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Peas Porridge
Soak a pint of split peas for a night in cold water, and take away those that float. Slice two moderate-sized Spanish onions and fry them in a little hot fat, with two or three sticks of celery cut into two-inch lengths. Drain them and put them into a large saucepan, with a bunch of savoury herbs, two anchovies, or failing these half a red herring, a crust of bread toasted on both sides, and three quarts of cold water. Boil gently until the liquid is strongly impregnated with the flavour of the herbs, etc. Skim and strain it, and return it to the saucepan with the soaked peas and a pound of raw potatoes coarsely grated. Simmer again until the peas are quite soft. Press them through a hair sieve, and whilst pressing keep pouring a little liquid upon them to soften them. Return the porridge to the saucepan; and if it is not thick enough add to it a lump of butter mixed smoothly with a little flour. Season with pepper and salt. Cut up half a dozen leeks into two-inch lengths, boil them in the soup, and when they are tender it is ready for serving. Time, three hours or more. Probable cost, 1s. Sufficient for eight or ten persons.
A thrifty Victorian pease soup built in two stages: a flavoured vegetable broth first, then the peas cooked in it. The method is sound; only the equipment and a few of the ingredients need translating.
- The hinge: strain the broth before the peas go inThe onions, celery, herbs, anchovy and toast are flavouring agents, not body — they are boiled, skimmed and discarded. If you leave them in, the sieving stage becomes a fight and the soup turns muddy.
- Split peas and the float testA pint of split peas is roughly 1 lb / 450 g dry. Discarding floaters removes hollow or insect-damaged peas; it is still worth doing, though modern packed peas throw up very few.
- Spanish onionsThe large, mild onion, straw- or golden-skinned; a supermarket Spanish onion is the same thing. Two moderate ones is around 1 lb / 450 g. A sharp brown onion will dominate the broth.
- Anchovies or half a red herringRed herring is whole herring hard-salted and cold-smoked to a deep mahogany, effectively a preserved fish now hard to find outside specialist suppliers. "Two anchovies" here means two whole salted fish, so three or four tinned fillets serve the same purpose: salt and savour, not fish flavour. Leave both out for a vegetarian version and add salt at the end.
- The toasted crustA slice of stale bread toasted dark on both sides, boiled and then strained out. It contributes a faint roast bitterness that reads as depth. Toast it well past golden but short of black.
- Grated potatoA pound of raw potato, coarsely grated, dissolves into the simmering peas and thickens the soup. Use a floury variety — Maris Piper, King Edward, russet. Waxy potatoes stay in shreds.
- The hair sieveA fine horsehair sieve, worked with a wooden mushroom or spoon. A conical chinois and ladle does the same job; a stick blender followed by a quick pass through a sieve is faster and gives the same texture. Loosening with cooking liquid as you push, as directed, is the trick either way.
- Beurre maniéThe "lump of butter mixed smoothly with a little flour" is beurre manié — equal weights, worked cold into a paste, whisked in a pinch at a time and simmered a few minutes to cook out the flour. Often unnecessary here if the potato has done its work.
- Leeks and timingThree hours is generous for split peas; 45–60 minutes of simmering usually brings them to collapse, and the broth stage needs perhaps 45 minutes. Add the leeks only at the end — 8–10 minutes in the finished soup keeps them green and sweet rather than grey.
- Yield and costEight to ten as written, and the shilling reflects Victorian prices: this was a soup costed to feed a household cheaply. It thickens considerably overnight and will want thinning with water or stock on reheating.
Pease porridge is among the oldest dishes in the British repertoire — dried peas were a winter staple long before the potato arrived, and the nursery rhyme about it being eaten "nine days old" is often read as pointing to a pot kept going on the hearth. What is given here is that older dish dressed for a Victorian middle-class table: the peas are no longer simply boiled to a mash but cooked in a deliberately constructed aromatic broth, sieved smooth, enriched with butter and flour, and garnished with leeks. The anchovy or red herring is a characteristic Victorian move, adding savoury depth to a meatless dish at a fraction of the cost of stock — the same instinct that put anchovy essence into so many nineteenth-century sauces.