  Nope, not this time.  Not going again.

Then somebody mentions the name, damn them, and I find myself in Knightsbridge, pushing through the heavy glass doors,  browsing the spectacularly redolent  Food Hall, gapping at the £19 (about $31.25) half dozen oysters.  Those are the cheapies.  The expensive ones go for $50 for six.  Not trying to wow you, just reporting the truth as this pauper sees it. (followed by tears and a forced smile)

Go ahead.  Stroll though the fine jewelry room, the obscenely expensive watch emporium, and dejectedly trundle into the fine wines and spirits cellar, where Cuban cigars can run you a cool $50 for one.  Didn’t have the heart to reach out and touch the bottle of the 1951 McCallum Scotch Whiskey (£20,000 or about $33,000).  And my wife thinks I have a drinking problem.  Saw a bottle of French cognac for £30,000.  I’ll leave the math to you.  Breaks my heart to think about it.

So, what can a man and two friends do when they are of moderate means and a used candy wrapper from Harrods is a family heirloom?

Fancy a Cuppa?

Madame et Messieur, may I sooogeeest The Tea Room?  Mais, oui!  Here you may live out your fantasy of sipping a tea, while your chauffeur patiently waits by the Bentley, carefully polishing the door handles, and your bespoke tailor calls to say he will gladly hold your appointment.

Yes, Harrods’ Tea Room is the great equalizer.  A black and white decked waiter will treat you with the politeness reserved for dukes, as he attentively watches you browse the extensive menu.  

Teas of every variety

“May I suggest….” He begins. 

“Suggest away, my good man.  I have no more clue than a nun on a blind date.”

Black tea.  Green tea.  White tea.  All from the far flung regions of the former empire. After all, this is Harrods.  Hard to believe this nonpareil department store, with 330 departments began as a simple grocer, blossomed to hugeness, went public and was purchased by The Fayed Brothers (Egyptian) in 1984 (£615 million) and sold to the current owner, Qatar Holdings in 2010 (£1.5 billion).  No wonder the Harrods motto is Omnia Omnibus Ubique – All Things for All People, Everywhere.  This giant occupies 5 acres and has over a million square feet of selling space.

Quick bar bet winner:  On average, who purchases the most from Harrods??? The average spent by a Chinese shopper is three times greater than that spent by shoppers of any other nationality.

Without getting too political, my wife, a school teacher, bought a beautiful top coat here in the early 1980s, but that was when the dollar was king, making Harrods prices reasonable.

Back to tea.  £5 for a pot of your choice.  We ordered a green, a black, and a white, although one pot would have easily served the three of us.  Plus crumpets. 

With loose tea (far more flavorful) one needs a strainer.

A true English crumpet

Anyway, what are crumpets?  In the former North American colonies, we call them English muffins. The ones in Harrods however are not laced with enough preservatives to compete with Egyptian mummies.  Nope.  These are fresh off the grill, with a dark brown, toasty bottom, and lots of little bubbly dimples on top.  Succulently chewy. Of course, they come accompanied with churnery butter and tiny jars of jam.

How was the tea?  The white had the best nose, with floral accents enough to make you escape with your true love to the garden and propose on bended knee.  The green offered milder flavor, but with a certain serenity on the tongue.  The black, an Assam, had almost no nose, but the full and intriguing flavor ruled the day.

The bill came to something in the neighborhood of £20-25.  Can’t remember exactly.  Too busy considering how I could unsay all those things I said in the garden.

Harrods.  A shopping experience like no other in the world, in the largest and most complete store in the world.  Where money disappears like a spring snowfall.  But, where in the quite solace of a corner of The Tea Room, you can become one with the nobility.  And, yes, no doubt I will be back.