The Sad Demise of Patum Peperium

 

The Sad Demise of Patum Peperium – Gentleman's Relish is No More, and Britain Just Got a Little Less Civilised

Blimey, what a rotten start to the week. Yesterday the news dropped like a lead balloon: Patum Peperium, better known to the rest of us as Gentleman's Relish, has officially ceased production. After nearly 200 years of quietly punching above its weight on the nation's toast racks, AB World Foods has pulled the plug. Sales dwindled, they couldn't find a buyer for the brand, and now this glorious, salty, fishy little pot of Victorian brilliance is heading for the great condiment graveyard in the sky.

Created back in 1828 by one John Osborn (an Englishman doing his thing in Paris, of all places), Patum Peperium – that mock-Latin name meaning something like "pepper paté" – was originally the preserve of posh gentlemen's clubs on Pall Mall. It was deemed too robust for the ladies and far too refined for the hoi polloi. Mrs Beeton herself recommended it as the perfect "bonne bouche" to help gentlemen enjoy their port with extra gusto. James Bond even gave it a nod in the books. Nigella can't live without it. And now? Toast.

For those who've never had the pleasure (or the shock), Gentleman's Relish is a potent anchovy paste – minimum 60% salted anchovies – blended with butter, herbs, spices, and that mysterious "Ingredient X" known only to one person at a time. It's salty as the sea, fishy as a trawler deck, and spicy enough to wake the dead. You don't slather it on like Marmite. No, you use it very sparingly – a thin scrape on hot buttered toast, perhaps with a squeeze of lemon, and suddenly your afternoon tea feels like an occasion. It melts into scrambled eggs like a dream, gives a sneaky umami kick to sauces, and turns a boring Welsh rarebit into something rather special.

I've been a fan for donkey's years. That little white pot with the elegant black-and-white label has graced my kitchen cupboard more times than I care to count. A quick smear on toast after a long walk, or stirred into a batch of devilled kidneys – proper old-school savoury magic. It divided opinions like few things can ("too pongy!" cry the faint-hearted; "absolute nectar!" say the rest of us), but that's exactly what made it brilliant. In a world of bland, mass-produced everything, Patum Peperium stood firm with its Victorian swagger and uncompromising flavour.

The sad truth is, it was always a niche product. Even when production moved from its old Elsenham roots eventually to Poland under AB World Foods, the loyal following kept it ticking along. But niche doesn't pay the bills when retailer shelves shrink and the next generation reaches for avocado smash instead. No grand farewell, no last hurrah – just a quiet confirmation that the brand is done. Earlier this year, the plug was pulled. Stocks will linger for a while, but once they're gone, that's it.

It's another little piece of proper British food heritage slipping away. Like losing a favourite old pub or that corner shop that actually knew your name. In these days of endless trends and Instagram-friendly condiments, something as unapologetically old-fashioned and characterful as Gentleman's Relish deserves a proper lament.

So here's to you, Patum Peperium. You were never trendy, never meek, and always used very sparingly – just as the label warned. You made simple toast feel like a gentleman's club indulgence. We'll miss your salty punch and that unmistakable whiff that cleared the sinuses and cheered the soul.

If you've got a pot stashed away, savour every last scrape. And if you're feeling bold, have a crack at making your own version at home – there are plenty of recipes floating about that get pretty close (anchovies, butter, cayenne, nutmeg, lemon – you know the drill).

Raise a slice of hot buttered toast to Gentleman's Relish. Blood marvellous while it lasted.

What about you lot? Got any fond (or horrified) memories of Patum Peperium? Did you love it or run a mile? Spill in the comments – and if you've got a final pot, guard it with your life.

Amazon suggestions to tide you over (affiliate links – every little helps keep the blog going): → Good quality anchovy fillets for homemade experiments
→ Proper unsalted butter (Kerrygold is my go-to)
→ A decent microplane for zesting lemon over your toast

Ken’s Traditional Christmas Ham – The Proper Showstopper That’ll Have Everyone Fighting for Seconds

 

Listen, Christmas isn’t Christmas without a proper ham on the table. Not one of those sad, pre-sliced things from the supermarket that tastes like wet cardboard – I’m talking a glorious, glistening, smoky gammon joint with a fat cap so thick it’s practically begging to be glazed. This is my go-to recipe, handed down and tweaked over the years, and it’s stupidly simple but looks like you’ve spent all day slaving over it. Spoiler: you haven’t.

The secret? Gentle simmering with proper aromatics, then a sticky, mustardy, breadcrumb crust that turns golden and crunchy. It’s the ham that gets the “how the hell did you make this?” looks every single time.

Serves 8–12 (with leftovers for epic sandwiches)
Prep 15 mins | Cook 2–4 hours simmering + 15 mins baking
Cost about £1.50–£2 per person (depending on the joint)

Ingredients (Amazon affiliate links for the bits I always use – cheers for the support)

• 1 large smoked gammon joint (4–5kg ideally, with a good thick layer of fat – get it from the butcher)
• 6–8 bay leaves
• 1 tbsp juniper berries
• 1 tbsp black peppercorns
• 1 tbsp cloves (for studding)
• 4–5 tbsp Demerara sugar
• 1 egg yolk
• 2 heaped tsp English mustard powder (this one is the proper Colman’s)
• 100g fresh breadcrumbs (make your own or buy decent ones – none of that orange sawdust)

Method – Dead Easy, Maximum Wow

1. The simmer. Grab your biggest saucepan and chuck an upturned heatproof plate in the bottom (this stops the gammon scorching on the base – old-school trick). Add the bay leaves, juniper berries, and black peppercorns. Pop the gammon on the plate, fat side up, and fill the pan with cold water until the meat is just covered. Bring to a gentle simmer (not a rolling boil – you want it to bubble lazily). Cook for 20 minutes per pound (450g). For a 4kg joint, that’s about 3–3.5 hours. Top up the water if needed.

2. Check it’s done. The ham is ready when a skewer slides in easily and the fat is soft. Lift it out (careful – it’s hot and heavy) and let it cool slightly. Reserve a splash of the cooking liquor if you fancy making a sauce later.

3. Skin it. Once it’s cool enough to handle, peel off the rind, leaving the fat layer intact. Score the fat in a diamond pattern with a sharp knife – go deep enough to cut through the fat but not into the meat.

4. Stud it. Push cloves into the intersections of your diamond pattern. It looks posh and smells like Christmas.

5. The glaze. In a small bowl, mix the egg yolk, mustard powder, and Demerara sugar into a thick paste. Smear it generously over the fat – get it into all the scores. Then sprinkle over the breadcrumbs, pressing them down lightly so they stick.

6. Bake. Preheat the oven to 180°C fan (200°C conventional, gas 6). Pop the ham in a roasting tin (line it with foil to save washing up) and bake for 15 minutes until the crust is golden and bubbling. Keep an eye – you want it bronzed, not burnt.

7. Rest and carve. Let it sit for 15–20 minutes before carving. The fat will firm up a bit, making it easier to slice into perfect, juicy slabs.

Why This Ham Is Bloody Marvellous

• That smoky, herby flavour from the simmer is next-level
• The mustard-breadcrumb crust is sweet, tangy, crunchy perfection
• Leftovers are gold: sandwiches, pea and ham soup, quiche, the lot
• Freezes beautifully (sliced or whole)

Serve it hot with roast potatoes and all the trimmings, or cold with pickles and chutney. Either way, it’s the star of the show.

Voila! Bloody marvellous!

My Amazon kit for the perfect Christmas ham
→ Colman’s English mustard powder – the only one worth using
→ Good quality cloves – these are fresh and potent
→ Heavy-duty roasting tin – mine’s been going strong for 15 years
→ Sharp carving knife – makes slicing a dream

Get that ham on the go, you legends. Your Christmas table will thank you.

 

Proper Homemade Sausage Rolls – The Ultimate British Classic You’ll Never Buy Again

 

Right, let’s cut the faff. You’ve had enough of those cardboard-tasting supermarket sausage rolls that taste like regret and sawdust. It’s time to make your own – proper, flaky, buttery, herby, and so good you’ll be hiding them from the kids. These are the sausage rolls that make people go quiet when they bite in, then immediately demand the recipe.

This is dead easy if you’ve got a bit of patience (and a fridge). We’re making a rough puff pastry from scratch – none of that shop-bought nonsense that tastes like plastic. Trust me: once you’ve made these, you’ll never look back.

Makes 12–16 decent-sized rolls (or 24 cocktail ones if you’re feeling generous)
Prep 45 mins (plus chilling) | Bake 18–20 mins
Cost about £5 for the lot – bargain

Ingredients

• 250g plain flour (sift it, don’t be lazy)
• 250g unsalted butter – proper cold, straight from the fridge (I use this Kerrygold)
• 250ml ice-cold water (keep a jug in the freezer for 10 mins)
• 450g good sausage meat (I get mine from the butcher – proper pork, not 60% filler)
• 1 heaped tsp dried sage (or mixed herbs if you’re feeling fancy)
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper (be generous)
• 1 beaten egg for glazing (this is the one that makes them golden)

Method – Step-by-Step, No-Nonsense

1. Pastry time. Sift the flour into a big mixing bowl with a good pinch of salt and a crack of pepper. Cube the cold butter into small chunks and chuck it in. Get your hands in and rub roughly – you want big lumpy bits of butter, not breadcrumbs. This is rough puff, not shortcrust. Leave it rustic.

2. Bring it together. Slowly pour in the ice-cold water with one hand while mixing with the other (use a knife or your fingers). Stop as soon as it forms a shaggy dough ball – don’t overwork it. Wrap in cling film and shove in the fridge for 30 mins minimum. (This is where the magic happens.)

3. Sausage prep. While the dough chills, mix the sausage meat with the sage (or mixed herbs), a decent pinch of salt and plenty of black pepper. Fry off a small spoonful in a pan, taste, and adjust seasoning. You want it properly herby and savoury – this is your only chance to get it right.

4. Lamination time. Flour your work surface generously. Roll the dough into a rectangle about 1cm thick. Fold it into thirds like a letter (bottom up, top down), then give it a quarter turn. Roll out again into a rectangle. Repeat this folding and rolling twice more (three turns total). This is what gives you those beautiful layers. Pop it back in the fridge for 10–15 mins if it’s getting sticky.

5. Assembly. Flour the surface again. Roll the dough into a long rectangle about 30cm x 20cm. Roll the seasoned sausage meat into a long sausage shape with your hands (divide into two if it’s easier) and lay it down the length of the dough. Brush one long edge with beaten egg, then roll the dough over the sausage meat like a giant sausage roll duvet. Seal the edge firmly with a fork or your fingers.

6. Cut and glaze. Slice into your desired size – 8–10cm for big ones, 4–5cm for cocktail bites. Place on a baking tray lined with baking paper (this one is non-stick and reusable). Brush the tops with more beaten egg for that glossy finish.

7. Bake. Preheat the oven to 180°C fan (200°C conventional, gas 6). Bake for 18–20 minutes until deep golden brown and the sausage is cooked through (no pink). You’ll smell them before they’re ready – pure heaven.

8. Serve. Let them cool for 5 mins if you can bear it (I never can). Eat warm with HP sauce, ketchup, or just on their own like a civilised savage.

Why These Sausage Rolls Are Worth the Effort

• Flaky, buttery pastry that shatters when you bite
• Proper sausage meat that’s seasoned to perfection
• Freezes brilliantly (uncooked or cooked) – batch them up
• Cheaper and tastier than anything you’ll find in a packet

Go on, make a double batch. Your future self will thank you when you’re raiding the freezer at 11pm.

My Amazon kit for perfect sausage rolls
→ Kerrygold unsalted butter – the gold standard
→ Reusable silicone baking mats – no more burnt paper
→ Sharp paring knife for clean cuts (this set is a steal)
→ Rolling pin that actually works (I use this one)

Get stuck in, you beautiful bakers. Share a pic if you make them – I want to see those golden beauties.