Mrs. Piggott was reputed to take trouble with her soups

From Cover Her Face by P.D. James.   An Adam Dalgliesh mystery written in 1962.  Dalgliesh is temporarily ensconced in the local Inn and James is describing the fare.

They had been assured that Mrs. Piggott who, with her husband, kept the inn, was noted for her good plain cooking and plenty of it. The expression had struck ominously on the ears of men whose travels had inured them to most of the vagaries of good plain English fare. It is probable that Martin suffered most. His war service in France and Italy had given him a taste for continental food which he had been indulging ever since on holidays abroad. Most of his spare time and all of his spare money was spent in this way. He and his cheerful, enterprising wife were enthusiastic and unsophisticated travelers, confident of their ability to be understood, tolerated and well fed in almost any corner of Europe. So far, strangely enough, they had never been disappointed.  Sitting in deep abdominal distress Martin let his mind rumble on cassoulet de Toulouse and remembered with yearning the poularde en vessu he had first eaten in a modest hotel in the Ardeche.  Dalgleish's needs were at once simpler and more exacting. He merely craved simple English food properly cooked.  Mrs. Piggott was reputed to take trouble with her soups. This was true in so far as the packaged ingredients had been sufficiently well mixed to exclude lumps.  She had even experimented with flavours and today's mixture of tomato (orange) and oxtail (reddish brown), thick enough to support the spoon unaided, was as startling to the palate as to the eye. Soup had been followed by a couple of mutton chops nestling artistically against a mound of potato and flanked with tinned peas larger and shinier than any peas which had ever seen pod. They tasted of soya flour.  A green dye which bore little resemblance to the color of any known vegetable seeped from them and mingled disagreeably with the gravy. An apple and black-currant pie had followed in which neither of the fruits had met each other nor the pastry until they had been arranged on the plate by Mrs. Piggott's careful hand and liberally blanketed with synthetic custard.

Mrs. Piggott's cooking reminds me of the institutional fare I experienced in England from the mid-1960s to the mid-1970s first in state school in lower grades and then in boarding school in 10th grade.

I remember in particular those "tinned peas larger and shinier than any peas which had ever seen pod."  

In 1966, this was the first time we lived in England and this was my first exposure to English state school.  As any third culture kid can testify, landing in a new place, with new culture, different clothes and weather, different foods, and different customs is in turns taxing, alarming, startling, discomforting, bewildering and refreshing.

Lunch at a state school in England in 1966 was daunting.  I was accustomed to food from home, both plentiful and palatable.  England in 1966 was still climbing out from the effects of the Second World War.  Incomes were low, choices narrow, times lean.

I quickly discovered that the food was bland-to-off-putting (liver) and that you had to eat whatever you were served.  Even if you had not requested it or wanted it.

Next most alarming after the liver was the great green mushy peas.  James has their number:

They tasted of soya flour.  A green dye which bore little resemblance to the color of any known vegetable seeped from them and mingled disagreeably with the gravy. 

Those state school lunchtime peas put me off peas for at least two decades.  It was only as an adult that I discovered regular peas and petits pois - both not just edible but enjoyable.  And no botanical kin to the monstrosities mushily glopped onto our trays way back long ago.

I can smell them, I can see them dissolving into the mashed potatoes.  I can feel the squishy, pasty texture of way over cooked peas.

James' description almost suggests that English peas in this period might have been a manufactured, reconstituted pea substitute.  I google.  Perhaps they were a synthetic substitute but apparently not.  

They sound like they were marrowfat peas.

Marrowfat peas are green mature peas (Pisum sativum L. or Pisum sativum var. medullare) that have been allowed to dry out naturally in the field, rather than being harvested while still young like the normal garden pea. They are starchy, and are used to make mushy peas. Marrowfat peas with a good green colour are exported from the UK to Japan for the snack food market, while paler peas are used for canning. Those with thin skins and a soft texture are ideal for making mushy peas.

The accompanying photo looks right.

Click to enlarge.

And mushy peas?  Oh, English cuisine.

Mushy peas are dried marrowfat peas which are first soaked overnight in water with sodium bicarbonate (baking soda), and then rinsed in fresh water, after which the peas are gathered in a saucepan, covered with water, and brought to a boil, and then simmered until the peas are softened. The mush is seasoned with salt and pepper.

Throughout the British Isles (Northern England and the Midlands in particular) they are a traditional accompaniment to fish and chips. In Northern England they are also commonly served as part of a popular snack called pie and peas (akin to the South Australian pie floater; but instead of the thick pea soup of the floater, in pie and peas it is mushy peas which accompany the meat pie) and are considered to be a part of traditional British cuisine. They are sometimes also packed into a ball, dipped in batter, deep-fried, and served as a pea fritter. Mushy peas can also be bought ready-prepared in tin cans.

Oh, the horror.  Oh, the humanity.

Click to enlarge.