Philip Howard - The Square: Savoury

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This electronic edition published in 2017 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

First published in Great Britain in 2012 by Absolute Press, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

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Reprinted 2012

Text copyright

Philip Howard, 2012

Photography copyright

Jean Cazals

Publisher

Jon Croft

Commissioning Editor

Meg Avent

Art Director

Matt Inwood

Photographer

Jean Cazals

Editor

Jane Middleton

Indexer

Ann Parry

Proofreader

Lucy Bridgers

The rights of Philip Howard to be identified as the author of this work have been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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ISBN: 978-1-9066-5059-9

ePub: 978-1-4729-3311-9

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Introduction

With my Head Chef, Rob Weston.

If I had had any idea just how much would be entailed in writing this book, I have no doubt in my mind that I would not have written it. It begs the question why I wanted to write it in the first place. I guess the time came when I simply felt that The Square deserved a book. The truth is, over a 21-year period, this place has not only become an immense part of my life, but has played a part in the lives of so many guests who have walked through its doors and given the dining room its heartbeat. Without diners, for many of whom food is hopefully a great passion, a restaurant is nothing but a kitchen without a purpose. The kitchen at The Square has thundered along relentlessly throughout this time, producing food with one primary purpose to give pleasure and sustenance. The Square represents the best part of half my life and has provided a vein so rich in experience and of such a rewarding nature, that the blood and sweat I have given it pale into insignificance in the light of what it has given me. This book is, of course, primarily written for you, the reader. It is a straightforward cookbook containing an extensive repertoire of dishes that have emerged from the kitchens over the years. Whether it graces a coffee table or a kitchen shelf, I can only hope that it provides a pleasing and possibly useful insight into the food and cooking at The Square. Rather indulgently it is also for me. A solid, tangible reward for 21 years service!

I have been a lucky man: both the women in my life have been fantastic cooks. One most certainly helped pave the way to my becoming a chef and the other has been instrumental in my journey as a chef. Not only have my Mum and my wife been key contributors, but they have been magnificent followers and supporters too.

To say that my culinary upbringing was a quaint, cultural gathering around the kitchen table would be far from the truth. There was no peeling of chestnuts by the fire, nor family trips to the market. We moved to London from my birthplace of South Africa when I was eight and, given the dire state of cooking there until relatively recently, that was possibly the first significant move for me. I remember little about eating in South Africa, heady food moments were few and far between. Koeksisters and biltong are perhaps what I remember most the former a deep-fried twist of pastry steeped in syrup and glazed with enamel-stripping icing, and the latter strips, chunks, shavings or any other form of salted, spiced and air-dried meat. I could carry a bone-dry strip of meat around for hours, gnawing, chewing and sucking on it until it had a soft, gobby, frayed end. I also remember the bait my grandmothers gardener used to cook for us meali-meal a stiff, polenta-style preparation that my brother and I would eat while waiting for fish to bite.

Things changed when we arrived in London. My mum did do some of her shopping at a market in Hammersmith and, with two hungry boys to feed, excelled at producing endless meals. A combination of her own ideas and foraged recipes gave rise to bowls of brains soaking by the kitchen sink, the likes of calfs liver with garlic, and epic lemon surprise pudding. The fact is, my brother and I grew up on delicious, home-cooked food. It is only now, given the current state of home cooking, or lack of, that I can appreciate not only how much effort this must have taken but how important it was. I have no idea what exactly influences the development of ones own palate, but of all the assets I possess as a chef, my palate is the one I value most, and it is fair to say that the flavours I appreciate and enjoy now must be deep rooted in these early years.

I have no recollection of cooking as a child. I passed through my years at boarding school eating institutional food, and developed an appetite for cereal that has stayed with me. I have never been too choosy about exactly what it is that I eat, I just like it to be delicious, and the truth is that a bowl of cereal seldom disappoints.

I set off to the University of Kent with not the slightest idea how to cook. My mother sent me packing with three recipes clearly assuming that most students would be too poor to afford meat. Spinach soup, scrambled egg with courgettes and a forgotten third constituted my debut repertoire. But cook I did, and I recall it all in the glorious technicolour it deserves. As it happened, I lived with two vegetarians, both a decade older, wiser and craftier in the kitchen, and as much as they suffered through my early culinary output, they did, in the haze of student digs, leave me to assume the role of in-house cook. The novelty of mulching overcooked spinach through a rusty sieve wore off quickly. Stir-fries took centre stage. Brief skirmishes into the arena of desserts bore shocking results. Cookies, legal and illegal, were more plentiful and successful.

It was also while in Canterbury that I ate at my first Michelin-starred restaurant: Restaurant 74, owned by the outstanding chef, Ian McAndrew. It opened my eyes to the dazzling world of haute cuisine. I will never forget that meal, although I didnt appreciate its significance at the time. Another restaurant that had a great impact on me was a tiny place in the South of France called La Farigoulette. Tucked away on the side of a hill village, it was run by a man who often wore little more than an apron and over whom all women seemed to swoon. A typical meal might have consisted of tarte au thon, tagliatelle au pistou and gigot dagneau aux cpes. Pasta was rolled to order and it was this that seemed to strike such a chord with me. All these years down the line, the rolling of pasta has lost none of its appeal. The restaurant still thrives, the proprietor, Jean Claude, still rolls, the women still flock and, in many ways, it was one of the early contributors to my progress as a chef.