He was the very model of the Edwardian gentleman explorer: the heroic trailblazer of the polar south and inspiration to generations of intrepid spirits. Sir Ernest Shackleton has never, however, provided much in the way of inspiration for London’s chefs.

To the men who followed him towards the South Pole in the winter of 1908, he offered only biscuits, a stodgy, greasy stew supplemented with horse food and the occasional piece of pony.

Chefs all over London studiously ignored his contributions to cuisine. But cometh the hour, cometh the man. Yesterday, as the descendants of Shackleton prepared to recreate his extraordinary journey, Pawel Jursa, the Polish chef at the Green Door Bar & Grill, in the City of London, offered bankers and stockbrokers the chance to consume 6,000 calories at a single sitting, the required daily intake when trekking towards the pole.

There were certain logistical crevasses to be negotiated on Mr Jursa’s culinary journey. Renato Abeu, the manager, said: “It’s very difficult to get penguin. We did try. Fortnum & Mason of Picadilly and Harrods both said they have no availability at the moment.” London Zoo would not cooperate either.

Times Archive, 1916: How Shackleton's men lived

Breakfast consisted of penguin fried in blubber, with a drink of hot water. At 5, when darkness fell, all were ready for dinner, consisting of penguin breast, with a sustaining hot drink made from one Bovril ration

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This was not a huge setback. Penguins were eaten only in the first days of Shackleton’s journey, after which the four men subsisted on “hoosh”, a stew of dried meat and animal fat.

As the four ponies pulling their sledges died, they mixed in the animal feed and the ponies themselves.

Mr Jursa used hunks of goose meat, suspended in a gel of corned beef and goose fat, resting on a bed of porridge.

Dining with me yesterday were two descendants of Shackleton, both attempting to bulk up in preparation for the Matrix Shackleton Centenary Expedition. Will Gow, 36, from Fulham, southwest London, a City sales manager and the great, great-nephew of the explorer, has put on a stone, and aims to gain another before he leaves.

In this sense he is racing ahead of his comrades, fellow descendant Henry Adams, 34, a shipping lawyer, and Lieutenant Colonel Henry Worsley, 47, a distant relative of Frank Worsley, pilot of Shackleton’s ship on a later polar expedition.

Yesterday, before the greasy hoosh, we faced pork scratchings served with chilli. The waiter also served a steak, which he described as extremely rare. Certainly, I had never seen one quite so large. “We will dream of this when we are there,” said Mr Gow.

On January 9, 1909, Shackleton decided to turn back. “They were 97 miles from the pole,” said Colonel Worsley. “Glory was staring them in the face, but he was worried his men would not survive.” For this momentous decision, he would be celebrated.

Halfway through the 20oz steak I, too, decided I had gone far enough.

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