Lasagne – British style

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

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).

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.

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.