By James Hookway

LONDON -- Nature abhors a vacuum. So, too, it seems, do English gentlemen.

When the makers of a salty condiment called Gentleman's Relish said poor sales couldn't justify producing it any longer, much of the British establishment mobilized to see if there was a way to save its favorite umami-rich anchovy paste.

At least three approaches were made to buy the brand, which is as ubiquitous to upper-class larders as French's mustard is to New York hot-dog stands. Simpson's in the Strand, a luxuriously upholstered eatery in the center of London, came up with its own version. High-end department store Fortnum & Mason is selling its own a short walk away.

The Spectator magazine, a bible of sorts for the well-heeled, secured some of the last remaining pots of the stuff to distribute to readers as a prize for whoever submits the letter of the week.

In doing so, they are hoping to save a little taste of England for future generations to enjoy.

"It's like a West End show coming to an end," said Jeremy King, veteran restaurateur and the proprietor at Simpson's. "There is a sudden spike in demand, and we would like to keep it going."

First devised in 1828 by English grocer John Osborn, Gentleman's Relish is a punchy blend of mashed anchovy fillets, butter and a secret blend of spices and herbs. Often smeared on hot buttered toast, it tastes like a fishy, peppery paté, befitting the mock Latin name Osborn gave to it, Patum Peperium.

The relish quickly gained favor in the higher echelons of British society, even if the name still raises a few sniggers among the lower orders.

A Royal Navy admiral, William Sidney Smith, was an early endorser, reputedly calling it "the most delicious breakfast-table accompaniment." Others preferred it at long, boozy dinners, consumed after dessert to shock the digestive system into action and allow the gentlemen present to enjoy a few postprandial glasses of port.

James Bond creator Ian Fleming has a character munch on a Gentleman's Relish sandwich in his book "For Your Eyes Only." Celebrity chef Nigella Lawson declared it one of 10 foods she couldn't live without.

"If you're an anchovy lover, this has your name on it," she said.

In recent decades Gentleman's Relish has struggled to find a mainstream market. AB Foods, the manufacturer, said it had little choice but to stop production.

"While we recognise that this Victorian relish has a niche and loyal following, it sadly does not have wider commercial appeal and, despite our best efforts, retailer distribution has dwindled," it said.

Cue headlines such as "Gentleman's Relish is toast" -- and a flurry of activity to keep it alive.

Many devotees were horrified by the prospect of the relish vanishing. "Another quiet British pleasure has slipped away; another modest national treasure, taken for granted, undervalued and now lost," Sandy Rich, founder of Tregeagle Fine Art, wrote in a post on Instagram.

King and his executive chef at Simpson's, David Stevens, began working on their own version, thinking it would help boost the relaunch of the storied restaurant -- also established in 1828 -- after a lengthy renovation.

"We started with 50-50 anchovies and butter and took it from there," Stevens said. "The original is heavy on the cloves and cinnamon, but we found it was better to let the anchovies do the talking."

The end result fits in well on Simpson's bill of fare, which is so traditional that King says they wouldn't dream of calling it anything as newfangled as a menu.

From time to time, waiters pushing trolleys roll past carrying sides of roast beef, to be carved at diners' tables.

"As restaurateurs we have an obligation to restore people, and part of that is making sure that when people go to a restaurant they feel reassured and safe and loved, almost like being in a club," King said.

Simpson's take on Gentleman's Relish is aimed in part at making diners feel that in a quickly changing world, some things will always remain the same. In Britain, which has seen four prime ministers in as many years, the familiar taste of anchovies blended with butter and peppers helps take the edge off.

"It packs quite a punch," Stevens said.

Some aficionados would still prefer the real thing. A petition was launched to convince AB Foods to reverse its decision to end production or allow someone else to continue making it.

"The decision to stop producing The Gentleman's Relish affects not just those of us that love it, but the cultural tapestry of British cuisine," its organizer, Matthew Steeples, wrote.

The Spectator waded in, too. Founded the same year Osborn's Patum Peperium appeared, the magazine took news of the paste's demise as an almost personal affront.

"We at The Spectator will not accept this as a fait accompli," editor Michael Gove posted on X.

As well as offering the few tins it had secured as a prize for its readers, it reported that thanks to "quiet diplomacy" between the magazine and AB Foods, negotiations are advancing.

AB Foods confirmed it has heard from several third parties who have expressed an interest in keeping the brand going. "Those conversations are ongoing," it said. Simpson's, meanwhile, is exploring a collaboration with Fortnum & Mason on distributing its relish.

Recent headlines in the British papers suggest there is hope. "Gentleman's Relish no longer toast?" one said.

For those who can't wait to find out, there's always eBay. Little 2.5-ounce pots of Gentleman's Relish are on offer there for nearly $80.

Write to James Hookway at James.Hookway@wsj.com

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June 01, 2026 05:30 ET (09:30 GMT)

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