
Chef Thomas
A British BLT
Back bacon crisped in a hot pan, a ripe tomato that actually tastes of something, crisp lettuce and real butter on proper toast. A sandwich that earns its place in the notebook.
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Created by Chef Thomas
A slab of dense, pale stottie stuffed with golden pease pudding and thick ham pulled straight from the bone, the kind of sandwich that settles an argument with nothing but its weight.
January in the Northeast is a different sort of cold. The kind that gets into your coat before you've left the doorstep. This is what that weather wants you to eat.
I had my first pease pudding stottie at a bakery counter in Newcastle, standing on a pavement that was silver with frost. The bread was dense and pale, the size of a dinner plate. The pease pudding inside was thick and golden, almost the colour of egg yolk, and the ham was pink and soft and pulled from a hock that morning. I ate it in about four minutes and thought about it for the rest of the week. I wrote it down in the notebook that evening: ham, pease pudding, stottie. Cold day. Perfect.
Pease pudding is one of those old, quiet foods that does its work without asking for attention. Yellow split peas, simmered for hours alongside a ham hock until they collapse into something savoury and rich and impossibly smooth. The ham gives everything to the peas, and the peas give body back to the broth. One pot. Two things you need. The stottie cake is the only bread for the job: flat, dense, floury, chewy, built to hold something substantial without falling apart in your hands.
You can buy both from a good bakery in the Northeast, and you should if you're there. But making them at home is a Saturday afternoon's quiet work. The kitchen will smell of bread dough and simmering peas and smoky ham, and that, on a cold day, is worth the effort on its own.
Quantity
300g
soaked overnight in cold water
Quantity
1, about 800g
Quantity
1
peeled and halved
Quantity
2
Quantity
a few
Quantity
30g
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
500g
plus extra for dusting
Quantity
10g
Quantity
7g
Quantity
25g
softened
Quantity
300ml
Quantity
to serve
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| yellow split peassoaked overnight in cold water | 300g |
| smoked ham hock | 1, about 800g |
| onionpeeled and halved | 1 |
| bay leaves | 2 |
| black peppercorns | a few |
| unsalted butter | 30g |
| white pepper | to taste |
| strong white bread flourplus extra for dusting | 500g |
| fine sea salt | 10g |
| fast-action dried yeast | 7g |
| lard or unsalted buttersoftened | 25g |
| warm water | 300ml |
| English mustard (optional) | to serve |
Drain the soaked peas and tip them into a large stockpot with the ham hock, onion, bay leaves, and peppercorns. Cover generously with cold water, at least two litres, and bring to a steady simmer. Skim off any grey foam that rises in the first ten minutes. Then turn the heat low, set the lid slightly ajar, and let it tick away for two to two and a half hours. The peas should be completely soft, almost falling apart, and the ham should pull easily from the bone when you test it with a fork. Check the water level now and then and top up if it drops below the peas. The kitchen will start to smell of something old and savoury and good. That's when you know it's working.
While the pot simmers, make the bread. Put the flour, salt, and yeast in a large bowl. Rub in the lard with your fingertips until it disappears into the flour. Add the warm water and bring it together into a rough, shaggy dough. Turn it out onto a floured surface and knead for eight to ten minutes until it feels smooth and elastic, with a slight spring when you press a thumb into it. This is a firmer dough than most bread. Not slack, not sticky. A stottie needs to be dense, so don't be tempted to add more water. Put it back in the bowl, cover with a tea towel, and leave somewhere warm for an hour or so, until it has roughly doubled.
Set the oven to 220C/200C fan. Knock the dough back, divide it into four equal pieces, and roll each one into a flat disc about two centimetres thick and the width of a side plate. Lay them on a floured baking tray, dust the tops with flour, and press a deep thumbprint into the centre of each. That dimple is the stottie's signature. Let them rest for fifteen minutes, no longer, then bake for twenty to twenty-five minutes. They should be pale, barely coloured, with a dense, slightly chewy crumb when you tear one open. A golden stottie has been in too long. You want it almost white, floury, firm on the outside and soft within. Cool them on a wire rack.
When the peas are completely soft and the ham is tender, lift the hock out onto a board and set it aside. Fish out the bay leaves, onion halves, and any loose peppercorns. Drain the peas, keeping a cup of the cooking liquor. Mash them with a potato masher or a fork, adding the butter and a splash of the cooking liquor until you have something thick and spreadable, the consistency of hummus on a good day. It should be golden and smooth but not perfectly so. A few soft lumps are honest. Season with white pepper and taste it. The ham will have given it salt already, but check. It should be deeply savoury, almost meaty, even though it's just peas.
When the hock is cool enough to handle, strip the meat from the bone in thick, generous pieces. Discard the skin and fat, or keep the skin if you want to crisp it later under a hot grill, which is not a bad idea at all. The meat should be soft and yielding, falling apart almost, pink and smoky and very difficult not to eat standing up at the counter. Save enough for the stotties. The bone goes into a bag in the freezer for stock another day.
Split each stottie in half horizontally. Spread the bottom half generously with pease pudding, thicker than you think, thicker than that. Layer the ham over the top in rough folds. A smear of English mustard on the upper half if you want it, and you should want it. Press the lid on. The stottie should be heavy in your hand. That weight is the whole point. Cut it in half if you must, but it's better eaten whole, leaning slightly forward over the plate to catch what falls. There are few better feelings than putting one of these in front of someone on a cold evening and watching them pick it up with both hands.
1 serving (about 430g)
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