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Rhys Bowen

Rhys Bowen Biography

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“We also ate well in the kitchen, and I found that I had inherited my father's palate and appreciation of good food. Our cuisine at home always been rather basic, even in the days when we had a cook, and I became fascinated with the process of creating such wonderful flavors. "Show me how you made that parsley sauce, those meringues, that oyster stew," I'd say to Mrs Robbins, the cook. And if she had a minute to spare, she would show me. After a while, seeing my willingness as well as my obvious aptitude for cooking, she suggested to Mrs Tilley that her old legs were not up to standing for hours any more and that she needed an assistant cook. And she requested me. Mrs Tilley agreed, but only if she didn't have to pay me more money and I should still be available to do my party piece whenever she entertained. And so I went to work in the kitchen. Mrs Robbins found me a willing pupil. After lugging coal scuttles up all those stairs, it felt like heaven to be standing at a table preparing food. We had a scullery maid who did all the most menial of jobs, like chopping the onions and peeling the potatoes, but I had to do the most basic of tasks- mashing the potatoes with lots of butter and cream until there wasn't a single lump, basting the roast so that the fat was evenly crisp. I didn't mind. I loved being amongst the rich aromas. I loved the look of a well-baked pie. The satisfaction when Mrs Robbins nodded with approval at something I had prepared. And of course I loved the taste of what I had created. Now when I went home to Daddy and Louisa, I could say, "I roasted that pheasant. I made that apple tart." And it gave me a great rush of satisfaction to say the words. "You've a good feel of it, I'll say that for you," Mrs Robbins told me, and after a while she even sought my opinion. "Does this casserole need a touch more salt, do you think? Or maybe some thyme?" The part I loved the best was the baking. She showed me how to make pastry, meringues that were light as air, all sorts of delicate biscuits and rich cakes.”

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Book:Above the Bay of Angels
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“Her Majesty's daughter Princess Helena and her granddaughter Princess Thora are visiting. Here's the menu: consommé aux fines herbes, cheese croutons, poached fillet of sole with parsley sauce and potatoes à la crème, puree of squab à la chasseur, creamed celery, pork chops with apples, red cabbage and duchesse potatoes, iced pudding à la Prince Albert, canary pudding with vanilla sauce, anchovy toast.”

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Book:Above the Bay of Angels
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“A dinner party would not be satisfied with ices and rice puddings. I tried to think what Mr Roland would have done. At least an impressive gateau. I thumbed through the cookery books. Mille-feuilles cake à la chantilly. Yes, I could do that. I could always guarantee that pastry would turn out well. And oranges were abundant here. An orange cream served in orange shells? That seemed doable, too. And for a third? I thought of a bread and butter pudding, to remind them of home, but alas we had no stale bread. This was one of the disadvantages of being in someone else's kitchen. So I decided I couldn't go wrong with profiteroles- who doesn't like them?”

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Book:Above the Bay of Angels
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“The tables were laid with white cloths and decorated with holly and ivy. There were crackers beside each plate. Two turkeys and four geese were carried in, their skins nicely browned and glistening. Mr Francis and Arthur carved for us while tureens of roast potatoes, chestnut stuffing, sage and onion stuffing, bread sauce, Brussels sprouts, cauliflower with a white sauce, cabbage and gravy were passed around. Claret was poured. We pulled our crackers, put on paper hats, read the silly mottos and riddles and demonstrated our toys and puzzles. Then we said grace and ate until we couldn't stuff in another bite. There was a blast on a bugle, and the Christmas puddings were carried in, flaming with brandy and with a sprig of holly stuck in them. I had helped to make these on Stir-up Sunday back in November, and most of them had been sent with the cooks to Osborne House. But there were plenty for us, served with the custard and brandy butter I had prepared.”

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“Between ourselves, I think they use too many rich sauces. One never gets the true flavor of the meat or vegetable. Her Majesty's favorite accompaniment to roast beef is a horseradish cream sauce that is so hot the meat must taste like paper. Most of the vegetables the queen eats are made into purees. And her meat is often turned into ragouts and terrines. Some dishes mix too many flavors. The queen loves butter and cream with everything. So bad for her." And I grinned. He nodded as if he understood. "So you have a palate that appreciates the taste of good ingredients?" "I do." "And how did you develop this?" "I must have inherited it from my father, who had lived well and appreciated fine food. I was apprenticed to a good cook who produced simple English fare- pork chops, roast lamb, roast pheasant, chicken, sole, lobster. There was a sauce to accompany them, but it never overwhelmed the flavor of the meat or fish.”

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Book:Above the Bay of Angels
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“The fruit and vegetable stalls were a dazzling mass of color: oranges and tomatoes that we rarely saw in England. Bright lemons and purple onions. Spiky artichokes I had only just learned about at the palace; giant cloves of garlic- wouldn't the queen be horrified to see those? And shiny purple vegetables shaped like fat, bulging cucumbers. "What are they?" I asked the woman at the stall. She looked at me as if I was a visitor from the moon. "Aubergine, mademoiselle. You have not tried them? They are very good. We make the ratatouille." "And those?" I pointed to round red and yellow vegetables that looked so shiny they seemed to made of wax. "The peppers?" she asked in amazement. "You do not eat peppers where you come from?" "I've never seen them before," I said. "Then try," she urged. "And the aubergine, too. They are delicious stuffed." She shook her head as if I was a creature to be pitied. I bought one of each, and one of the purple onions at her insistence, and went on to the next stall. This one had an array of olives. Olives were a rare luxury in England. I had never tried them personally, but here was a whole stall with olives of varying colors and sizes- fat green ones, slim black ones, some stuffed with something red, others with a white cheese, some in olive oil, some not.”

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Book:Above the Bay of Angels
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“I pointed at some bright-orange little bells that looked lethal to me. "Are they all edible?" "I would not be serving them to the guests if they weren't," he said. "These chanterelles, they have exquisite taste. These are straw mushrooms." He pointed to a cluster of thin white stalks. "These we call cèpe. These big ones are trumpet royale. And these, morels- although you must never pick these for yourself. The false morels look very similar and can be fatal. Try the chanterelles. You must cook some for your queen. She will approve." "But that thing you were going to buy. How does one cook that?" It looked like a dirty ball of earth. He rolled his eyes. "That, chérie, is worth more per gram than gold. It is a truffle. You do not have truffles?" "No." "Then let me instruct you. The truffle is a fungus that grows on the roots of certain oak trees. Under the soil, you understand. They can only be located by specially trained dogs, oh, and by pigs if they can get at them. They have a deliciously different flavor. We make the truffle oil for cooking, or we use a small amount to raise the quality of the dish.”

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Book:Above the Bay of Angels
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“Page after page of sauces. Page after page of soups. Bisque of snipe à la bonne bouche. Bisque of crab à la Fitzhardinge, which included adding a pint of boiling cream. Puree of asparagus à la St George involved three dozen small quenelles of fowl and half a pint of small fillets of red tongue. Mercy me. I flicked on. What on earth was ragout of cock's kernels à la soubise, or ragout of ox palates? At the Tilleys' residence, we rarely ate offal. Mr Tilley was fond of liver and bacon, but Mrs Tilley saw offal as food of the lower classes, for those who could afford nothing better. So our meals were good old-fashioned roast beef, leg of lamb, chops and steaks, with thee occasional steak and kidney pie. These recipes looked horribly complicated: Put about half a pound of cock's kernels, with cold water, into a stewpan, let it stand by the side of a slow fire to remove the little blood they contain, taking care that the water does not become too warm. I read on. As soon as they whiten... pat of butter... simmer... drain them on a napkin... small stewpan, with a ragout-spoonful of Soubise sauce and a little Allemande sauce...”

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Book:Above the Bay of Angels
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“What is that?" I asked because her was stuffing puff pastry with a rich brown mixture. "It is called tourte de blettes," he said. "A specialty of our region." "What are blettes?" The word was unfamiliar to me. "It is a green vegetable, like cabbage, only with long green curly leaves," he explained, then he held a stalk up for me. "Is that Swiss chard?" I exclaimed. "Then it is a savory tart?" "No, mademoiselle, it is for the dessert." "But chard? That must taste bitter." "Not at all. It is made with raisins and pine nuts and brown sugar, and when it is finished, I will save a small taste for you. You will see, it tastes not at all bitter. Quite delicious, in fact.”

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“Can I trust you with the scones? You make them just before they are to be carried in, so that they are still warm. And you know that she doesn't like raspberry jam. Just strawberry or apricot, and the cream whipped very thick. Got that?" "Yes, Cook," I said, feeling both scared and excited at the same time. It was up to me to feed the queen. Mrs Robbins at my former establishment had made very good scones- at least they had tasted good to me. So I made them just the way she did- with very cold butter, double cream, a dash of vanilla extract.”

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“A simple roast duck, with an orange sauce, might be a good way to start," he said. "The secret is to prick the skin in a thousand places, place it in a moderate oven for an hour, bring it out, let it stand for the fat to run off, then baste it, put it back in a hot oven to crisp the skin." "Is this how you are serving it tonight?" "No, that would be an insult to my talent," he said. "I serve the traditional magret de canard. The breast of the duck cooked in its own fat until the skin is crisp, and then I shall serve it with figs and balsamic vinegar and local honey.”

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“Idealistic? Ruddy stupid, if you'll pardon the language, miss,: Mr Roberts said. "All this talk about power for the people and down with the ruling classes and everyone should govern themselves. It can never happen, I told him. The ruling classes are born to rule. They know how to do it. You take a person like you or me and you put us up there to run a country and we'd make a ruddy mess of it.”

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Book:A Royal Pain
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“Is the princess still in the fitting room?" "Oh no, darling. She appeared about half an hour ago. Poured herself a black coffee, and looked longingly at the cakes. That child is starving herself if you ask me. Now she's definitely too thin. European men do like a woman to have a little meat on her bones." "And Prince Nicolas, have you seen him recently?" "I haven't seen him since lunch. I gather he and Antone went out to shoot. And I expect Max went with them. They're only happy when they're shooting something. Apart from sex of course." "Mother!" I gave her a warning frown. My mother glanced around at the other women, who were tucking into their tort with abandon. "They won't understand. Their English is hopeless, darling. Besides, it is about time you are acquainted with the facts of life. I've hopelessly neglected my duty in that area. Men only have two thoughts in their heads. And those are killing or copulating." "I'm sure there are plenty of men with finer feelings who are interested in art and culture." "Yes, darling. Of course there are. They are called ferries. And they are quite adorable. So witty and fun to be with. But in my long and varied life I've found that the ones who are witty to be with are no use in bed. And vice versa.”

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Book:Royal Blood
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“I volunteered to go down to the market to purchase fresh whitebait the day of the queen's arrival. Mr Angelo cooked a couple of capons to serve cold with a veronique sauce and grapes. And at dinner that night, we joined the French chefs, eating at the kitchen tables. I have to admit it: the bouillabaisse was one of the most delicious things I had ever tasted. The rich broth, tasting of both fish and tomato, and with a spicy tang to it, and the little pieces of fish and seafood coming unexpectedly on to the spoon. And the crusty bread to dip into it? Heaven. "How do you prepare the sauce?" I asked. When I found out they started with twelve cloves of garlic, Mr Angelo shook his head. "The queen wouldn't approve, would she? Nothing that would make her breath smell bad," he said. "You know she's always forbidden garlic." "How would she know?" Chef Lepin asked. "If garlic is cooked well, it does not come on the breath." Then he came over to me. "And I saved you a morsel of the octopus," he said. He stuck his fork into what looked like a piece of brown grilled meat and held it up to my mouth, as one feeds a child. The gesture was somehow so intimate that it startled me. I opened my mouth obediently and felt the explosion of flavor- saffron and garlic and a hint of spiciness and flesh so tender it almost melted.”

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Book:Above the Bay of Angels
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