Gordon Ramsay's Great British Pub Food

Spoon measures are level, unless otherwise specified:

1 tsp is equivalent to 5ml; 1 tbsp is equivalent to 15ml.

Use good-quality sea salt, freshly ground pepper and fresh herbs for the best flavour.

Use large eggs unless otherwise suggested, ideally organic or free-range. If you are pregnant or in a vulnerable health group, avoid dishes using raw egg whites or lightly cooked eggs.

Oven timings are for fan-assisted ovens. If using a conventional oven, increase the temperature by 15°C (1 Gas Mark). Individual ovens may vary in actual temperature by 10° from the setting, so it is important to know your oven. Use an oven thermometer to check its accuracy.

Timings are provided as guidelines, with a description of colour or texture where appropriate, but readers should rely on their own judgement as to when a dish is properly cooked.

The great British Pub has played an important and unique role in British society right from Roman times, through the Middle Ages and up to the present day. It is a role that has changed, adapted and evolved as society has dictated, but the pub has always maintained its focus as the place to go – to relax, to celebrate, to mourn, to talk, to drink and, increasingly, to eat.

As a social chronicle, the pub has documented every cultural trend, often hand in hand with a legislative force that appears intent on protecting society. From controlling the hours during which pubs were allowed to open, to the most recent change, the banning of smoking, laws have tested the ingenuity of publicans to keep their doors open for business.

It might seem surprising that eating wasn’t traditionally part of pub life. The earliest taverns may have supplied bread with the ale, but the concept of eating out had not been born. You ate at home and you went to the pub for your social needs. This was where you drank, smoked and sought entertainment through conversation. It catered for the social divide with public rooms and screened-off snugs where employers, the employed, the vicar, the widower and the retired could go, albeit often with a pricing hierarchy. A pint in the discrete snug with its frosted glass and privacy simply cost more.

The advent of television beckoned the end of the pub as the social epicentre. The concept of buying alcohol and taking it home was not lost on the evolving supermarket owners, who responded by stacking their shelves accordingly. Home now offered comfort with entertainment and without the restrictions of closing time or the risk of a drink-drive prosecution. The publican had to think hard in order to survive. Trade fell off. Real ale wasn’t consumed at the same rate and suddenly the contents of barrels reached their ‘best by’ date before they had run dry. The brewers countered with a longer life offer, lager, which lived under pressure but it did not take away the problem of a diminished flow of alcohol.

Often the management, tenancy or ownership of a pub lay with a married couple. It was an ideal partnership in this social centre where the husband could attend to the barrel changing and control of his customers, while the wife busied herself with glass-washing and looking after the premises. If the business of serving beer was no longer what kept the bar team running around with the till ringing in the background, there had to be an opportunity for another offering.

There was now time and space for food. The concept of eating out was still in its infancy and the one overriding restriction was cost. The publican already had the premises, the seating and staff. All he had to do was arrange for a kitchen and a simple, good value bar menu to be made available. It was not only an opportunity to increase the flow of cash across the bar, but would, in time, bring back some of that lost wet trade. Moreover, a pub that began to make a name for itself for the quality of its food flourished. A restaurant was expensive and often made its new public feel uncomfortable. The pub had found a niche and suddenly there was the possibility for almost fifty thousand outlets to refocus their business.

The ban on smoking did pubs with grub no damage. On the contrary, it took away the one spoiler to eating good food in a convivial atmosphere. And there can be little doubt that any trade lost due to smokers who remained in their homes was regained as others now ventured forth to sample the food offerings of their local.

When we opened the Gordon Ramsay pubs in London, we wanted to give the public fantastic but casual food, served up alongside a few good pints and at a price that wouldn’t break the bank. Not posh nosh, but classic British dishes that have stood the test of time. Our mantra has always been ‘keep it simple and make it tasty’ and that’s exactly what we wanted to deliver in the pubs. We also wanted to bring back a few old-fashioned favourites, like cottage pie with Guinness, Lancashire hotpot and irresistibly sticky treacle tart.

This book brings to you dishes that have become pub classics. It offers simple, reasonably priced recipes that you can cook at home without fuss or complication. This is the food that has brought the British pub on to the culinary map.

Pint of prawns with mayo

Oysters with shallot vinegar

Devilled whitebait

Scotch eggs

Spiced nuts

Homemade pork scratchings

Angels and devils on horseback

Pan haggerty

Old-fashioned pork pies

Homemade crisps

Pickled quail’s eggs

Wild boar sausage rolls

1-1.2kg cooked Atlantic prawns in shells

2 large egg yolks

1 tsp white wine vinegar

1 tsp English mustard

sea salt and black pepper

300ml groundnut oil (or light olive oil)

1 tbsp water

Walk into any pub and you are quite likely to find a pint of prawns with mayo on the bar menu. These tasty morsels from the Atlantic are perfect finger food to savour with a pint of light ale or a glass of dry white wine. As you peel off the shells from the prawns, suck the heads so you don’t miss out on their amazing flavour.

To make the mayonnaise, put the egg yolks, wine vinegar, mustard and some salt and pepper into a blender or small food processor and whiz until the mixture is very thick and creamy. With the motor running, slowly trickle in the oil through the funnel in a steady stream. Add 1 tbsp water to help stabilize the emulsion, then taste and adjust the seasoning. (If the mayonnaise splits, transfer it to a bowl and start again. Whiz another egg yolk in the blender or processor until thick and then slowly blend in the split mixture; it should re-emulsify.)

Spoon the mayonnaise into individual dipping bowls and divide the prawns between four pint glasses. You might also want to put out an empty bowl for the shells. Any extra mayonnaise can be kept in a covered bowl in the fridge for up to 3 days.

2 shallots, peeled and finely chopped

120ml good-quality red wine vinegar (we use Cabernet Sauvignon)

12-16 very fresh native oysters

rock salt

fresh seaweed (optional), to garnish

Sharing a platter of fresh oysters at the bar is a real treat. In London, our native oysters usually hail from Colchester or Whitstable, but they are gathered in various places around the British coast. Freshness is absolutely vital, so it helps to know your nearest source. Spanking fresh oysters taste of the sea.

Mix the shallots and wine vinegar together in a small bowl and leave to infuse for at least an hour. Spread a thick layer of rock salt on one or two serving platters and scatter over the seaweed, if available.

Shuck the oysters as you are about to serve them. To do so, hold an oyster, flat side upwards and level, in a folded tea towel in one hand. With the other hand, insert an oyster knife into the hinge of the oyster shell and wriggle it from side to side to cut through the hinge muscle. Push the knife further in and twist up to lift the top shell. Try not to tip out the juices as you do this. Hold the knife flat and slide it along the bottom shell to release the oyster, then flick off any pieces of broken shell. Place the oyster in its bottom shell on a serving plate. Repeat to shuck the rest. Serve immediately, with the shallot vinegar.

450g whitebait, thawed if frozen

170g plain flour

1 tsp cayenne pepper

sea salt and black pepper

150ml milk

groundnut or vegetable oil, for deep-frying

extra cayenne pepper, to sprinkle (optional)

mayonnaise (see page 246), for dipping

lemon wedges

These are a far cry from the soggy, overcooked whitebait we used to eat as kids whenever we were treated to a meal in a steakhouse. Freshly fried, these crisp, salty bites are lovely with a pint of ale. If using frozen whitebait, you may want to go easy on the extra salt as the tiny fish are usually soaked in brine before freezing.

Wash the whitebait, drain well and pat dry with kitchen paper. For the batter, in a bowl, mix 100g of the flour with the cayenne pepper and a pinch each of salt and pepper. Make a well in the middle and gradually whisk in the milk to make a smooth batter.

Heat an 8-10cm depth of oil in a deep-fryer or a heavy-based pan; the pan should be no more than half-full. The oil is ready when it reaches 190°C, or when a cube of bread dropped in turns golden brown in less than 40 seconds.

Deep-fry the whitebait in batches. Dip a handful into the remaining flour to coat, shaking off excess. Now dip the floured whitebait into the batter, then gently drop into the hot oil. Deep-fry for 1-2 minutes until golden and crisp. When you take them out of the oil, the whitebait should rustle as you shake them together. Try not to overcrowd the pan, as this will cause the temperature of the oil to drop too much.

Drain the whitebait on a tray lined with kitchen paper and keep warm in a low oven while you deep-fry the rest. If you wish, sprinkle on a little extra cayenne pepper. Serve while still crisp, with a bowl of mayonnaise and lemon wedges on the side.

8 medium eggs, at room temperature

650g good-quality sausagemeat or 8-10 butcher’s sausages, removed from their skins

handful of flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped

4 sage leaves, finely chopped

1 tsp English mustard powder

grated zest of 1 lemon

sea salt and black pepper

50g plain flour, sifted

2 large eggs, lightly beaten, for dipping

150g fine white breadcrumbs (made from one- or two-day old bread)

groundnut or vegetable oil, for deep-frying

HP brown sauce

A good Scotch egg is determined by the quality of the sausagemeat and the cooking. The egg should be cooked until the yolk has just set and there should be no sign of a dark ring around the yolk, which indicates that it is overcooked. These Scotch eggs can be made a couple of days in advance, but they are best enjoyed freshly cooked.

Bring a pan of water to the boil. Lower the eggs into the water and simmer for 8 minutes. Drain and cool under cold running water until the eggs no longer feel hot. Peel away the shells and set aside.

Put the sausagemeat into a bowl and add the parsley, sage, mustard powder, lemon zest and some seasoning. Mix together thoroughly, using one hand, then divide into 8 equal-sized balls. One at a time, flatten each sausagemeat ball on a piece of cling film to a circle, large enough to wrap around an egg. Place an egg in the middle, then draw up the ends of the cling film and massage the sausagemeat to cover the egg evenly. Repeat with the rest of the eggs and sausagemeat.

Have the flour, beaten eggs and breadcrumbs ready in three separate bowls. One at a time, roll each Scotch egg in the flour, then dip into the beaten egg and then into the breadcrumbs to coat. Dip into the egg and breadcrumbs once again for a really thorough coating. Repeat with the rest of the Scotch eggs.

Heat an 8cm depth of oil in a deep-fryer or heavy-based saucepan to 150°C. To test if it is ready for frying, drop a piece of bread into the oil; it should sizzle and turn light golden and crisp in less than a minute. Deep-fry the Scotch eggs two at a time. Lower them into the oil and fry for 4-5 minutes, turning once or twice to ensure they brown evenly.