The Cave

Reginald Cave

When my daughter and son-in-law return from Africa they intend to remodel their kitchen. This will involve demolishing an inside wall and a chimney breast, and moving a few doors before the new cabinets can be installed. Of course there has been much discussion about what and where and it made me think of The Cave.

Reginald W. Cave, DIP.ARCH, FRIBA, former head of the Oxford School of Architecture at what was then the Oxford Poly, now the Oxford Brookes University, who was then living at 208 Banbury Road where I took my lodgings in my final year at Oriel, was a legend apparently at work as well as at home where, widowed, he opened his house to numerous students at knock-down rates (breakfast included) in exchange for a bit of banter mostly architectural flavoured. You can see him here giving his famous teapot lecture; so typical of him to attach importance to such a common-or-garden article.

The Reginald Cave Teapot lecture 1990

Most weeks Reginald put on a Sunday Luncheon extravaganza par excellence for a mere 30p a head which would, if you had the longevity, coalesce into afternoon tea thrown in for the price. I remember a fruit cake he produced at one such latter occasion, a little dry but "robust" was his description. The lunch would typically start with a dry Amontillado sherry and finger food, then we would sit for the aperitif, main course and desert, followed more leisurely with coffee and liqueurs. Here it must have been that I sampled Benedictine that would later feature in my engagement, for it certainly was none of my parents' doing.

He had planned his kitchen (and who more qualified than an architect?) so that, standing centrally he could reach all cooking utensils and ingredients with minimal movement. Thus it was very compact yet wholly sufficient. A principle that I have not seen followed in modern kitchens.

It was the Cave who taught me to admire good (and by 'good' I do not mean fancy or nouvelle cuisine) cooking, to enjoy leisurely a feast of several and varied courses each with its own wine (included in the price). Although, come to think of it, Oriel was another teacher for I cannot remember ever having enjoyed a meal more than the graduation feast put on by the college, gratis. After which I might have been seen cycling a rather crooked path back to Summertown. Which brings to memory the desert which was Baked Alaska cooked and served perfectly. Whereas at our recent three day mini-holiday Wexford hotel I tried their "Deconstructed Baked Alaska" and regretted it. Deconstructed indeed!  The term implies a former construction but, no, it was a splodge of under-cooked meringue, a minuscule scoop of ice cream supposedly cherry flavour already half melted, both hardly sprinkled with almond flakes. No other touted ingredients (pistachio powder comes to mind) were detectable. The two main ingredients at opposite ends of the over-sized plate were joined by the usual swirls of 'jus' which both look ridiculous and serve only to hinder the washing up. I was not impressed.

I have yet to find a restaurant to come up to the standard of cooking, the wines, the ambience and above all the service that I experienced at the Cave-ary or at college special meals.  But then the quality of our cooking at home exceeds that of most restaurants - I wonder why it is so hard to get satisfaction especially when the price is so high? Doubtless it is because I do not frequent the right establishments because, exceptionally, one business lunch I remember took me to Simpsons in the Strand and I have to say their roast beef and service wholly met with my approval. But then I wasn't paying.

I once attended The Dorchester hotel for dinner and was not impressed for two reasons. Firstly the waiters were plain rude. Secondly, after leaving, I felt like indulging in a decent fish-and-chip supper.  It is rare to find a waiter or waitress who delights in serving the patron. It should be possible to order anything within reason and not feel one is being laughed at. I heard a story, allegedly true, of a chef who, when a "well done" steak was ordered, in disgust actually urinated on it before cooking it to a cinder and serving it. Why should one man stipulate another's preferences?

Unlike The Dorchester the Cave expected his luncheon guests to help with the cooking and with clearing up afterwards and thus I learned a few skills like making pastry or how to store cheese which, he explained, must never be refrigerated. He had a special marble slab on the cool floor of his larder where cheese was kept and allowed to breath under some sort of cover.  His home made bread was legendary especially for breakfast, toasted, spread with butter and his home marmalade.

I hardly need to add that greatly enjoyed my year's sojourn at 208 Banbury Road and I hold this post in memorial of a unique gentleman who helped to form my life.