In Praise of: The Cheese Cob

 

Sometimes the simplest things in life just turn out to be the best: the exemplars of their particular ethos. Jane & I were talking about the rather sad 'evolution' of pub food here in the UK over the past few decades. To be honest, the purists among us would rather see kitchens banned from public houses and the focus placed back where it belongs - on good beer and salty snacks. I think it's fair to say most of us have got over the smoking ban by now, although even as a reformed smoker of fifteen years or more, I still harbour nostalgic thoughts of the smoky bars and tap-rooms of my youth. Realistically, we're pretty obviously better off not inhabiting rooms full of airborne carcinogens, so I'll let that aspect of the past, shall we say, pass.

The thing about pub food these days is that it has pretty much subverted the actual point of a pub: a place in which to drink and banter with like-minded people: a community centre with the added bonus of a decent drink. The public house was something almost unique to Britain and essentially of the working people (well, and academics) - it suited our climate and culture; but at some point in the years of increasing prosperity as the Second World War's influence started fading into memory, the idea of the 'pub' started to seem stale and outdated. Something was needed to attract 'the youth' into what were largely seen as establishments for the older generations of the working class.

This was to anyone of my generation a total misreading of why we liked to go to the pub in the first place. Number one was that it was a rite of passage into adulthood to gain access to the places in the first instance, legally or otherwise. Number two was alcohol, plain and simple. Number three was music, noise and the press of humanity in a confined space - and of course meeting people of whatever sex/gender took your fancy. It was kind of the internet/app-space of its era: except that the people were real, the beer/drugs were real and the music was bloody loud.

As we grew a little older and relationships became more established, the need for the noise and crush subsided, but the enjoyment of pub life remained: still centred around beer and cigarettes, but the focus now on an extended group of friends, conversation, debate and argument. Food still remained in the realm of salty snacks and strange pickled seafood. Two of the first attempts to introduce 'substantial meals' - as the current Covid-parlance would have it - into pubs, were the 'Ploughmans' Lunch' and 'Chicken in a Basket': both of which I have eaten many times, usually on Sundays or on UK holidays in the late seventies: 'Steak & Ale Pies' making their appearance at around the same time.

The problem with it all from my point of view was that, for most of the time, I didn't want a bloody meal in the pub: I ate before I left home: on a lunchtime at the weekend, I would be eating after the pub, which served as apéritif for the meal to follow. The only time food (apart from the salty, crunchy stuff) would be a thing, would be dropping into a pub on spec (as I've said before, something so hard to do these days) and having a couple of pints and a sandwich of some kind.

Right - we've reached the point of this ramble: whilst I have eaten some very fine 'gastro-pub' food over the years, the absolute apogee in the pairing of good beer (in this case Bathams Best Bitter - look it up) with foodstuffs of any kind, is the classic Midlands/Black Country 'Cheese Cob'. A simple bread roll - it has to be darkly crusty and crisp, white-crumbed and soft in the centre: split, buttered well and filled with sharp, good cheddar in thick slab form: the whole paired with sliced onions, soused in malt vinegar. Nothing like it - oh, and chuck in a bag of good Black Country Pork Scratchings for good measure, some good company and the Sunday papers, and you've got a lunchtime to savour.

Apologies for the quality of the pic - this was the only photo I could find of what I would call a 'cob' as opposed to a 'bap' or whatever other bread rolls are out there - this one has the correct colour and crust absolutely mandatory in the oeuvre. By the way - the onion is best eaten straight from the bowl of vinegar with the fingers whilst eating the cob - not in the sandwich itself... and of course washed down with a pint of Best!