STEEL CITY STOMACHS

If you’ve been reading this blog from the beginning you’ll know that the title doesn’t only refer to the psychosis of eating, but is also a pun on “psychogeography,” defined by Guy Debord as "the study of the precise laws and specific effects of the geographical environment, consciously organized or not, on the emotions and behavior of individuals."  That’s him above, on the right with the specs.

So I’ve been trying to do something similar with food, examining the ways food effects “the emotions and behavior of individuals,” though I don’t believe there are “laws” in this area, precise or otherwise.  Sure, we are what we eat, but what we eat is largely determined by what the culture makes available to us, the way the environment, natural or otherwise, tells us what we should and shouldn’t eat.  So having been in England for a couple of weeks, I shall make a stab at describing some of the “special effects” I experienced while eating there. 

My first stop was in Sheffield, my old home town.  Fresh off the train I headed for the Showroom Café in search of a cup of coffee and a sandwich.  But seeing that they were offering something called a Henderson’s hotdog (and especially given my recent adventures with Detroit Dogs and L.A. Street Dogs, op cit) how could I resist?

The Henderson’s, of course, referred to Henderson’s Relish (even more op cit), Sheffield’s own vegetarian alternative to Worcestershire sauce.  I wasn't quite sure what was coming, but even so I got a lot more than I expected.  I didn’t even know it came with chips, for instance nor that it came in a huge baguette.   And although it wasn’t a huge surprise that it came with fried onions, I hadn’t expected them to be so coated, drenched, perhaps marinated, in Henderson’s Relish.

 You could argue that the sausage (and I think it was a genuine sausage rather than a true hotdog, though I’m certainly not complaining about that) got a bit lost amid all the bread, onions and Henderson’s, but as an instant introduction to the joys of Sheffield cuisine, it was hard to beat.

A couple of days later, in search of Sunday lunch, we went to Carbrook Hall (that's it above), on Attercliffe Common, a formerly very rough part of town where the Nicholsons  are supposed to have originally come from.  Carbrook Hall is a formerly grand private house with a huge amount of history.  It was  built in the 12^th century, rebuilt in the 15^th, used as a meeting place by Roundheads, then more or less demolished in the 19^th  century, and what remains is a 17^th century wing from 1620.   The current Pevsner Architectural Guide to Sheffield describes the exterior as “unpromising” which is hard to argue with.  But most importantly, the place is now a pub, allegedly the most haunted pub in Sheffield.

Again we’d have been happy with a sandwich, but it was a Sunday and the options were full Sunday roast lunch or no lunch at all.  So we had roast beef and all the trimmings it looked like this.

It was a very serviceable pub lunch.  There’s a big roast potato lurking behind the Yorkshire pudding, which was the best thing on the plate.  We ate in the oak room, a wonderfully paneled space, full of ornate carvings, and a molded ceiling that would overwhelm most other rooms.  

Above the fireplace we observed a carved panel showing a man, possibly a priest, standing on the body, or perhaps corpse, of a supine woman.  Her skeleton is showing, although her womb seems to be intact, and she’s apparently pregnant, and she also has a devil’s tail.  It seemed an odd bit of decoration to accompany your Sunday lunch and no less odd as decoration for a private 17th century home, but perhaps there’s a potent religious message there.

Not far from Carbrook Hall, a pub called the Noose and Gibbet was delivering a different though no less disturbing message.  The pub commemorates the execution of Spence Broughton, in 1792, for robbing the Sheffield and Rotherham mail.  The execution actually took place in Tyburn but his corpse was brought back to Sheffield and displayed in a gibbet for the next 36 years, at a spot not far from the current Noose and Gibbet.  It was quite a tourist attraction, apparently.

In the absence of a real corpse the pub has put a waxwork figure up in the gibbet, at the top of a pole, like an inn sign, and from the road it certainly looks as realistic as you would want it to be.  You might think that the sight of a hanged man or a pregnant corpse might be enough to put you off your food, but no, this is Sheffield, where people have strong stomachs, and they make extremely good use of them.

EAT WITH THE GUITAR MAN

Have you been keeping your eye on the revival of Duane Eddy’s career?  I have, largely because he owes it all to Sheffield, and specifically to Richard Hawley, singer/songwriter, guitarist, former sideman in Pulp, and connoisseur of all things Sheffield, especially Henderson’s Relish.  More of that later.

The story goes that Hawley (above), a great fan of retro guitar twang decided it was time for Eddy to come out of retirement, got him to Sheffield, made an album with him, had him play at the Glastonbury Festival, and so on, and along the way turned Eddy into a fan of Sheffield and the Peak District.

I can’t find much foodie reference in the Eddie oeuvre.  There are tracks titled “Giddy Goose,” and “Soda Fountain Girl” one titled “Shuckin” which I guess is a reference to oysters, and there’s one called “Tiger Love and Turnip Greens” but I’m not sure what that’s about.  Still, what’s in a title, especially when you’re a non-singing, guitar instrumentalist?

However, now that Eddy’s been to Sheffield it appears he’s found his inner foodie, and he’s a locavore too.  Here he is interviewed on the Quietus website:

“There's a pub called the Strines Inn, up on the moors above a reservoir with peacocks running about the place. We had a great meal there and they had a huge Yorkshire pudding, so I ordered that with the home-made chilli in it, like it was a big bowl. The chilli was amazing, as good as any I've had in Texas or anywhere else.”

       The Strines Inn: I know it well.  Everybody who’s ever lived in Sheffield knows it, though I don't remember any peacocks.

“We also went to Bakewell,” Eddy continues, “because we'd had a Bakewell tart, with custard. That was just heaven, one of the most delicious things I have ever had in my whole mouth, that's an old corny joke, but I'm not joking about the deliciousness.”

I love his enthusiasm, but having grown up eating my mother’s Bakewell tarts, I really don’t see what’s so great about them.  Maybe a tart is always without honor in its own county, although we were in Yorkshire and Bakewell's in Derbyshire, but nah, I'm trying too hard.

Now, I’m not sure how much of a foodie Richard Hawley is either, but he seems to like food.  The cover of his early album Late Night Final had a picture of him in a café in the Sheffield Castle Market, mentioned before in this blog.

He did an interview about food last year with The Financial Times (of all people) and revealed that Pomegranates remind him of childhood, that he doesn’t like pineapple, and that he finds Guinness irresistible.  But above all he’s a fan of Henderson’s Relish

I stand to be corrected, but I think Henderson’s relish is Sheffield’s only indigenous food invention.  I grew up splashing it on stew, meat pies and mushie peas, much like everyone else in Sheffield.  It’s a kind of Worcestershire sauce, but it doesn’t contain anchovies so it can claim to be vegetarian.  It's interesting that we used so much of this stuff in my family, because it contains all sorts of ingredients that my mother otherwise wouldn’t have had in the house: garlic, turmeric, tamarind.  Tamarind, for Pete’s sake.

Hawley played a gig at the Henderson’s factory to promote that first album and there’s been back a “limited edition” Hawley Henderson’s Relish, though I think it was just the label that was limited.  The stuff inside was classic Henderson’s.

And now I discover two things, first that there are  Henderson's flavor crisps available in the UK, and secondly, as I look around my kitchen I see that my own supply of Henderson’s is getting low (see below).  Maybe it’s time to visit Sheffield.  Maybe I’ll run into Duane Eddy.