Photos courtesy of Jago Rackham.
Jago Rackham gets the fantasy. The London-based cook and writer makes food that feels quintessentially British. Not British in the bangers-and-mash sense, but like something served at a decadent Shakespearean faerie feast, or lifted from a frame of Pasolini’s The Canterbury Tales. For years, I indulged in Rackham’s lush world from afar, through his Instagram, @ecstasy_cookbook, and his Substack, Greed. Until one evening, I found myself in the middle of Kingsland Road, engulfing a plate of succulent cherries and a floral-infused trifle served from a massive silver tureen by Rackham himself. Rackham is, above all, an entertainer. His projects have included building a multi-tiered monochrome wedding cake for Tish Weinstock and staging a six-hour food performance (also titled Greed) during Frieze. In fact, Rackham entertains so often he had to write a book about it. His debut, To Entertain: Instructions for a Dinner Party, is part recipe book, part etiquette guide, and part memoir that grew out of his own family lore and years of transcendant dinners in rented London flats with his partner, artist Lowena Hearn. “Host, you may play God,” Rackham advises. “And like God, must know how far to extend yourself.” Ahead of a busy fashion week, Rackham—who is the first to tell you he’s a cook, not a chef—answered our questionnaire unpacking the London food scene, Black Velvets, déclassé caviar bumps, and jellied eels.
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What’s the last thing you ate?
A cannoli made by Jacob Kennedy who runs an Italian restaurant in London called Bocca. It’s very good, beloved, and serves a sort of encyclopedia of regional Italian dishes. But this was really special because I was given Jacob’s book when I was fifteen or so—it was really influential to my cooking—and I’d just met him and he was kind and softly spoken. The cannoli had chocolate chips and pistachio; I think it was the best I’ve ever had. It was also eaten in a beautiful garden in Somerset, looking over a big pond from a table with a beautiful white cloth and Nino Rota playing from behind a bush, and so it was perfect.
What do you love to eat alone?
Sandwiches, only out of the fridge and savagely made, drinking Diet Coke, watching TV on my laptop. I like ham and cheese with salad—lots of Hellmann’s mayonnaise. They’re never that good, honestly, and I usually make a second and feel slightly ill.
What dish do you wish you’d invented?
Imagine inventing soup? Probably you had a sip of river water, maybe in an estuary so it was a little salty and thought, “What if I warm this up?” I expect the idea of soup was there before the means. We craved soup before we had something to make soup in, you know? But I wouldn’t want to invent soup, which I don’t much care for. I think it would be cool to have invented soft-serve ice cream, which I love.
What do you think when someone sends back a dish?
That they’re discerning—an effete and cultured creature sui generis. The last time I sent a dish back, the kitchen brought it back to me. It was a burger made with excellent local beef and cooked to shit, and I said to the waiter, “This is horrible, why is it so cooked?” And she came back out with it after the chef had looked at it and said, “It’s how they’re meant to be cooked,” and tried to put it down again and I said, “Well, I don’t want it now.” And I ended up looking like the asshole.
What’s the one food trend you’re relieved is finally over?
I feel like there’s less unnecessary truffle. Truffle is really good in about four dishes, otherwise, it’s obscene. I also think people were putting too much caviar on anything. But then my pal Darina—who is so cool, by the way—started giving me loads of Runan Caviar, and I’m contractually obliged to say I love caviar now. Sometimes I just have a spoon of it from the fridge, but never a bump. I did see an English journalist and sometimes food critic do a bump of caviar at the restaurant awards here (you should see some of the teeth), which was declassé.
What’s the one food trend you’re embarrassed to admit you love?
Service à la russe.
What’s a food hill you’ll die on?
I’ve been bitching a lot about Natoora deciding too much what’s on London’s restaurant menus. It’s not nefarious, it’s just that they have good produce and when you spend the day in the kitchen and are drunk after, it’s easy and calming to order via their excellent app. I wanted to write about it, but then my buddy Hester wrote a better article about it. The food hill is, I guess, that restaurants would be better if chefs could spend a little more time sourcing.
What won’t you eat?
Jellied eels. Pie and mash is also bad. London’s historic food—or that part of it—isn’t good at all. I’m not happy when a pie and mash shop closes, but I’m not unhappy either. Not overly. I wish they didn’t have to become glasses stores though.
What do you drink too much of?
We order so much kombucha to the house at the moment, this turmeric one by Momo. But I don’t really feel bad about that. I don’t drink enough water. I drink one cup of breakfast tea, and then a coffee, and sometimes another coffee in the afternoon. I stopped having coffee after dinner because I don’t sleep so well anymore.
What do you eat straight from the fridge?
Every time I’m cooking in someone else’s restaurant, there’ll be a time when I’m in the fridge and I get caught eating some of the cheese, or some meat or something.
What’s the first thing you notice about a restaurant when you walk in?
The lighting. I like dark restaurants. I like tablecloths. I notice if the music is too loud, that’s the first thing. My friend Ed has a habit of having the music really loud in all his really successful restaurants. Turn the music down, Ed! I’m trying to listen to my very quiet wife tell me about EMDR!
What’s the most underrated city to eat in?
Every time I try to eat in a city in the UK that isn’t London, I have three good meals then everything else is terrible. No one has proved me wrong. If anything, London is underrated because of just how good it is. Americans don’t understand this. Melbourne is great too.
What’s a dish that defines you as a chef?
Something wet and juicy. Or that duck I make with flowers on it. Or a big, ugly cake.
What is the ingredient you could not live without?
Runan Caviar.
What do you eat when you’re sad?
Vague handfuls—shredded cheese, cured meat, toast.
What’s the restaurant everyone should go to before they die?
Sweetings. It opened in 1907 and serves Black Velvets—Guinness and champagne, a drink invented after Prince Albert died so that “even the champagne could be in mourning”—and simple, classic English seafood. It’s in the City of London, which is what we call the financial district, and it’s full of old-fashioned English bankers.
What’s the cookbook everyone should own?
Honey from a Weed by Patience Gray.
What’s the dish everyone should learn to make?
A reasonable omelette. It is very clever but, if you know how, simple.
What’s the one condiment that changes everything?
Mayonnaise.
Dining and Cooking