Ah, gravy! Not the tasteless stuff that politicians, bankers, and that sort, notoriously have their feet in; or the bland watery stuff that the English traditionally dish up: ‘Oh, I’ve forgotten to make the gravy! Help yourselves; I’ll be back in a moment.’
Just go and make the gravy! You can’t make gravy from stock cubes, or out of a packet. Well, you can, but it’s disgusting.
Gravy is a moveable feast, evolving through generations of roasts: beef, pork, lamb and chicken… lovingly refreshed with wine or new stock every few days and re-boiled. It is also a variable feast: I take the roast out, and while it is resting, boil up the juices in the roasting pan, adding my gravy stock, then seasoning to taste. I have been known to add a spoonful of D’s legendary marmalade at the last minute. Now that is what I mean by fingerspitzengufuhl.
