Mash has its moments and chips have their charm, but it’s the roast, the pinnacle of potato perfection, that elevates the titan of the British dining table.
Sitting next to the Sunday restaurant like a gloriously gilded hero, it’s Prince Hal’s crispy crust to a beefy Henry IV – and loved by kings and commoners alike. Edward VII, a man known for his love of haute cuisine, demanded that roast beef and potatoes be served at Buckingham Palace every Sunday evening.
Absolutely right too. But it is also the most democratic snack there is and requires little more than pudding, fat and heat. The devil, as always, is in the details. Done right, you’ll crack open the crisp, polished shell to reveal a cumulus-like mass of snowy bliss. One wrong move and edible heaven will be transformed into a noxious hell: a pale, soggy disgrace with all the charm of outright gout.
Every Christmas (and for much of the rest of the time too) the debates rumble and rage about how to get this humble pudding just right. Welcome to the roast potato wars – because creating real roast potatoes is as much science as it is art. And every chef, from Michelin master to crazy amateur, has their own foolproof method that they swear is the truth, the whole truth and nothing else.
There are as many recipes as there are grains of salt in a shaker: the potato variety and the type of shortening; the simmering time, oven temperature and shaking/scoring/cooling the surface of the pudding to ensure maximum crispiness. Even the fiddling while they roast.
Artwork: Lisa Sheeran
However, there are a few things that most can agree on. That a floury (rather than waxy) potato is a must. And that the fat must be hot when you add the boiled potatoes.
the fat needs to be heated until it spits and boils, really damn angry
Then it gets personal. Nigella goes for goose fat. So do John Williams, chef at The Ritz, and Jamie Oliver, who claim that a ‘gentle press’ with a potato masher during roasting ‘just puffs out the delicious starchy insides’. Tom Kerridge prefers regular vegetable oil.
The King, like Delia, goes for the beef drippings (during a visit to Morrisons’ headquarters in Bradford last year, His Majesty told journalists that using the fat that comes from the meat is essential). Sir Michael Caine, a renowned expert, even soaks his pre-cooked potatoes in extra virgin olive oil.
Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall uses a fork to rough the edges, but Delia likes to shake them up. (Unfortunately from the great architect Edward Lutyens, whose father liked to dip them in his tea.) All believe that their way, albeit without dogma, is the only way.
While our love for the roasted potato is as fervent as it is profound, the tuber is a relatively recent arrival to the New World, reaching these shores via Spain sometime in the 1550s. There are, as always, a plethora of picaresque stories about how it got here.
Some say potatoes were introduced by Sir Walter Raleigh, who planted them on his Irish estate. Others claim it was all thanks to Sir Francis Drake, who picked up some seed potatoes in Colombia. Or that they were plundered from the gold-laden Armada fleet. Or none of the above. What is certain, however, is that the first impressions were certainly not rosy.
“Many people thought that potatoes were a dangerous food, or at least coarse and at best suitable for pigs,” noted Alexandre Dumas in his Grand Dictionnaire de Cuisine, published in 1873. Potatoes were seen as underground carbuncles, as poisonous as tasteless. took the blame for everything from inflaming the passions to causing wind. In 1748, they were even banned for a while by the French parliament, which believed they carried leprosy.
They were also rumored to have brought syphilis with them from the New World, where they were cultivated around 5000 BC, in what is now the Peruvian Andes. And because they were never mentioned in the Bible, some particularly devout Protestants considered them more of a heresy than a hearty lunch.
Yet they eventually found favor, first among the cottagers of Ireland, before slowly spreading to Wales, Scotland and northern England. But it wasn’t until the 18th century that the potato gained mass appeal, on its way to becoming the ubiquitous staple it remains today.
One of the first recipes for roasted potatoes can be found in The Housekeeper’s Guide from 1834. Simply parboil, place under the roast and turn once. Another, from 1884, is even more spartan: peel, cut in half and cook with the meat.
This could be potatoes roasted with meat. But they are definitely not roasted potatoes. Because as food writer Lindsey Bareham argues in her powerful tome In Praise of the Potato: ‘Roasted potatoes should never be taken for granted. There’s no point in just peeling old potatoes and stuffing them around the roast and expecting them to crisp up without any attention.” Amen to that.
I recently tried to do it this way, and ended up with boring duds that were both unfortunately soggy and slightly burnt.
Let’s start at the beginning: with the potato. A floral variety, such as Maris Piper, Desirée or King Edward, is ideal because the pulp contains just the right amount of dry matter and swells during cooking. This also creates a lot of cracks, where the oil can penetrate, get stuck and transform into a joyful crunch. Hence the importance of roughening the surfaces once cooked.
Storage is just as important. As Simon Martin, potato guru and man behind supplier The Food Heroes, explains: ‘The right temperature is about 8-10 degrees.
If you keep them in the fridge the sugar level will rise and you won’t get the golden appearance, rather dark brown and caramelised.’ Quite bitter too.
I peel my potatoes and then cut them into irregular shapes of similar sizes. This creates lots of nice sharp edges for extra crunch. I then place them in a large pot filled with cold water, bring to the boil, salt generously and simmer ‘as long as you dare’, in the words of Chef Rowley Leigh, about 10-15 minutes.
They should still hold their shape (well, most of them anyway) and be on the verge of falling apart rather than disintegrating into a mushy soup. Then I drain them in a colander, shake them well and put them in the refrigerator for 30 minutes to cool and form a thin crust on the outside.
Set your oven to a Hades-like heat, about 230 degrees, and choose your fat, whether it’s goose, duck, or dripping. All three give the most wonderful flavor, although the dripping has a really hearty depth. The fat needs to be heated until it spits and boils, really damn angry. This takes at least ten minutes.
Then shake the colander vigorously one last time and add the boiled potatoes (now cold) to the oil. Using a few spoons, turn them until every surface shines like a Spartan warrior. ‘Make sure there is plenty of room in the roasting tin,’ advises John Williams. He prefers a roasting pan with a thick bottom because it “retains the heat, which also makes the potatoes crispy.”
Now lower the temperature to 220 degrees, put the potatoes in the oven and let them stand for 15 minutes. Have faith. Then turn every 10 minutes and add more fat if necessary. Be vigilant: this is not the time to take the dog for a walk. Also make sure that they do not burn and slide them through the pan as you see fit. There should be lots of crispy bits on the bottom. Extra from the chef. Evidently.
About an hour and your baked potatoes are ready. Remove from the oven, drain on plenty of paper towels and sprinkle with good salt. Feel free to taste and grin in pure greedy delight. Each polished crust should be firm, but it only takes a gentle push with the fork to reveal the gently wavy, snow-white interior. Serve immediately. Because hot fried potatoes, like time and tide, wait for no one.
How the pros put spuds in the spotlight
Nigella Lawson
Type? Yukon Gold of King Edward.
B’ oil? Place them in a pan of cold, salted water and bring to the boil for four minutes.
Fat? Goose, ‘scary’ hot (try about 25 minutes at 230C).
Cooking for? 50-60 minutes at 230C.
Secret ingredient? Sprinkling them with semolina after pre-cooking makes them perfectly crispy.
Jamie Oliver
Type? Maris Piper.
B’ oil? In salted water for 15 minutes, for a ‘really fluffy’ inside.
Fat? Goose or unsalted butter – just four tablespoons.
Cooking for? 1 hour and 25 minutes at 180C.
Secret ingredient? Sage leaves mixed with a little olive oil, added to the roasting pan during the last 25 minutes.
Delia Smith
Type? Desiree.
B’ oil? No. Place a steamer over a pan of simmering water, turn the heat down and let it sit for 10 minutes.
Fat? Drips or lard – fry your pre-boiled potatoes in it for a few minutes.
Cooking for? 50-60 minutes at 200C.
Secret ingredient? None – simply garnish with crushed salt.
Nigel Slater
Type? Maris Piper (but from the looks of Slater’s recipes he’s not a purist).
B’ oil? Yes, for 10 minutes.
Fat? Duck or goose drippings – about six tablespoons.
Cooking for? 60 minutes at 180C.
Secret ingredient? Fresh rosemary needles, when served with chicken.
Additional reporting: Scarlett Dargan.