‘Dessert without cheese is like a beauty with only one eye,’ declared lawyer, writer and serious eater Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin. Although his sentiments may err somewhat on the side of the insensitive (the past is a foreign country and all that), he does have a point. A life without cheese would be very glum indeed.
In fact, I’d happily skip pudding altogether and replace it with Welsh rarebit, burnished, bubbling and fresh from the grill. Now, don’t get me wrong. Plain cheese on toast is a very fine thing, blessedly simple, yet noble in its purity. Rarebit, however, is an altogether more exalted affair — the pinnacle, the apex, the triumphant apogee of this particular form.
I once heard of someone so enamoured by the offering at one of the grander St James’s clubs that he consumed eight in a row. Chapeau, my friend, chapeau. Such is the power of the rarebit, undoubtedly the sine qua non of savouries, those small, saltily piquant bites that, in the words of cookery writer Ambrose Heath, ‘often make an admirable ending to a meal, like some unexpected witticism or amusing epigram at the close of a pleasant conversation. It has the last word, as it were, before we turn to the frivolities of dessert’.
‘There’s more than a touch of the devilled about a proper rarebit, with a snort of Colman’s mustard powder, a fat pinch of cayenne pepper and lashings of Worcestershire sauce’
As to the great ‘rarebit’ versus ‘rabbit’ debate that has raged over the past three centuries, there’s little doubt that the latter is the original term, first recorded back in 1725. ‘Rarebit’ has to wait another 60 years before making its debut. As to why, however, things become a little less certain. Some see it as a derogatory dig towards supposed Welsh parsimony. Just as the Scotch woodcock, another great savoury, contains no trace of the doe-eyed gamebird, so the bunny plays no role in the rabbit.
That argument is swiftly destroyed by a quick glance through Hannah Glass’s 1745 classic, The Art of Cookery Made Plain And Easy — alongside the Welsh version, she has recipes for one Scotch and two English. Rarebit may have gradually superseded its leporine antecedent, but not everyone was happy with the change. ‘Welsh rabbit is amusing and right,’ harrumphed famed lexicographer H. W. Fowler. ‘Welsh rarebit is stupid and wrong.’
Whatever you want to call it (and I like both names), all proper rarebits start with a roux — but don’t let it get too brown. You want a gentle khaki rather than rich mahogany. An egg yolk adds extra richness, but it’s not as if the dish lacks lavishness. I tend to do without. As to the cheese, you need something hard, sharp and British. Cheddar is the most popular, preferably Keen’s, Montgomery’s or Quicke’s. Snowdonia Black Bomber is equally splendid, as is Mrs Kirkham’s Tasty or Mature Lancashire. Caerphilly is a touch too mild and you should save the Alpine classics for raclette and fondue.
When it comes to the beer, I prefer something dark and malty, a stout or porter, to cosset and flatter the cheese, as well as adding a sonorous bass note worthy of a Welsh baritone. A decent bitter also works, adding a gently nutty tang to proceedings. Lager and IPAs have no place here.
There’s more than a touch of the devilled about a proper rarebit, with a snort of Colman’s mustard powder, a fat pinch of cayenne pepper and lashings of Worcestershire sauce, both in the cheese mix and splashed lustily across the finished dish. One more piece of advice, from Fergus Henderson of St John fame, whose classic recipe you’ll find below. ‘When it comes to eating, irrigation channels are essential: make a gentle criss-cross pattern on your hot rarebit with a knife, creating the perfect flood plain for the Worcestershire sauce.’ Having sold more than half a million of these blessed beauties since opening in 1994, he knows of what he speaks.
Recipe: Welsh rarebit
The Welsh rarebit from St John, Smithfield, London EC1, is a thing of savoury legend and the restaurant sells an average of 45 per day. It’s probably my favourite of them all, although the version of White’s club, albeit smaller, comes very close. Serve with a crisp, well-dressed green salad. ‘Welsh Rarebit is a noble version of cheesy toast,’ says Fergus Henderson. ‘Everyone loves cheesy toast!’
Ingredients
Serves at least 4, depending on the dimensions of your toast
A knob of butter
1tbspn plain flour
1tspn English mustard powder
½tspn cayenne pepper
A very long splash of Worcestershire sauce, and a bottle to serve
200ml Guinness
450g mature strong Cheddar, grated
4 pieces of good white bread
Method
Melt the butter in a pan, stir in the flour and let this cook together until it smells biscuity, but is not browning. Add the mustard powder and cayenne pepper, stir in the Worcestershire sauce and the Guinness, then gently melt in the cheese.
When it’s all of one consistency, remove from the heat, pour out into a shallow container and allow to set. It will keep happily in the fridge for a couple of weeks in this state.
Take each piece of bread and toast on both sides. Allow to cool just a little, then cover one side with the rarebit mixture to about 1cm (½in) thick—if you find that it doesn’t spread with ease, press it on with your fingers. Put on a baking sheet and place under the grill until golden and bubbling, grilling to just beyond your comfort threshold to allow the flour to cook out.
Dining and Cooking