Why can’t I get a decent Lasagne?

Why can’t I get a decent Lasagne? In the UK that is. This does not seem to make any difference in to the quality of the establishment I happen to be frequenting. Expectations, on the other hand can make a big difference to my mental well being and acceptance of the plate of food being delivered. Many pubs, not those purportedly to be restaurants, but the genuine old fashioned booze establishments, do not serve a proper Lasagne. Let's be honest, they usually use the same mince that was made up from the leftovers of last Sunday’s carvery. This base is then used for Shepherd’s Pie, Cottage Pie and of course, Lasagne. It is only the additional herbs and accoutrements that make the difference. By the way, the final scrapings are then finally used up for the most ‘favourite’ dish. Why do you think that Curry night is often on Thursday or Friday? Anyway, back to the subject in hand.

This pub Lasagna is usually served in a bowl with a few excuses of pasta intermingled in the mix. Cheese on top, of course, and microwave hot. However, after a couple of pints of well kept cask ale, I find that, although this dish is a somewhat distant cousin from a proper lasagne, it is acceptable, due to the pleasure of drinking the sublime beer.  I expect the pub to be expert at the beer – not necessarily the Italian meal of my dreams. Therefore, the meal is what I expected and thus accepted.

However bespoke ‘Italian’ restaurants are another matter. A few weeks back I decided to take ‘she who should not be ignored’ out to an expensive Italian restaurant. I made the fatal mistake of not enquiring the construction of their Lasagne assuming that they knew what they were doing. What I got was a plate of goo with some soggy slithers of pasta forlornly trying to escape. It looked like the kind of Italian meal you see on the pavement early on a Sunday morning. How can you call a dish a Lasagne when there is no fucking Lasagne in it? Being typically British and not wanting to upset ‘she who should not be ignored’ on our ‘special’ night out, I sat there, slowly sipping through the detritus of this dish.

I remember my prosaic reply when the ‘Chef’ (who looked like he came from Surbiton not Sorrento) came out to enquire on the quality of his creation. I said something banal like “It’s quite nice but not what I expected,” half hoping that he might enquire what my expectations actually were. What did he do? He just walked off. He wasn’t listening, he was just going through the motion. Which is what this dish really looked like – a bowel motion.

The worst thing is that this is not an isolated incident. In almost every part of the European Union you can ask for Lasagne you get Lasagne. It looks like cake that is self supporting. Sheets of Pasta supporting layers of béchamel (or similar) sauce and a tasty filling. Why can’t I seem to get the same in the UK? Is it by popular demand or simply the lack of complaint?

I have to be the first to hold my hand up to this; but never again. Unless I am supping a Real Ale in an old fashioned English Pub, I am not going to accept a dish that purports to be a Lasagne but needs to be in a bowl to support it. Never again will I accept a dish that looks as if it has been extruded from a bovine rectum. It will be sent back to the kitchen with the appropriate constructive criticism. So that one day, sometime in the future, I will not have to travel to Italy, France, Belgium, Corsica or anywhere else but the UK to get a decent Lasagne.