Miners' fortnight
Spanish-style rarebit with sherry and crispy chorizo recipe
Crisp sandwiches taste better on the beach. Fact. So, there might be a bit of grainy sand as you crunch, but the blend of soft white bread, salty butter and crunchy crisps will never be beaten as your toes wriggle in the sand or legs dangle from a deckchair, the smell of liberally applied suncream on your face and arms, and your hands 'washed' in seawater. Crisp sandwiches on the beach, always make me think of holidays in Porthcawl.
The holidays that I had in my Nannie Gwen's caravan in Trecco Bay, are still the best I've ever had. A bold claim for a travel writer, I know, but an answer I always use when someone asks me of my favourite holiday.
Nan's caravan was a static, six-berth caravan painted bright white with a canary yellow stripe at the top and bottom. There was no electricity or running water. Lighting and heating were gas, and we collected water from the tap situated in between caravans a few rows behind. We had to go down to the toilet block - something we hated and relished when it meant taking the torch at night time.
Nan insisted on not missing her soaps, and my grandad managed to rig up a portable black and white tv to a car battery. My nan would inevitably switch it on and the picture would shrink into the middle of the screen and fizzle out. There would be momentary cursing about how my grandad had failed to charge the battery properly.
Friday night was the fair - Coney Beach, so named because the first ride on the site came from the USA to entertain the American troops of World War I, and was bought by the land owner for the new amusement park.
Fish and chips came from down the road, and nan would butter rounds of bread and pile them butter-to-butter side on a plate on the table (the one that flipped up and slid down the wall to create a double bed). Nan insisted we eat off china plates. Their brown 70s swirly pattern is etched on my memory.
For breakfast, nan would do toast – the only time we ever used a toast rack – and make tea in a pot that would fall off the stand and nan would swear, and we would laugh. This was a daily occurrence.
‘Up the Centre’ there was a building that always intrigued me. A strange triangular-shaped church. I think there still used to be Sunday services when we were holidaying there in the late 80s and early 90s, but I think even those might have stopped now. It was built in 1953 as an interdenominational place of worship for holidaymakers on the Trecco Bay and neighbouring Sandy Bay sites. Supposedly, the distinctive A shape was inspired by the tent that would have been used as a makeshift church when Trecco Bay was a campsite, before the caravans came.
But why build a church on a caravan park? The answer is coal mines. Following the nationalisation of the coal industry in the late 40s, the last week of July and the first week of August were dedicated holidays. The coal mines of the South Wales valleys would close for maintenance, giving the miners – and the pit ponies – their annual respite. Families flocked to the coast in their thousands, particularly Barry Island and Porthcawl, both of which saw huge tourist development to cope with the influx of holidaymakers.
It must have been incredibly fun and horrendously annoying in equal measure when the crowds descended en masse. But think of the buckets and spades bought and carried, bingo halls full, holiday camp entertainers, candy floss, hankies on heads and rolled-up trousers. Apparently, Trecco Bay got the moniker “Hiyabutt Bay”, as you would see all your neighbours and friends from back home and say “Hiya butt!” as you spotted them.
I hope Cadw or St Fagans museum protect that little church, as it represents a slice of history that will never be repeated. Every time I see it, I imagine the swathes of people enjoying a break from their normal lives, and I can hear the hymns resonating from within. Here’s Max Boyce with a memory of Barry Island:
The Recipe
Spanish-style rarebit
I recently had the joy of speaking all about rarebit with food writer Jenny Linford – more on this very soon! – but it got me thinking about the versatility of rarebit and the seemingly infinite ways you can make it. As many of you will know from reading previous newsletters, I am a hispanophile, loving Spain and Spanish culture and food. This slightly indulgent rarebit is a marriage of Spanish and Welsh cuisine that ticks all my taste boxes and tickles my tastebuds. I’ve previously used it as a tapa as part of a selection of tapas for a dinner, and it would work well as a canapé, or a dip for crudités.
Ingredients (makes enough for tapas for 4)
1 tbsp of butter
Small onion, finely chopped
1 tbsp flour
1 tsp pimentón (sweet paprika)
100ml sherry (I used fino as it’s what I had, but a deeper, nutty oloroso might work nicely, too)
100ml milk
100g Manchego cheese or similar, grated
50g chorizo, finely chopped
1 small baguette, cut in rounds or sliced in half lengthways
Method
In a medium-sized saucepan, melt the butter on a moderate-high heat until just fizzing along with the onion, then tip in the flour and mustard paprika and whisk together to form a paste.
Turn down the heat to medium/low and bit-by-bit, add the sherry and then the milk to form a thick mixture.
Tip in the grated Manchego and mix well until melted in. Leave to cool a little and thicken slightly.
Meanwhile, lightly toast the bread and place on a baking sheet.
In a frying pan, crisp up the chorizo until it starts to ooze its glorious neon oil.
Dollop generous helpings of the rarebit topping on the toasted bread.
Place under a hot grill until bubbling. Remove from the oven and top with the crispy chorizo.
If you try the recipe out, don’t forget to tag any photos with #mywelshkitchen.
The Playlist
To me, cooking and music go hand in hand, whether that’s singing at the top of your voice using a wooden spoon as a microphone while waiting for pasta to boil, or dancing around with the oven gloves on as the oven timer counts down. Here are this week’s ideas for your Welsh Kitchen playlist.
First up, to celebrate 100 years of Hollywood, we’ve got a song from The Little Mermaid but as you probably never heard it before. Rock music band Punk Rock Factory from South Wales give their unique twist to a whole host of songs including Bare Necessities. Secondly, we have Newport band Skindred. The band, which was formed in 1998, has made it up the charts to number two this week thanks to one of their songs going viral on a TikTok dance trend.
Poor Unfortunate Souls by Punk Rock Factory
Nobody by Skindred
Ross Recommends
Good food is nothing without good ingredients and thankfully there are plenty of fantastic Welsh products on the market. Here is where you’ll find recommendations to stock up your cupboard, fridge or fruit bowl, or a really great place for food.
The Snowdonia Honey Co. Wildflower Honey
Recently, I was sent two samples from the Snowdonia Honey Co. I’d seen the honey around but never tried it. Spoiler alert: it’s delicious. And it came as no surprise that this week they heard the news that they had received two, two-star products in the Great Taste Awards. Set up in 2018 by former MasterChef contestant Alun Allcock, the company certainly produces honey that has a taste of its surroundings in Eryri. As Alun says, “The wonderful diversity of flora and fauna that we have here has resulted in a unique tasting, premium-quality honey that reflects the region’s unspoiled wilderness.”
From the archive
The bard and the black chair
Every year, Wales hosts the largest festival of music and poetry in Europe. The Eisteddfod Genedlaethol takes place each August and celebrates the very best of Welsh culture through song, dance, music and the spoken word. I’ve written about it a bit before in the newsletter. Perhaps the most important part of the whole event is the chairing of the bard,…