In Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island, when Ben Gunn is found by Jim Hawkins, sunburnt and wide-eyed after three years of being marooned on the island, the first thing he asks Hawkins for is cheese: ‘Many’s the long night I’ve dreamed of cheese – toasted mostly.’ As a greedy person prone to daydreaming, I’ve often wondered what my ‘cheese – toasted mostly’ would be. A dozen oysters? A cold negroni in a fluted tumbler? A perfect quivering soufflé?
I think it’s gravy. That’s my desert island dream, the idea I can’t shake, the touchstone I’d return to. I’d take gravy in any form: thick and rich, made from meat scraps, a thin, boozy jus whisked up from pan scrapings, even the ‘from granules’ stuff, stirred in a plastic jug moments before serving. I like school dinner gravy poured over sausages almost as much as I love my granny’s red wine-heavy accompaniment to a Sunday roast, or the fanciest mirror-finish stuff of formal restaurants. When I was little, we would eat our supper as fast as possible, so we could – against my mother’s protestations – pour the remaining thick gravy on to a buttered slice of cheap white bread. Absolutely nutritionally unbalanced, but the ultimate treat.
As a nation of roasters, gravy is something the British do particularly well. If a naysayer ever challenges me over the excellence of our nation’s food, I will quickly reel off sausages, pies, puddings and gravy as proof positive of our contribution to the culinary landscape. It might sound like a joke, but it’s far from it: most gravies, after all, are veloutés – meat stock-based sauces built on a roux of butter and flour. They require knowledge of technique and skilful seasoning; we’d never think something as fancy-sounding as a velouté was unworthy of culinary praise. Gravy deserves the same respect.
Of course, the irony is that in this dish – liver, bacon and onions – the gravy is the only constituent that doesn’t get top-billing. But it’s also the best bit. Yes, better than the soft, meaty liver, fried in salted butter; better than the almost brittle pieces of smoked bacon. And better than – although rubbing shoulders with – the tender crescent moons of onion, just beginning to turn gold. This is because this gravy is a sum of all those parts: made in one pan, each of the headline elements contributes. While some are set aside temporarily, the pan is not wiped in between, so the gravy takes on the built-up depth of all the different ingredients, making the most of the little bits of browned meat, which is where all the flavour sits.
The finished sauce is thick and luscious, striped through with straggles of gently fried onion. It’s glossy and ever-so-slightly tangy from a generous tablespoon of ketchup stirred in at the very end, which might feel like a strange addition but is actually the secret ingredient, imparting just the right amount of vinegar and sugar.
A moment, I suppose, for the liver, bacon and onions, without which this gravy wouldn’t exist. The trick to liver, which is full of flavour and perfectly tender, is the fastest fry you can manage: dredging the liver in flour and then sautéeing in butter helps here. The most important part, however, is only to cook it until the outside is turning golden brown, and then – when you return it to the pan later on – just warm it through in the gravy, then serve straight away, rather than simmering it and therefore cooking it further. Use the best bacon you can, smoked and streaky, and start it off in a cold pan so that it renders and then crisps; the contrast of the more delicate liver and punchy bacon is a pairing for the ages.
These days I show some semblance of propriety by serving my onion gravy (and the accompanying liver and bacon) not on sliced white bread but with mashed potato which, as well as being a comfort and joy in its own right, is an excellent vehicle for the gravy.
Serves: 2
Hands-on time: 10 minutes
Cooking time: 20 minutes
- 4 rashers smoked, streaky bacon
- 350g calf’s or lamb’s liver
- 100g plain flour for dredging, plus 1 tbsp for cooking
- ½ tsp fine salt
- 30g butter
- 1 large onion
- 400ml beef stock
- 1 tbsp tomato ketchup
- Slice the bacon into pieces about 1.5in in length. Put the bacon in a cold pan over a medium heat and cook until golden and crispy on the underside. Turn over and cook until golden on the other side. Remove the bacon from the pan and set to one side.
- Trim out any green or grisly bits from the liver, and slice into fat, finger-width portions. Season the flour with the salt, then dredge the liver through it. Return the pan to a medium-high heat, melt the butter until it starts to foam, then add the liver. Cook the liver fast, turning until it is just browning on all sides, then remove from the pan and set to one side.
- Turn the heat down to low, add the onions and cook until golden and soft, but not brown, stirring regularly. If the brown bits from the meat stick on the bottom of the pan, add a splash of hot water, and stir again.
- Increase the heat to medium, sprinkle a tablespoon of flour over the cooked onions and cook for a couple of minutes. Add the beef stock, and cook until the onion gravy is thick. Add the ketchup, and then return the liver and bacon to the pan for a couple of minutes just to warm through. Serve immediately.
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