British

This is what we imagine old Scots at the turn of the century in the Montreal’s famed Golden Square Mile neighborhood ate for breakfast: steak, kidneys, kippers, and a few eggs. After a gin festivity, it would be exactly what it takes to get you back on your feet. It’s delicious with a little watercress salad.

Frozen pound cake is fine for the summer pudding (homemade is better, of course, though not one in ten people will know the difference), but fresh berries are essential.

If you like franks and beans, this is for you. There are, of course, more complicated versions, ending with cassoulet, but this is the starting point. Other cuts of meat you can use here: longer, because they need some simmering time, but very good, are browned chunks of pork or lamb shoulder (or both), cooked in the beans in place of (or in addition to) the sausage.

Originally an Indian vegetable soup, this became popular among British colonialists, who added chicken to the mix. I like it better in something approaching its original form, but see the variations for more substantial versions.

Panna cotta is a no-brainer, sweetened cream thickened with gelatin. It has long been made with whatever dairy is around, and I think it’s far better when a certain amount of the cream is replaced by buttermilk. The result is more complex and not so stultifyingly rich.

Trifles are anything but trifles: they take a good deal of work to put together, they’re about as caloric as desserts get, and, in the right serving vessel—like a large glass dish with tall, straight sides that reveals the tempting layers of cake, cream, fruit—they’re absolute showstoppers. In England, one is often wowed by the guiltless and masterful employment of loads of cream in many desserts. Trifles are a showcase for the British love of cream—in this case both whipped and pastry.

It’s actually worth making too much cabbage (and some extra potatoes) just to be able to make this British dish. It’s traditionally made with vegetables left over from your Sunday dinner, so there’s no need to stress about the amounts. And feel free to throw in other cooked veggies like carrots, peas, and rutabagas. If the name doesn’t work for you, perhaps you’d prefer to look up a recipe for a similar Scottish dish called rumbledethumps! 4 tablespoons butter

“Devils on Horseback” are an old Southern favorite, and it’s hard to believe how so much flavor can be packed into one little bite. We like to make a double batch whenever we’re having a family party; they fly off the plate so fast we can barely keep up! Luckily, they’re just as easy to make as they are to eat. There are several variations that are fun to try: for example, try substituting Parmesan for the blue cheese, or dates for the prunes.

Bland and mushy are forever banished; this is oatmeal for grown-ups. Steel-cut oatmeal (also referred to as Irish oatmeal) has a wonderfully nutty taste and a texture that is at once creamy and chewy. As a kid I always loaded my oatmeal with raisins and brown sugar; now I cook tart apple slices with the same ingredients for an unexpected yet familiar treat to layer with the oatmeal. A sprinkling of turbinado sugar and a quick hit from the broiler create a sweet brûléed crust and an extra touch of decadence. Crack the crust with your spoon and pour in the cinnamon-scented cream . . . oh yeah, you’ll be in love with oatmeal after this.

Pimm’s No. 1 is a gin-based beverage made from dry gin, liqueur, fruit juices, and spices. When combined with club soda or ginger ale and a cucumber spear, it becomes a Pimm’s Cup. Pimm’s No. 1 was created in the mid–eighteenth century by English oyster bar owner James Pimm. The recipe is still a secret; supposedly, only six people know exactly how it is made. It has a dark golden brown color, a medium body, and a taste of quinine, citrus fruits, and spice. Its low alcohol content—only 20 percent—makes it a perfect lunchtime cocktail. The cocktail found its home in the States in New Orleans in the early twentieth century when an anglophile bartender at Napoleon’s put it on their menu. The addition of lemonade distinguishes the American version from the classically British Pimm’s cup.

A great do-ahead dessert for a large crowd. Although I make it most often with fresh peaches, the recipe works with just about any fruit-nut combo you can dream up, including fresh berries and hazelnuts, fresh pears and almonds, bananas and pecans, or even craisins or raisins and pecans.

Modern pasty recipes, especially those in the more touristy enclaves of Britain’s farthest southern county, stretch the recipe almost as far as Titus, swapping beef for pork, the rutabaga for apple, even daring to crimp the finished turnover on the top instead of at the side. I make one without meat, in which I use goat cheese and thyme along with the usual starchy filling of potato and rutabaga. It is filling, yet somehow soft and gentle, too.

Two of these cheese-and-potato cakes are ample for a main course with maybe a spinach or chicory salad to follow.

Anyone who has shelled a bag of peas will know how good they are raw. Far too little is made of their scrunchy sweetness, and I put forward the pod-fresh raw pea as an idea to throw into salads of pale yellow butterhead lettuce, cracked wheat, or dishes of cooked fava beans. They work in their uncooked state only when very young and small. Old peas are mealy and sour. One rainy lunchtime in June, I put them into a simple salad of Peter Rabbit lettuce, crisply cooked smoked bacon, and hand-torn ciabatta. The result—restrained, refreshing, and somehow quintessentially English.

Bubble and squeak is an iconic British dish made by frying leftover boiled potatoes and cabbage to make a large, flat potato cake that is crisp outside and soft within. Bubble and squeak can be as simple as the traditional leftover cabbage and potato fry-up or somewhat more sophisticated, with the introduction of cheese, smoked pork, fish, or other vegetables. The bells-and-whistles versions can often successfully disguise the fact that your supper is made from stuff you found at the back of the fridge. Keeping the potato pieces quite coarse makes the texture more interesting.