English food seems to have two distinct faces in the American culinary imagination. The first is the decidedly grey image of boiled meat. Indeed, boiled meat may be the paradigmatic emblem of loathed English blandness. The other face of British food, is perhaps best described as the great British flair for the pageant of the meal. High tea served in an oak-paneled room, where rich fabric, antique porcelain, and mountains of cakes and clotted cream sparkle in reflection from the mirror-polished side of a sterling silver tea pot; the picnic by the bank of the Thames; the white cravatted public school boys on their way to an evening meal in some Gothic-vaulted dining hall. Still, the stuff of the meal itself, the food of England, is not nearly as awful as some make it out to be. With its double creams, rich puddings and straightforward flavors, it can be quite marvelous.

One point must be made clear: for centuries the English aristocracy ate French food, and their menus are peppered with accents graves and circumflexes. To compare boeuf à la bourguignonne to the Scottish haggis is to compare apples and oranges, haute cuisine to the invention of necessity. This is not to say that there aren't distinctly British tastes that cross class lines. There are. One is a love for the first meal of the day, another is a taste for meat. The British butcher wears a white smock and a straw boater. Perhaps his most important job has been to prepare the great roast beefs that anchor the traditional Sunday lunch feast. Roast beef is the national culinary pride. It is called a "joint," and is served at midday on Sunday with roasted potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, two vegetables, a good strong horseradish, gravy, and mustard. The leftover joint could feed the family until Friday (traditionally fish day), recooked in a curry, pie, stew, or fried with cabbage, onions, and potatoes into the onomatopoeic "bubble and squeak." Beef is big industry in England, and the Aberdeen Angus is one of her famous beef-producing breeds. Dairy cattle are also farmed extensively -- England is famous for its creams and butters and for its sturdy and delicious cheeses: Stilton, Cheshire and its rare cousin blue Cheshire, double Gloucester, red Leicester, sage Derby, and of course cheddar. Lamb and mutton are the second most-widely consumed meats followed by pork, farmed mostly in Ireland, at a distant third. Game has always had a central role in the British diet. This reflects both the abundant richness of the forests and streams and an old aristocratic prejudice against butchered meats. Formal feasts were built around venison, rabbit, and game birds. This preference can still be seen today on the menus of good English restaurants.

Being an island makes fishing easy for the Brits. Fish are central to the English diet. Many species swim in those cold waters: sole, haddock, hake, plaice, cod (the most popular choice for fish and chips), turbot, halibut, mullet, John Dory. Oily fishes also abound (mackerel, pilchards, and herring) as do crustaceans like lobster and oysters. Eel, also common, is cooked into a wonderful pie with lemon, parsley, and shallots, all topped with puff pastry.

The English are justifiably famous for their gardens, and the kitchen garden has long been a source for herbs and vegetables. But much of the flavoring in British cooking comes from further horizons than the garden out the back door. The Brits have long incorporated exotic spices. When the Frankish Normans invaded, they brought with them the spices of the east: cinnamon, saffron, mace, nutmeg, pepper, ginger. Sugar came to England at that time, and was considered a spice -- rare and expensive. Before the arrival of cane sugars, honey and fruit juices were the only sweeteners. The few Medieval cookery books that remain record dishes that use every spice in the larder, and chefs across Europe saw their task to be the almost alchemical transformation of raw ingredients into something entirely new. Throughout northern Europe, elaborate concoctions of mixed meats and offal (almond flour thickeners), spices, raisins, and other dried fruits were the result...and to the credit of the successful chef, there was often no chance that any of the discrete, original flavors could be recognized. Spices were of course a handy way to mask slightly off meat. There is, in fact, a rule of Victorian etiquette that deems it less than polite to sniff at meat when it is on the fork. The affair with the spices of the East has continued, even to this day, and can be seen preserved in the tastes of the early American colonists, and in the caraway-, ginger-, and mace-laced cakes that grace the tea table. In this vein, the Brits have proven exceptionally good at condiments: strong mustards, horseradish, chutneys, vinegars, marmalades and jams, curries, even Worcestershire sauce.

Now, the cynical may still say it's a good thing the English have worked so hard at that which covers food. But, for a moment, imagine the perfect cup of tea accompanied by scones, with clotted cream and strawberry jam, a juicy slice of beef with a dollop of strong horseradish, or the perfect piece of Scottish smoked salmon, and you just may find your mouth watering at the thought of what the British have brought to the table.