As requested, I have been carrying out some research into lasagne (lasagna in the singular) and was delighted to find the following scholarly article. So delighted, in fact that it inspired me to create a recipe...
A short history of lasagne eating in the British Isles
A short history of lasagne eating in the British Isles
by Quentin T.
Meatball, BSc, NVQ level 3
Way back when, some time in the late 1960s, the exotic dish
of lasagne started to penetrate the British popular consciousness. Pronounced
“lass-sag-knee” [1] by the
non-cognoscenti, it initially appeared on the red-and-white-checked tablecloths
Italian eateries (then known as “Trattoriae” or “Spaghetti Houses”) and was
soon adopted in households of a more discerning palate – especially in the Home
Counties.
Rarely encountered in the same kitchen cupboard as the more
popular dehydrated staples of the day, such as Butterscotch Angel Delight,
Vesta Chicken Supreme and the ubiquitous Smash [2],
the original egg or spinach pasta sheets were both difficult to source and
time-consuming to deploy. Indeed lasagne was considered a dish for a special
occasion, as the sheets had to be boiled in batches, painstakingly peeled apart
from each other and cooled before the ritual layering could occur. By then, so
much gin and tonic had invariably been consumed that the whole project was frequently
abandoned in favour of beans on toast à la Islington (q.v.) and a snooze on the
sofa in front of Dad’s Army repeats.
Exhibit 1: A photograph of the last person in the UK to find
lasagne sophisticated.
The first major breakthrough occurred almost overnight when,
in the mid-1970s, the magical words “no pre-cooking required” started appearing
on packets. Suddenly the delights of lasagne were available to the massed
proletariat. Over the next decade, new recipes proliferated in homes and
restaurants. Exotic vegetarian varieties, such as spinach and mushroom or
ricotta appeared alongside the traditional B&B [3],
as well as less palatable pescatarian experiments involving salmon or mixed
seafood.[4]
Alas, however, the status of lasagne declined steadily
throughout the 90s and noughties. During these dark decades, it was frequently to
be found loitering, frozen, in the ready-meal isles of Iceland and Lidl, or
worse, in loucher public houses, lying in a pool of indeterminate yellow fat
that had seeped from an adjacent heap of allegedly chipped potatoes.
Exhibit 2: A postcard from a British-resident lasagne sheet
to his mother.
The nadir [5]
came with the horsemeat scandal of 2013 and jokes such as: “Has that lasagne
got bolo-neighs sauce in it?” or “What’s the salt and Shergar content of this
ready meal?” Today the situation remains whoaful. One would like to conclude
that the only way is up for this once-proud delicacy.
A recipe for jokin’[6]
lasagne
Well, think again Quentin T. Meatball. For I can go lower. I
have devised a recipe for instant lasagne. Just add hot water. OK, not quite.
But no peeling, boiling or metal knives are required. And it only takes 30 mins
from start to finish.
Ingredients
(serves 2)
One tin of brown or green lentils
One jar of pasta sauce (spicy is surprisingly good)
One medium carton of sour cream, crème fraîche or cream
50–100g of pre-grated cheese
6–8 sheets of lasagne
Butter or oil to grease a small oven dish (deep enough to accommodate several layers).
One jar of pasta sauce (spicy is surprisingly good)
One medium carton of sour cream, crème fraîche or cream
50–100g of pre-grated cheese
6–8 sheets of lasagne
Butter or oil to grease a small oven dish (deep enough to accommodate several layers).
Method
1.
Heat the over to about 180C (or whatever
temperature is suggested on the lasagne packet).
2.
Drain your lentils and mix with the pasta sauce
in a suitable bowl.
3.
Grease your tin.
4.
Spoon a layer of red sauce into the bottom.
5. Put a sheet or two of lasagne on top, snapping it into bits and sticking them on like a jigsaw – doesn’t have to be perfect and you can stuff odd bits down the side (a bit like brushing dust under a carpet).
6. Spread a layer of creamy stuff on top – carefully so as not to upset the mosaic you’ve just constructed. Season with salt’n pepper. Add a little cheese if you’re feeling flush.
7.
Add another layer of lasagne and another layer
of the red stuff.
8.
Repeat until your tin is full or your sauces all
used up.
9.
Sprinkle the cheese on top.
10. Cook
for about 20 minutes (or as instructed on the lasagne packet), until brown and
bubbly on top and soft inside (stick a sharp knife through to check).
10 and a half. Eat and enjoy. The cream will probably have curdled a bit, but even this is surprisingly nice.
10 and a half. Eat and enjoy. The cream will probably have curdled a bit, but even this is surprisingly nice.
But if you’re feeling
more authentic…
Make your own béchamel sauce, as described here (well-seasoned with nutmeg), construct your own tomato-meat filling and grate
your own parmesan to bubble on top. To feed four people (or one person four
times): you’ll need about a pint of the white stuff; red sauce made with a
couple of onions, two tins of tomatoes and some additional veg and/or mince
(horse or cow to taste); just over a packet of pasta sheets; and up to 100g of
cheese.
My personal favourite is a red filling made with dried
mushrooms, fresh mushrooms, aubergine and red wine with slices of goats cheese
on top.
Apparently, “proper” (ie non-British) lasagne is quite dry.
To obtain that effect you have to go easy on the sauce and heavy on the pasta
sheets, but then you risk the pasta not softening in the oven. What the hell, I
like it quite sloppy, anyway.
To be honest, the proportions don’t really matter. I like to
start with a layer of red and finish with a layer of white and alternate
strictly in between, but hay, why not let your imagination canter free across
the culinary plains?
Tip of the day:
Truth be known, lasagne is still a bit of a faff for a whole family. But it’s a
surprisingly practical option for one person, as you can make a small one with
bits of left-over sauce (try curry if you’re feeling fusiony), any old
past-its-sell-by creamy stuff lying around in the fridge and top it with dried
up cheese of any variety.
Wikipedia meatballs
of the day: Jokin’ over, this is real. I reckon someone’s avin’ a larff,
though.” Could it be Quentin T. Meatball?
On the origins of lasagne… “A third theory proposed that the dish is a development of the 14th
century English recipe 'Loseyn' as described in The Forme of Cury, a cook book in use
during the reign of Richard II.”
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[1] Cf the
exotic new breakfast cereal that appeared around the same time: “Mew-ess-lee”.
[2] For the
benefit of Martians and the young, a form of instant mashed potato.
[3] Bolognese
& béchamel.
[4] The Grauniad continues to plough this
fertile furrow of innovation with a recent recipe for haggis lasagne.
[5] Neigh, dear?
[6] A Wenglish
(form of pidgin English spoken in South Wales) term meaning ersatz.
