Beef Hairy Bikers' Best of British

We believe Britain has the best food in the world!

Our glorious country boasts some fantastic ingredients.

Start eating it, will ya?

It's home to amazing producers...

-My goodness gracious, that is epic.

-Isn't it?

..and innovative chefs.

But our islands also have a fascinating food history.

The fish and chip shops of south Wales are running out of chips.

BOTH: Yes!

And in this series,

we're uncovering revealing stories of our rich culinary past.

Now there is food history on a plate.

As well as meeting our nation's food heroes

who are keeping this heritage alive.

Best have them enjoying themselves. It's a short life, let's make it

a happy one like they've always have had.

And of course we'll be cooking up a load of dishes that reveal

our foody evolution.

Spring, summer, autumn or winter.

It's brilliant.

-BOTH:

-Quite simply,

the best of British!

Nothing, not wet Wimbledon, bulldogs or even cricket

is as British as beef. Take a look at these Longhorns here.

They are not only the oldest breed of beef cattle in Britain,

they are arguably producing some of the best-tasting beef in the world.

And, you know, beef is so much part of our national identity that

since the 18th century, the French have called us

"Le rosbif."

But we are proud to stand here and call ourselves les rosbifs.

We fry it, we grill it, we saute it,

we casserole it, pot roast it. Oh!

I like the look of that one.

Our love of beef is legendary.

In a celebration of all things bovine,

today's show pays homage to the great British beef cow

and the role it's played in our culinary history.

We'll be revisiting a bygone tradition.

Championing world-class cattle.

And rejoicing in the art of that perfect fusion

of mankind and meat, the roast beef dinner.

Cattle breeding is something we Brits have excelled at over the years

in our quest to find the perfect beef-producing beast.

When it comes to British beef, for us,

one of the best has to be Hereford.

It's home to a breed that's famous all over the world.

That white-faced beauty, the Hereford cow.

It's a real British icon.

And it's one of the most influential food exports we've ever had.

Today, over five million pedigree Herefords can be found grazing

all over the world in over 120 countries,

from Australia to Russia.

No wonder the people of Herefordshire have always been

so proud of this fine beast.

It's the best animal ever produced.

They put on more weight gains than any other animal in the world.

-By eating just grass.

-By eating grass,

which is grown for virtually nothing.

It was a breed born out of necessity and invention.

With the advent of the Industrial Revolution,

the food market in Britain expanded rapidly

as the population in urban areas exploded.

Farmers needed a cow that could efficiently convert

grass into pounds of tasty beef at a profit.

The "stakes" were high, so when a young landowner, Benjamin Tomkins,

inherited a notably bulky cow and her calf in 1742,

he dedicated the next 50 years to breeding the perfect beef cow.

And the Hereford was born.

Word quickly spread

and soon the world's cattle fanciers would be unable to resist.

First, they were imported into the United States

by Kentucky statesman Henry Clay in 1817

and thus began its journey of world domination.

You only want to switch on your television to watch any Western film,

and practically every animal you see in that picture

was got by Hereford bull, which originates back to Hereford.

They were exported wherever grass grew and beef was in demand,

and the Hereford thrived practically everywhere it went.

But back on home turf, as the 1970s dawned,

the bulky Hereford faced a tough challenge.

Now people wanted leaner meat.

We're not going for fat as much nowadays

and, in any case, the housewife resents having to pay more than a pound a pound

for a good steak and then having to cut all this fat off it.

So many British farmers turned to the cow's

larger and leaner continental counterparts.

Breeds like the Charolais and the Limousin

started to push the Hereford out of the market.

Thankfully, over the last few years,

the breed has made a bit of a comeback in the UK,

as more and more people look for traceability in their meat.

And have realised that a bit of fat does wonders for the taste buds.

The Hereford cow is a truly British offering to the world of beef.

Which is the perfect partner for another creation

that we can lay claim to.

Savoury puddings don't often appear on our menus these days

but we want to give them the recognition they deserve

by cooking a truly time-honoured dish.

Suet pudding is the one thing

that us Britons can absolutely say we invented.

It's quintessentially British

and in it there is the quintessential ingredient of, Dave?

Beef!

And suet go together like Sid and Nancy. It's brilliant.

I mean, Mrs Beeton can lay claim to being the first person

to publicise the steak and kidney pudding

when she printed a recipe sent in by a reader in 1864, I believe.

That was 1864, ladies and gents.

Now it's time for a revolution, and now it's our turn.

We've thought about it, but one thing that's always occurred to us,

-the relationship between the gravy and the suet.

-Yeah.

-Could it be improved upon?

-Could it?

-Could it be better?

-Could it look nicer?

-Could you get more bangs for your bucks?

-Can you get more nibbles from your noob?

So, we've invented a layered beef and mushroom suet pudding.

It's like a club sandwich triple-decker suet pudding

culinary, kind of...

-Masterpiece!

-..masterpiece.

What a legacy to leave to the world of the pudding.

With its exquisite layers of suet pastry and steak,

it's like a beef Viennetta!

Longhorn, look at this beautiful,

beautiful piece, native breed Longhorn. The best of British beef.

And the Longhorn can lay claim to being the first.

It was the first breed of beef that was bred to be eaten.

Up until then, we'd eat knackered old dairy cows,

we'd make the best of it.

To provide a worthy accompaniment to this beautiful fellow,

we're going to need a gravy. Start by chopping two onions.

-I'll tell you what, though.

-What?

We're going to have to do some exercise to justify eating that.

Oof! You know, suet has been out of fashion

-since we got a bit more calorie conscious.

-I'm not surprised.

-Yeah, but once every now and again, you know...

-And that's the thing.

Even though we're on a diet, like we've always said,

a little bit of what you fancy does you good, every now and then.

Just cos we're thinner than we used to be doesn't mean to say

we've stopped eating pies and drinking beer.

We just don't do it six nights a week like we did before.

We do it one night.

Chop 200 grams of mushrooms, add to the onions,

and sweat them down for five minutes.

Into a bowl put four tablespoons of flour, one of flaked sea salt,

pepper,

and two teaspoons of mixed herbs.

Now, what I'm going to do is toss the beef in that mixture.

Righto, Kingy, I think we're there.

That's sweated down like a Beefeater in a cabbage patch.

This floured meat will help thicken the gravy.

Look at that, it's really well coated, yeah?

Looks like Turkish Delight now, doesn't it?

There's no browning off of the meat required on this one.

This is a stew.

This is like Boadicea's breakfast-

so British.

Now, to that we add a bottle and a half of stout. Good, dark beer.

Now add 300ml of beef stock,

two tablespoons of tomato puree...

..and two teaspoons of caster sugar.

You always add a bit of sugar when you use tomato puree.

-Just tempers the acidity slightly, doesn't it?

-Yeah.

And a heap of cracked black pepper. Beef and pepper.

Well, that goes together like beef and suet.

That needs to go into a preheated oven, 160 degrees Celsius

for about 2.25 hours

until that beef is cooked through and falling apart.

-And do you know what I suggest, Kingy?

-What, mate?

We have two hours in which to burn off calories

and that will justify us tucking in to our triumphant

steak and suet layered pudding for the 21st century.

-Let sweating begin.

-Yes.

# God save the Queen. #

HE HUMS THE NATIONAL ANTHEM

# ..victorious

# Happy and glorious... #

HE WHISTLES THE NATIONAL ANTHEM

I wish our national anthem was a bit more jolly.

What, like the Germans?

-No, not like the Germans.

-French?

-No.

-Italians?

Leave your casserole to bubble away,

giving it a good stir halfway through the cooking time.

-BOTH:

-Oh, yes.

Remove five ladles of the cooking liquor

and set it aside for use for the gravy.

If we've got too much moisture in our layered suet pudding,

the technology of which will become apparent in a moment,

it could be catastrophic.

Now, you want to ladle this out.

And put it into a heatproof bowl.

And leave to cool.

Time to make the suet.

Time to think about the geometry of the creation of the beast.

Take 325 grams of self raising flour...

150 grams of shredded suet...

..a teaspoon of salt

and 25 grams of finely chopped parsley.

Now, start adding the water.

You'll need about 250ml, but it's not an exact science.

It's ready when it's a firm ball of dough.

-So you can feel if it's right.

-Oh, yeah.

-We would've had half of this each.

-Yes, we would.

Whereas this will serve six people. That's where we were going wrong.

So, basically, a portion is fine. Half the pudding isn't.

First off, I want 100 grams of suet,

so let's have a guesstimate..

100 grams of suet. Ball number one.

Now I need 150 grams of suet.

150. Ball number two.

Ball number three. I'm going for 200 grams.

Which must mean that, if my mathematics serves me correctly,

ball number four should weigh 275 grams.

270.

That's not bad, is it?

We've lost five grams somewhere in the ether, but, no, that's not bad.

That's going to work.

Our suet pudding is a complex beast.

Turn the pastry out onto a floured surface and roll the smallest ball

into a disc of about 1.5 centimetres thick.

Now, if I just go that thickness, because I've done the geometry

and the mathematics, each disc should come out slightly larger.

And with a bit of luck, with a fair wind, and a happy heart,

we should end up with a pudding.

What I'm going to do with the pastry brush

is liberally butter the inside of the pudding basin.

Now this has to be as thick as the top, so, in theory,

if I get the top and bottom the right size,

the two in the middle can be shaped to fit.

What do you reckon?

Spot-on-ski!

SINGS CHARIOTS OF FIRE THEME

Let's build a pudding.

Place the smallest disc into the bottom of the pudding basin.

Then add your first layer of meat. Then the second disc.

Repeat until the bowl is layered

with the remaining pastry and filling,

ending with the largest disc of pastry.

Ha-ha!

Now, if that comes out, can you imagine what it's going to be?

It's going to be a taste sensation. It redefines the dumpling.

Cover the bowl with greaseproof paper and foil

making sure you put a pleat down the middle of both.

Because when it cooks, it's going to expand.

Just like our waistbands when we eat it.

Now tie the paper and foil in place with some string,

leaving some to make a little handle across the top.

And test flight...

Get in. Beautiful. Lovely.

Place your pudding onto a trivet or upturned saucer

in the bottom of a pan.

We've got our lovely handle to lift it out.

Pop the lid on, get that on a gentle simmer

and it's going to steam in that vapour.

Now, the water mustn't touch the pudding, but what you must do

is look every now and again and make sure it hasn't boiled dry.

And that needs to steam for two hours.

Dave, the sense of anticipation is killing me.

It's more than just a meal.

This is history in the making.

Oh, look at that.

-It's just like a sunburnt beer belly, isn't it?

-Oh, look.

Hoo-hoo!

If this comes out, it's going to be a triumph.

That is one complete rotation of the pudding, Mr Myers.

-Are you optimistic?

-I'm...I'm...I'm anxious.

-YES!

-YES!

-Get in!

Look at that!

Layers! One, two, three, four.

Yes!

-We've done it - it's a layered suet pudding.

-It is.

Don't be shy.

Yes.

It's worked.

Look at that.

It's like a bovine gateau.

I love it.

Three roasted beets.

Just like Vesuvius erupting.

I think we have redefined the traditional suet pudding.

But the proof of the pudding is in the tasting.

Have we done British beef justice?

That Longhorn beef is fantastic.

-It's made the most wonderful gravy. Coupled with the suet.

-Yep.

The layers of suet on the top and the bottom are quite dry.

And there's a lovely kind of soggy one in the middle.

And the soggy one in the middle is kind of like...a free dumpling!

The anatomy of the beef suet pudding...

-..will never be to the same again.

-No.

We've played with the DNA of a classic.

The best of British beef, in the best of a British pudding.

Our green and pleasant land

has sustained generations of sturdy cattle

that even today are the envy of the world.

So if you really want to celebrate this majestic meat,

you don't just want to cook a joint...

..you go the whole hog

and roast an entire ox.

This is one barbecue where you need to call in the big boys!

And at Penrith Rugby Club, butcher Frank Jackson has got

a real job on his hands.

We wanted to have a go at roasting an ox because

it's basically a challenge, and it's not something that's often done.

They tend to be done at village celebrations, jubilees...

And throughout history they were quite a regular occurrence.

It is a big task to take on, so we're a little bit worried at the moment,

but in a couple of days' time,

hopefully, everything will have gone absolutely fine.

The word ox was used to describe large cattle

traditionally bred to pull carts and ploughs.

But the size of the animal is only half the problem these days.

As Best of British historian and walking food encyclopaedia Ivan Day can testify.

One of the problems is that we can't roast it in the usual English way,

because nowadays, to fulfil all the health obligations,

we've got to remove the spinal cord from the animal,

which means we can't put a shaft through

because it's going to be in four quarters rather than a whole beast.

So we're using a very old method which is called a cradle spit.

It is the only way that you can do a traditional ox roast

in the 21st century, because of the health rules.

Even when they've managed to get it onto the spit, the job is far from done.

An animal this size can take anything up to 30 hours to cook properly.

It may take a while, but cooking beef this way

means we can give ourselves a real taste of history.

Until you've actually tasted it, you've never eaten roast beef in this country,

because it always is done in an oven now.

So this is a rare opportunity

to recover one of our lost food traditions.

# When Mighty Roast Beef was the Englishman's food

# It ennobled our brains and enriched our blood

# Our soldiers were brave and our courtiers were good

# O, the Roast Beef of Old England... #

Ah, those were the days!

We've been roasting oxen for hundreds of years.

In the 1600s, fires were even built on the frozen Thames itself.

People would pay money to enter an enclosure

just to see this amazing feat happening.

But the significance of ox roasting in Britain

is probably best demonstrated when a royal celebration was called for.

At jubilees and coronations,

there was no better way to cement your patriotism

than by tucking into some British beef.

What's extraordinary is

that there was an amazing amount of tradition tied up with this.

Almost ritualised.

For instance, on many occasions, the ox would be decorated with flowers

and it would be driven through the streets of the town,

often with a brass band marching in front of it.

So, some people think this might go way back,

and there might be some ancient, sacrificial ritual attached to it,

but, personally, I think it's Victorian pageantry.

But times change, and ox roasting -

a skill traditionally passed on from one butcher to another -

had, by the 1970s, become a dying art.

REPORTER: At what stage can you tell that it's actually done?

Well, it's impossible really, David, to roast a beast and say,

"There you are, it's cooked."

There's no substitute for practical experience in a thing like this.

Though Her Majesty the Queen was clearly interested,

she declined a sample.

Our Frank's not feeding the Queen,

but he is keeping the skills of the great British butcher alive and kicking.

Yeah, I feel quite proud of doing it, you know.

It's nice to he able to do this sort of thing, show people how it's done.

Um, and, you know, hopefully, it'll be talked about for quite a long time afterwards.

And my kids are here to see it.

They probably won't see it again, so they can see it for posterity.

But an ox needs a lot of attention,

and with 20 hours of cooking to go,

it's going to be a long night.

OWL HOOTS

A full 18 hours later, it's nearly done.

It might be raining, but Ivan's back for his shift,

and he's confident that despite appearances,

this ox will be well worth the wait.

The beast at the moment - I mean, it looks fairly carbonised,

but I know from experience, that lurking behind that dark exterior

is going to be a very juicy, succulent feast for everybody.

And this is going to feed at least 400, if not, 600 people.

Bring on the party!

# Now there's all that meat And no potatoes

# Oh, it ain't right, like a green tomato... #

Roasting an ox is all about the ceremony, and after all that effort,

first dibs have got to go to the cooks.

-Beautiful.

-Just look at that.

Falling to pieces.

Absolutely fantastic.

-It's like marshmallow, isn't it?

-It is. That's beautiful, that.

30 hours of roasting? Can I have the first taste?

Of course you can, Ivan?

-My God, that is absolutely fantastic.

-Good.

-I'll have to take the second one, I think.

-Go on.

-Just melts in the mouth, doesn't it?

-Absolutely superb.

-Absolutely marvellous.

-I've been quite nervous about it.

But it is gorgeous - it's juicy, it's very tender, it just falls to pieces.

I'm afraid, Ivan, we've got 400 people in here waiting to get fed, so we'd better crack on.

I reckon there'll be enough for another 200.

I think there could be.

But we'll be giving good portions, because we are in Cumbria.

Well, I'll phone a few friends.

A whole roast ox is hardly the first thing that comes to mind

when you think of party food.

But taking time to revisit some traditions of old

is, it seems, well worth the effort!

Yes, all too often beef these days comes in the form of shrink-wrapped steaks and bargain burgers.

But look harder and you'll discover there are British beef farmers

who really go the extra mile when it comes to producing quality meat.

Including one in my home county of Northumberland.

Steve Ramshaw is taking cattle rearing to a whole new level,

combining the best of British cattle breeds...

..with the molly-coddled Wagyu cow all the way from Japan.

We've heard that if you feed Wagyu cattle beer,

it...you know, does great things to them.

And, you know what, Kingy, it's not just the feed,

it's the way of life and the quality they're brought up.

And they're subjected to constant massage and fine music.

And it produces a better product. I've got that for the massage.

-What's that?

-It's a massaging device.

Now, imagine that's the loin of the beast

and you run your device up and down there, because the loin's the expensive part,

and it's a process of tenderisation as the beast matures.

-Are you going to do it?

-Oh, aye. Come on.

And the reason for all this pampering is a unique beef product

that, like sushi, infiltrated the global consciousness

during the bubble-inflated 1980s.

Special occasions in Japan often call for shabu shabu -

cooked in an unusual way at the table in a pot of water.

But the most unusual part of the experience is the meat.

It's called Kobe beef, and it looks different

because of those thin veins of fat running through the cherry-red lean.

The Japanese call it shimofuri - and that means frost-sparkled -

and they believe that the more sparkle in the lean,

the more sparkle in the taste.

And to give the meat this sparkle,

Japanese farmers rear these cows like members of their own family.

And the unique taste of the meat seems to depend both on the breed,

and on the way the animals are fed and pampered.

This one high-maintenance cow.

It demands a particular diet...

LOUD MOO

..and to help it relax after the meal, a lovely massage.

DAVE HUMS A TUNE

Steve is using some of these tricks in rearing his own animals back here in the UK.

How long do you reckon you'll have to massage it for to have some impact, Steve?

In Japan they massage them every day, the belief is that it tenderises the meat.

But the reality is, we don't know if it works.

What you could do though, Steve, is to get...

You know those giant slimming belts?

Get one, plug it in on two-hour cycles.

In France, where they breed pure Wagyu,

they have a little car-wash machine that comes down

and massages them while they're eating.

But do you reckon, though, Steve, the truth of the matter

is good breeding and really good animal husbandry?

Good genetics to start with, well-looked-after animals, good diet

and I think that's it.

I mean, the genetics we brought in from America is really just something special.

Why aren't you getting all this from Japan?

Japan has a protection on these animals now.

They're actually a protected identity, so they don't release them.

They did export some to North America in the 1970s,

and they've got a huge herd now in America.

Obviously, the climate in North America is similar to the climate in Northumberland,

so it's important that we bring animals from a northern climate.

Acclimatisation in the States might help Wagyus adapt in Northumberland,

but Steve's keen to create a uniquely British product

and to do that he's crossbred them with Aberdeen Angus -

cut down on the pampering,

and let them loose on our sweet and lush pastures.

The taste comes from our British diet which is grass and clover,

but what we're looking for is tenderness and juiciness,

aftertaste, and then taste. But taste is personal.

I once had someone complain that the beef was too "beefy".

He wants his dinner!

I think it was my jacket!

He might want his dinner, but I want mine!

And that tackle from behind is my cue to get out of here.

I think it's steak-o'clock, Kingy!

Dude, I agree wholeheartedly,

so Steve is going to show just what this new hybrid British beef

is all about.

What have we got there, Steve?

This is a traditional supermarket steak.

Which is good British beef, but...not very well marbled.

And the colour looks too red.

The colour disappears a bit with more maturation.

So the Wagyu-cross and the full-blood Wagyus have been matured a bit longer.

And that's the one you're working for?

That's the one I think will be the real winner in British restaurants.

Wonderful.

What is it that actually makes it so special, Steve?

The amount of marbling in the meat just makes it so juicy when you cook it.

So it retains the flavour and moisture of the meat.

But the fat on this, Steve, is different?

Yes, it's intramuscular fat.

So it's unsaturated fat and it's actually quite healthy fat for you.

Can we have a bit?

-I'd better cook one, yeah?

-Fantastic.

-Dying to taste it.

-I can't wait!

SIZZLING

-Smells fantastic.

-Does, doesn't it!

The anticipation's killing me.

Oh, look at that! That's a supermodel of the meat world.

That is a lovely-looking steak.

You know, Steve, it's like a piece of history, isn't it?

We're a nation of beef eaters and this is the dawn of a new era.

It doesn't often happen, this.

The adventure begins.

# Love me tender, love me sweet... #

-Happy?

-I think so.

-Yeah? Good.

That...is unbelievable.

The marbling just keeps the moisture in the meat when you cook it.

It gives you that aftertaste.

Oh, what?!

Absolutely superb.

Do you know, as good as we are at beef in Britain,

it's great to know that even today,

by adding a bit of Japanese sparkle, we can still make it even better.

# ..And I always will... #

What I love about us Brits is that we're truly democratic

when it comes to our beef.

No matter what corner of the cow the meat comes from,

it can still be classed as a culinary treasure,

even if it does suffer from - ahem! - an image problem.

It's cheap, nutritious and is said to even increase your libido.

Can you tell what it is yet? Yes, it's tripe!

Sure it's tripe. What do you think it is?!

It's a foodstuff that has struggled with its reputation

for quite some time and it hasn't always got the best reaction.

Gordon Bennett!

-Would you take it up?

-No, I don't think so. I might BRING it up!

Bleugh! I'm with them - it's horrible!

Well, it may not be everyone's cup of tea, but I like it.

And the stomach lining of cows and other animals is wholesome,

filling and virtually fat-free.

It's also a good source of vitamin C and calcium, you know.

It's great, man!

-What's it taste like?

-Very nice!

I just love it.

Tripe was once a popular British dish and seen as good,

honest working-man's grub.

And best of all, it was cheap.

The people of the West Riding, as a whole, have a long tradition

of making the most of what they have.

Using up everything they can.

Perhaps eating the sorts of things

people in the South maybe wouldn't like.

Now, one of these is tripe.

Beef tripe is the most common type in this country.

Cows' stomachs have four chambers

and each produces a different variety.

But to make it edible takes hours of meticulous preparation

by skilled tripe dressers.

They're now removing the stomach linings off these tripes

before they're boiled.

It all depends how you boil it whether it's fit to eat or not.

It's got to be just tender, not too tender, not tough.

But it can all be made nice.

I'll have to take your word for that, mate!

This is the finished tripe

A full tripe, that. That's a full stomach.

And under here, which you see attached to it, is the honeycomb.

This is the most popular part of the tripe. Everyone wants honeycomb.

I don't know why, because this plain tripe is far nicer.

I think it's the fascination of this hole business,

which holds all the vinegar.

Cooked right, there are those who claim that it's downright tasty.

But the smell of cooking it is a different matter.

You'll have no trouble finding the Ideal Tripe Works.

Boiling stomachs can be stomach-turning.

In fact it's so bad, it's been described by one cook as

"an odour that melts your eyelashes off

"and leaves the black fog of death in its aftermath."

But despite this, tripe was a staple of the working-class diet

in industrial towns and it came in many tasty varieties -

cold, fried or the classic pickled.

-Which one do you particularly like?

-I like the honeycomb and the cow ear.

In fact this bovine delicacy was

so well liked that whole evenings were held in its honour!

This might look like OFFAL dancing, but actually it's just TRIPE!

There were also countless dedicated tripe restaurants.

It was the fast food of its day.

-Do you prefer to eat it with vinegar?

-I like it with vinegar.

-I don't like it cooked.

-I like it cooked with milk and onions.

Sadly, tastes have changed and by the end of the '60s,

due to rising prosperity in the North,

people started to favour more premium cuts of meat.

Tripe became as undesirable as a tin bath, rickets or an outside loo.

But more than 40 years on,

the latest trend for nose-to-tail cooking means that tripe is back.

Albeit tentatively.

So I'm doing some tripe. It's thick, rich and gelatinous.

That is delicious.

So whether you're a tripe-fancier

or you're suppressing your gag reflex - bleugh! -

at the very thought of eating it, there's no denying

that, in the current economic climate,

we should be re-acquainting ourselves with this notorious delicacy.

But only if you've got the stomach for it!

Using every bit of the animal is a culinary practice that's been

revived of late and is something Britons have done for generations.

In fact it's some of the less auspicious cuts that have

often become regional specialities and delicacies in their own right.

So next up in our Best Of British kitchen,

we're reviving a traditional recipe

that finds a use for another forgotten cut - the tail.

Now, this has to be one of me favourite cuts of meat.

It is one of the cheapest, but it is one of me favourites.

This is oxtail.

It's tasty, it's unctuous, it gives great gravy,

it's fantastic for stews, it's fantastic for soups.

And just because it's cheap doesn't mean to say it's less tasty

than any of the more expensive cuts on a cow.

And today what we're going to do is make a true British classic -

oxtail soup.

-Actually, you're wrong.

-What?

Oxtail soup's French. Shut your face, you, and go get us some flour.

French!

It's English.

No, Kingy, apparently oxtail soup is French.

It came about during the French Revolution.

What happens is, time of great poverty, no meat.

-The hides were sent to tanneries to make leather goods.

-Yes.

In the old days, they used to leave the tails on the hides

-and they were just thrown away.

-Makes sense.

Anyway, there was a hungry nobleman, he took that tail

and made oxtail soup.

And before long, all over France they were making oxtail soup.

And the oxtail soup then filtered its way into Britain

and we got a liking for it, too.

Flour, salt, pepper.

Look, the French'll lay claim to anything. It's British.

First off, chop two onions, three carrots,

three sticks of celery and two cloves of garlic.

I'm going to heat about two tablespoons of oil.

I'm just going to toss these lovely pieces of oxtail

in the seasoned flour.

SIZZLING

In the world there is a huge history of people having to develop

and devise recipes and tasty treats

out of discarded bits of the animal.

In America, the African slaves developed amazing recipes for using

discarded parts of the animals, like tongue, ears, tails and intestines.

It was because you had nothing else to eat.

But just because you had to didn't mean you couldn't involve

a bit of cooking to make it tasty.

-Belly pork.

-Don't get me started!

Belly pork was a throwaway cut and now it's a bit chi-chi.

-It's gone all trendy, hasn't it?

-So's oxtail, hasn't it?

I'll just go down the gastropub, they've got oxtail on. Whoo!

I don't want me entrecote now, they've got oxtail!

When your oxtail has browned off a bit,

transfer it into a casserole dish.

Mmm!

Bit more oil.

And add my melody of vegetation.

Give it a stir...

and that needs to sweat down for ten minutes.

Oui! Je prends mon mirepoix

et j'ai jete avec la derriere de ox.

Oui!

Je prends le pan sur le feu.

Put the pan on the fire.

Et le vin rouge, un peu. C'est le Beaujolais, c'est bon.

-Put a little bit of the wine in the bottom of the pan and deglaze.

-Oui.

Now add 300ml of red wine, two litres of beef stock...

..and two tablespoons of tomato puree.

One teaspoon dried thyme, and season well.

Now bring your stock to a simmer.

Now this goes into a low oven - 150 degrees Celsius - for three hours.

It's a gentle cooking.

This gives us time to, well, rewrite history, I feel.

Be sure to give it a stir halfway through the cooking time.

After three hours it's done, so remove the oxtail pieces

and pull all that meaty loveliness off the bone.

Discard the gristly bits and, using kitchen roll,

remove the fat from the top.

Now for me herby dumplings.

Mix 200g of flour...

Always use self-raising in the dumpling

so you get a fluffy dumpling.

100g of shredded suet, half a teaspoon of flaked sea salt

and three tablespoons of finely chopped parsley,

add 150ml of cold water and make dumplings!

Little dinky dumplings.

And the great thing how these dumplings are going to work

is the oxtail has given up all its gravy and beefy flavour.

The dumplings, being the oxtail soup's friend,

are going to take that flavour with open arms

and you're going to have the tastiest dumplings.

People will be scrambling over these little bullets of goodness.

Now take a couple of forks and just pull the meat apart.

It's going to be quite a substantial main-meal soup, this one.

Now we're going to add our secret ingredients that kind of give it

that brown-sauce lick of loveliness -

cream sherry and yeast extract.

Two tablespoons of each.

Yeast extract like this was developed for soldiers

serving in the Boer War, because you ate it and the yeast in it

came out through your skin and it repelled mosquitoes.

So allegedly it helped you not get malaria.

Stir in the yeast extract and add the oxtail meat.

Now bring to a simmer.

-You don't need anything else with this.

-No, you don't.

There's a lot of dumplings there

and the dumplings are going to have all that flavour.

-So choice of bread or dumplings? Give us the dumplings.

-Any day.

Eeh, that was like a George Formby song, wasn't it?

He-hey! # Give me dumplings over bread any day, Mother!

# With me oxtail soup, OK, Mother! #

Is it just me?

# Banjo boy

# Sing along, sing along Little banjo boy... #

As George Formby would say, "Eh-hey, you know you're done when your dumplings float!"

And that'll take around 15 minutes. Whoo!

How many dumplings do you think you could manage? Five?

-Five's a good number.

-Five's good.

-Five's good.

Oh, look at that.

-Oh, yes.

-The thing is, it's a big, big pot of soup

made from a very frugal oxtail,

but it's completely maxed out with flavour, in't it?

Oh, ho-ho!

-Oh, that'll keep you out of the doctor's, won't it?

-Won't it just?

Aye.

-Plenty for seconds.

-Oh!

Sprinkle of freshly chopped curly parsley

A little black pepper...

just so it sits on a dumpling.

Oh!

That's the best oxtail soup I've ever tasted.

And the yeast extract, honestly,

put it in because it gives it a savoury...a deeper savoury flavour.

-It doesn't taste of yeast extract.

-Mm!

There we are - a tribute to great British beef.

Oui, c'est magnifique!

It's magnificent.

When it comes to meat,

more economical needn't mean less lovable.

But there are times when only the prime cuts will do.

And there's one place in the UK where preparing

and serving roast beef has been a precise art for almost 200 years.

Simpsons in The Strand is now

a landmark on the London restaurant scene.

But back in 1828, it actually started as a chess house.

Back then the joints of beef were carved at table

to enable gentlemen to continue their chess games uninterrupted.

Whilst board games are not the main concern of today's diners,

the tradition provides a little theatre,

and this way of roasting beef has come to define us as a nation.

And straight-talking master chef Gerry Rae's job

is to ensure that it stays that way.

So...here we have the beef.

We'll just check it.

If it's aged right, you'll get a distinctive smell.

You'll get a distinctive feel of the beef.

The beef's matured for us for 28 days and it's dry-aged

to allow the flavours to mature within the beef

and also to get rid of any excess blood and to tighten it up.

There's nothing worse than a piece of beef that's too fresh

and it's quite spongy and it's not got any texture.

Simpsons have always considered the forerib

the ideal joint for roasting.

But the way it's been butchered and hung means once cooked,

the joint offers a variety of tastes and textures to the diner.

The beef's hung with the sirloin attached.

And when they go to butcher it for us, they just remove the sirloin.

But if you turn it to this side, you'll see the black face,

where it's been air-dried.

You can really, really smell the aging on it.

The black face is kept on because people like a mixture when they come here.

They can have medium rare, they can have medium,

they can have well done.

Those wee black bits are full of flavour,

so you only need a small bit.

Simpsons has always let the meat speak for itself

and the seasoning is minimal, yet highly traditional.

This is the magic powder mix.

It's really a mixture of mustard powder and just a normal table salt.

Because we'll cook less and rest more, when this is resting,

that mustard powder and salt is dragged back into the meat

and this is where you get your depth of flavour from as well.

Cooking a joint to many of us

involves sticking it in the oven and leaving it.

But over their 200-year history,

Simpsons have perfected a two-stage process,

of which oven-roasting is just the beginning.

It's going to roughly take an hour and a half.

But then again, it could take slightly longer,

could take slightly shorter.

The idea is, you can always cook something a bit more,

but if it's overcooked, you can just give it to your dog.

And it's not just the roasting they take pride in.

Next job of the day...the gravy.

Gravy's a basic thing for beef.

It brings out the flavour and also to roll your Yorkshire pudding about in.

If you cannae make gravy, there's no use you getting a job here.

Stock is made from the previous day's bones,

which have been covered in tomato paste and roasted.

Acid in the tomato helps break down cartilage

and also adds colour and flavour to the finished product.

And then we throw it in here, all the bones with a load of roast veg.

And then we cover it with water, bring it up to the boil

and cook it for 24 hours.

Gerry cooks his beef with military precision.

The perfect joint is not about what it looks like on the outside.

For Jerry, what's happening on the inside is just as important.

So what we are doing is we're looking to get

a core temperature of 33-36 degrees.

And then we're going to leave it for another around 45 minutes to rest.

And that'll bring the temperature up to about 60 degrees, fingers crossed.

As meat is a good insulator of heat,

it will slowly continue to cook on the inside whilst it's rested.

So when you're cooking the beef,

there's no use cooking it to a core temperature of 60 degrees.

If you cook it to 60 degrees, it's going to come up

to about 100 degrees - that's basically boiled.

Beef roasted to perfection, gravy, tatties and of course

Yorkshire puds, are the cornerstone of a great roast dinner.

But Simpsons is all about tradition.

And that includes the cabbage.

When I first started here five years ago,

I decided that I was going to change the veg.

Make it more seasonal.

But there was an uproar with the regulars,

so...we don't try to change things,

we only try to enhance them now.

The regulars might not have been able to tear themselves

from their cabbage, but they have embraced sexual equality.

Up until 1984, men and women dined in separate dining rooms,

but now they can all enjoy the Simpsons experience together.

And the one thing that unites everyone is the beef.

You don't come to Simpsons and not have roast beef.

It's absolutely delicious.

It's just amazing. I can't imagine anything better.

Just look at it. Look at that redness.

In fact I wish you'd go away so I could eat it!

But it's not just about the beef, it's about the ritual.

And to chess grand master Ray Keene, tradition is everything.

It's served like a religious ceremony.

The high priests of the roasts come round

dressed in their priestly regalia

and then they serve it, and you can ask for the best bits.

Some people like it raw, red. I prefer it well done.

I think all the flavours soak into the crisp outside bits

and it's like direct communication with the divine.

That might be taking it a little too far, Ray.

But one thing's for sure, Simpsons and the beef it roasts has provided

inspiration and sustenance to some of our greatest ever Britons.

Diners have included such luminaries as Disraeli, Dickens

and Conan Doyle,

some of whom have immortalised Simpsons in their fiction.

Simpsons is mentioned in Sherlock Holmes.

It's mentioned at the end of The Dying Detective

when Holmes has been starving himself to appear very ill.

So Holmes hasn't eaten for a week and at the end of the story

he says, "Watson, let's go to Simpsons for something really nutritious."

And that's something you can still do even today.

Next up, we're cooking with a type of beef that's been

missing from our menus for quite some time, and with good reason.

But it's poised to make a sustainable and ethical comeback

and we're being encouraged to eat it with a clear conscience.

British rose veal.

We're very fortunate in Britain

-to have a product that is unique to our country.

-It is indeed.

And it's kind of beefy, but it's not beef.

No. It's veal.

-But it's rose veal.

-It's not white veal.

White veal is the veal that people don't like to eat,

quite rightly, for ethical reasons.

And it was actually made illegal in Britain in 1990.

But rose veal is a different thing altogether.

Rose veal is the bi-product of the dairy industry.

Most calves - and the reason we should be eating it -

most calves are killed at six months,

much the same as most lambs and most pigs.

Make sure, if you're going to buy veal, it's from the UK,

because we are the best in the world at producing it

and we produce it ethically.

And for us, it's opened the doors to some wonderful recipes

that we love, but otherwise may not have cooked.

And one of these is the vitello tonnato - veal and tuna sauce.

As the name suggests, it's an Italian dish,

made even better by using our succulent British rose veal,

and we think it's a future UK classic.

For the gourmet, the gastronome or the glutton,

it's really fabulous, and that's the fillet.

Think about it as like proper beef, you know, as big beef.

That's the fillet. I mean, you get T-bone rose veal,

you get chuck rose veal. You know, any joint.

Sirloin rose veal, veal steaks.

And vitello tonnato is a mad dish.

At first kind of reading you think, "Bleugh!" But what it is,

it's basically poached veal fillet done in a bouillon in a stock,

quite an elaborate stock, and then you serve it with tuna mayonnaise!

Whoever thought of it must have been bonkers.

It's one of the most delicious things you will ever eat.

Listen, we haven't set you wrong so far, have we?

First make a stock in which to poach the veal.

In a pan, place two shallots, halved,

one stick of celery, halved,

and two carrots, you've guessed it, halved.

Add six peppercorns, a bayleaf, a bunch of thyme...

..200ml of white wine...

half a litre of chicken stock and season.

Pop the lid on and we need to cook that for 30 minutes.

When your 30 minutes is up, gently lower the veal into the stock.

It's going to take us 15 minutes to poach it

and what we need to do is turn it two, three, maybe four times,

just to make sure that it's cooked evenly all the way around.

Perfect.

Now reduce the heat until it's just simmering.

Now...

..out this little beauty comes.

It's poached in all that flavour.

Ohhh...now, we keep this liquor.

We're going to make what is effectively tuna mayonnaise.

But it's a runny mayonnaise. We don't want it too thick.

So actually let it down with that rose veal cooking stock.

Whilst the veal cools,

you need to get all the ingredients together for your mayo.

-Two egg yolks.

-Two egg yolks, check.

One can of tuna.

One tablespoon of baby capers.

One and a half tablespoons of lemon juice.

Two teaspoons of Dijon mustard.

Can't go wrong with beef and mustard.

Half a teaspoon of caster sugar and a quarter teaspoon of sea salt.

Whizz.

Now, with the blender blades still going,

gradually add 100ml of sunflower oil and 50ml of olive oil.

Look at that!

Smoother than a velvet meerkat.

-Isn't it?

-Yeah.

-Yes, spoonable.

-TOO spoonable.

So we need to let that down with a little bit of the cooking stock,

cos it's kind of a sauce.

Ooh, dear!

HE STAMPS HIS FOOT

Mm-hm!

Whooo!

Now, at this point, if you're adding any more liquid,

it's important to do it over rotating blades.

-I think that's probably enough, Si.

-I think you're right, mate. Yeah.

It's the most maddest combination of flavours,

but something magical happens between the wonderful poached veal

and this spiky, kind of vibrant tuna mayonnaise.

Once the veal has cooled, season and wrap it tightly in clingfilm.

And then twist at that end...

twist...at this end...

..and that's a barrelled fillet.

You put that in the fridge to cool overnight

and then it's ready to serve.

Overnight?!

I know.

Tell me the good news.

-I did one before.

-Excellent!

Shall I go and get it?

We'll have the vitello, we've got the tonnato, let's make art.

It's almost time to eat our British-Italian combo,

but before we do, we need to start on the adornments.

Chop a small handful of flat-leaf parsley.

And the way a vitello tonnato is set out on the plate,

it's very specific.

It's always served with parsley, baby capers, caper berries

and some sliced lemon.

We need to cut this barrel very thin.

The best way to do that is to keep the clingfilm on,

so it's firm, and cut through the clingfilm...

just try and cut it as thin as you possibly can.

It's what I would describe as medium.

Do you know what I mean? Cos you want to serve it cold.

It's cooked through, it's not bloody.

It's just right. It's been rested.

-It's such a precious dish, isn't it?

-Fillet is quite expensive.

It goes quite a long way when you do it like this. It's superb.

Shall we have a nice little centre?

You do kind of want plenty of this.

A little brindling of caper berries.

Perfect.

It is the most wonderful mixture.

If you want to make it even more savoury,

when you put the tuna in,

you can put a couple of fillets of anchovy in there.

But I think that's just right with the tuna. I like the spicy flavours.

Here it is - British rose veal meets Italian vitello tonnato,

a match made in heaven.

-Bon appetit.

-Bon appetit.

Take the veal, a few capers...

tuna...

Some things just work.

And that works.

Trust us, it's superb.

It's a classic, and it's a classic that we British can celebrate,

enjoy and indulge in, because we've got rose veal.

It's ethical, it's tasty.

To be honest, I think this has more taste than white veal.

White veal, it's a poor alternative to chicken breast.

That...

Mmm...

It's not CALF bad!

Beef - it's as intrinsic to our British culture and traditions

as the bulldog and the Union Flag.

It's as British as...well, roast beef,

and a great source of our national identity and pride.

We are world leaders when it comes to producing it and cooking it.

If you want to try out the recipes in today's show, visit...