Great Cooking in Small Places

by Marion Watson

Kitchens never seem to be big enough, whatever their size. Somehow we spread ourselves out to fill them. Mind you I sometimes think there is something like a Parkinson's Law which applies to kitchen cupboards, the more we have the more we accumulate to fill them, much of which lies unused, just taking up space.

But when we have to work in a much smaller area, we can. A friend of mine insists on doing the cooking in a tiny galley when sailing with his friends and takes great pride in the magnificent meals he produces. The only problem is when the boat keels over at ninety degrees and he has a large pan of curry on the stove. Then he spends half an hour scraping it off the galley floor. But he only works in those conditions at weekends or holidays and then from choice. But what about people who have to produce meals in tiny spaces all the time, either because of their work or way of life?

While walking up a dirt track above Milton Abbas in Dorset on a glorious spring morning the smell of wood smoke wafted down the hill towards me. As I neared the top of the slope a green gypsy caravan came into view.

It was tucked in alongside the hedge. Outside a woman was putting bread and a chicken into a cooker suspended over a wood fire. She was tall and graceful with long grey hair and wore a sleeveless summer dress.

We stopped to talk and she told me that the caravan was new. They had just returned from Spain where her husband had decorated it in traditional Romany style, using a repeat pattern in red, yellow and black.

"Why go to Spain to paint it?" I asked.

"Because we could be sure of warm, fine weather without rain to spoil the finished work before the paint could dry."

"Where was the horse?"

He was in a field further up country. They were travelling long distances at present so the caravan was being pulled by her husband's truck. They were on their way to Stow-on-the Wold for the big Romany gathering which coincides with the horse fair. Here they would not only buy and sell horses but also have a glorious reunion with friends and relatives. Her husband was a knife grinder by trade and was out and about his business that morning.

She invited me to look inside the caravan. Everything was in its place and there was a place for everything. The bunks pulled out to form a full-sized double bed. Above it the little bay window contained a selection of brass and china ornaments. The floor was carpeted and there was a wood-burning stove for when the weather was too bad to light a fire outside. A butane gas ring was used to make the early morning tea before the fire was lit. However in cold weather the gas cylinder was apt to freeze up. She confessed that fire-lighting was the job she found most difficult, her husband was much better at it than she was. There were cupboards for food and even a small refrigerator although a jug of milk stood on the little shelf beside the door covered with a bead-weighted net to keep the flies out.

Outside there was a chicken coop containing hens to supply meat and eggs and a stool beside the fire. The old and the new contrasted strangely. A portable sink stood beside the hedge and a pair of green wellies were inverted over two sticks pushed into the ground to keep them dry. Modern folding chairs and table covered with a cloth secured with elastic edging completed the alfresco dining arrangements. The army-surplus field cooker was big enough to take a complete meal and more bread stood rising in front of it. Buckets of water were suspended on a pole above the ground to keep them clean and a lantern hung ready for darkness.

Beside the van a row of withy sticks were being bent to form a curved framework for a tent.

I thanked her for showing me her home, wished her well and went on my way feeling somehow refreshed from having met a person so contented with her lot and so well adapted to her chosen life-style. Something of a rarity in these complicated and materialistic times.

But she was only cooking for two people. Supposing you have to cook for a whole family in a tiny space. From the opening of the first canals bargees raised entire families in a tiny room no bigger than a caravan at the back of their narrow boat. Even today there are some people who still work the canals for a living whilst many more take holidays on long boats and a fair number choose to live permanently on one whilst travelling Britain's canals for fun or adventure. The kitchens are tiny, taking up as little of the overall space as possible. The equipment is in miniature, the refrigerator, oven, washing and preparation areas are all tiny. One resident told me that the rubbish bin poses the greatest problem, if it is in the kitchen area it sticks out into the walkway at the side of the boat thus posing a major health hazard in more ways than one. If it is stowed out of the way it is either in the eating space or the bedroom.

Cooking while actually travelling is difficult because every few minutes you are called up on deck to help get through a lock. Also, surprisingly, it can be quite dangerous because although the water is 'still' using sharp knives can be hazardous as the boat bobs and bounces around in draining or filling locks. She recalls following a barge through the Harecastle Tunnel and could smell the full English breakfast they were cooking as they travelled through the dark dank structure with its attendant risk of knocking into the walls. "They must have been made of sterner stuff than me to have cooked in those conditions", she concluded.

Another unexpected hazard is swans who run a protectionist racket by banging on the windows of the boat threatening further damage unless you give them food, it can be quite a frightening experience when you are close up to them.

But that is still only family sized catering. What about having to cook for a working team of hungry men in a cramped kitchen. Most of us are familiar with airline meals which are pre-cooked then reheated on board. Today the RAF does much the same but not so long ago meals were prepared on board by members of the crew. Michael was in Coastal Command in the days of the Sunderland flying boats. Trips lasted twelve hours or more and there was a crew of eleven or twelve to be fed. The aircraft was double decked and the kitchen was on the lower deck next to the wardroom. It measured about six feet by four but in the centre was a step-ladder leading to the upper deck. Cooking was done on two Primus stoves which heated an oven. There was a sink and a table with a box for pots and pans, cutlery and china. At a squash two people could just about get in there to take their turn at preparing a meal. The oven did not work very well so most of the cooking was stewing or currying on the Primus stoves but one bonus was fresh fish for breakfast. When the aircraft was moored some crew remained on board for security and as there were doors on either side of the galley it was a simple matter to lower a fishing line, land the fish, prepare and cook them in a matter of minutes.

The Sunderlands were superseded by the Shackletons and things became more technological as they were equipped with electric hotplates oven and grill. The cooking space was even smaller than the Sunderland and there was definitely only room for one cook. Nevertheless much inventiveness went into preparing meals for the crew of twelve as they flew for anything up to eighteen hours out over the Atlantic. "Our stews and spaghetti Bolognese were renowned" Michael said. When Nimrods replaced Shackletons pre-packed meals became the norm although there was a grill provided. Unfortunately the smoke detector was situated immediately above it so it could not be used.

Cooking for twelve in a tiny space is difficult but supposing you had to cook for seventy or more in an area smaller than the average domestic kitchen and to make matters worse you are hurtling along at over a hundred miles an hour. British Rail chefs do it all the time. It's bad enough to cater for just one day's meals but when they are working on the land cruise tours to Scotland they have to cater for their passengers for three days or more. One chef often on these trips is Joe from Cork - "Everyone calls me Joe the Irishman". He has worked at the Ritz and his meals are the best. He regularly works eighteen hours a day for three or four days at a stretch with only one lunch off when the guests are sent on a day's outing by coach carrying their packed meal with them. You can always tell who belongs to the group, just follow the Intercity carrier bags. They have been well set up for the day with a huge traditional British breakfast including kippers or mixed grill washed down with endless cups of tea or coffee. There are some people who think that it is the best breakfast in Britain. While the guests are enjoying an excursion to Mull, Skye or the Orkney Islands, Joe and the stewards remain on the train to prepare the evening meal of perhaps haggis as a starter, a roast joint and profiteroles or a wide selection of British cheeses to follow.

Planning the menus for these trips is not easy. Firstly although special diets and vegetarians are catered for the meals have to be something which will please most people. Then it all has to be loaded on board before leaving London on Friday night. The refrigerator must be packed in reverse order so that the items needed first are in the front. Fresh bread rolls can be provided for the first evening and the next day, then it is necessary to switch to cooking partly-baked ones. Meals are prepared from scratch even down to peeling potatoes and preparing fresh vegetables. The kitchens are at least thirty years old and Joe prefers the older gas-fired cookers to the modern electric ones. A double-sized cooker fills one side of his tiny domain the width of a railway compartment and less than half the length of a carriage. There are worktops and cupboards opposite. The refrigerator stands at one end. The other half of the carriage is the train crew's day car and dining area but this has to double as additional storage for dry goods, non-perishables and linen. Sacks of rubbish are kept on board until a suitable station is reached where they can be off-loaded on to a trolley.

And, of course, after the cooking comes the washing up. Chefs and stewards all do their share. They are a very happy and supportive team who look after one another well. They volunteer for Land Cruise weekends and say that although the hours are long they prefer them to regular service trains because the guests are more happy and relaxed than the executives who travel first class for business. But after snatching a night's sleep on their return they may be back on one of the regular trains next day. Many of the guests are regulars too and regard the staff as old friends. With the help of the stewards Joe and the other chefs work miracles in their tiny kitchens.