A tomato is a tomato is a tomato right? Those matt red orbs bagged up on supermarket aisles are the fresh ones, the reduced and intensified ones in the tubes form the puree and the others are chucked in a blender and then tinned. If you’re being well fancy and putting together a 1990s antipasti, then a jar of those oily sundried things look great with a nifty rocket salad and some balsamic vinegar. This is pretty much what I thought during my teens and early twenties. The time that I was positive beyond anything else that I HATED tomatoes.
I’m not sure at what point the revelation happened. There was no epiphany as such. But somewhere along the line I worked out that the main problem wasn’t tomatoes as a whole, but just the tomatoes I was used to eating (hiding under a napkin). I think it must have coincided with learning about the impact that salt has on everything. Suddenly the most basic of ingredients were transformed, and somehow started to taste like they were supposed to. And instead of thinking that those squishy, soft tomatoes were past it, I worked out that they were just the ones to seek. Chopped roughly with a liberal amount of wonder-seasoning and some oil, I was scratching my head at why I’d been so avidly avoiding tomatoes all of this time.
I first ate panzanella totally by accident. Katie and I had been seeing each other for a short matter of months, and had enthusiastically hopped by plain and train to the depths of Tuscany, still unsure if we’d come back talking. It had been a magical whirlwind trip filled with the long, rolling views of Siena and pizza gorging in bustling piazzas. But we hated Florence, all blood and sweat from Caravaggio, mosquitoes and wall-to-wall tourists. We escaped one evening to a quiet eatery across the river where our waitress delivered a stodgy tomato salad. It was delicious, but we just couldn’t work out what all of the soggy stuff was. Then it dawned on us, bread. It certainly beat the bouncy veal and nondescript mushroom gnocchi that we had consumed to that point.
The concept for this recipe was not a difficult one. At work we had a batch of magnificent, solid bass and a box of ripe, jewel-like heritage tomatoes. Crab is best friends with both of these, especially the brown meat, which brought everything together with a deep richness. A few torn up bits of bread, some good oil and basil leaves and the dish was there.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
For the seabass:
2 wild seabass fillets, from 1kg plus fish. Scaled, trimmed and pinboned.
A squeeze of lemon juice
For the brown crabmeat:
4 tbsp good quality, fresh brown crabmeat
50g ciabatta, crusts removed
1 lemon, juice only
2-3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
Cracked black pepper
For the bread:
2-4 thin slices of ciabatta, depending on size of the loaf
1 ripe tomato, crushed
½ a garlic clove, grated
For the dressing:
3 red chillies, finely sliced
2 garlic cloves, grated
1 shallot, finely sliced
1 tsp fennel seeds
1 tsp dried oregano
1 lemon, zest only
1 small handful of basil leaves, torn
6 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
2 tbsp white wine vinegar
For the semi-dried tomatoes:
3 medium tomatoes, cut into quarters
Salt
For the asparagus:
6 asparagus spears, peeled and trimmed
A squeeze of lemon juice
For the tomatoes:
3-6 ripe heritage tomatoes, a mixture of sizes and colours, sliced and chopped into different sized pieces
To finish:
4 tbsp good quality, unpasteurised white crabmeat
A handful of basil leaves
First make the chilli oil for the dressing. Set a small saucepan to a high temperature and pour in a little olive oil. Fry the red chillies until starting to char on the outside, then turn down the temperature and add the grated garlic, shallot, dried fennel seeds, oregano and lemon zest along with a pinch of seasoning. Continue to cook gently for another few minutes until everything is softened. Remove the pan from the heat and allow to cool slightly, then pour in the rest of the oil and the torn basil leaves. Stir to combine. When completely cold, cover and allow to infuse overnight.
Strain the chilli oil through a fine sieve and discard the flavourings. Create the dressing by pouring the white wine vinegar into a bowl and slowly whisking in 5-6 tbsp of the flavoured oil until emulsified. Taste and season if necessary then set aside.
For the semi-dried tomatoes, preheat the oven to the lowest possible temperature – about 50⁰C or thereabouts. Line a small baking tray with greaseproof paper and drizzle with a little oil. Arrange the quarters of tomato on top and sprinkle with a little salt. Slide into the oven and roast for 3-4 hours, until intense in flavour but still fairly soft. Turn off the oven and allow everything to cool down. When cold, coat with a little extra virgin olive oil and set aside.
To prepare the brown crab meat, spoon the crab into a food processor and add the ciabatta and lemon juice along with a little seasoning and blitz well. With the motor still running, slowly pour in the olive oil until everything is emulsified. Taste and adjust the lemon, salt and pepper levels if necessary, and let down with a little water if too thick. Spoon into a bowl and set aside.
Slice the heritage tomatoes into a random mixture of different-sized pieces and arrange in a bowl. Spoon over a little of the dressing and allow to sit for 5-10 minutes.
Set a heavy griddle pan onto a high heat. Drizzle a little olive oil onto the ciabatta slices and sprinkle over some seasoning. When the pan is hot, fry the bread for a few minutes on each side until they begin to char. Use a pestle and mortar to finely crush the tomato and garlic together then spread onto a plate. When the bread is toasted, transfer on top of the crushed tomatoes and allow to soak up the juices for a few minutes.
Brush the asparagus with oil and season. Cook on the same griddle pan as used for the bread, frying at a high heat for a few minutes until beginning to blister on all sides. Transfer to a plate and squeeze over a little lemon juice. Keep warm.
Set a heavy frying pan to a medium-high heat and add a generous splash of oil. Pat the sea bass fillets dry with a piece of kitchen roll and season all over. When the pan is hot, place the fish skin-side down in the pan and cook for 3 minutes. During this time, use a spoon to continuously baste the top of each fillet, effectively cooking it through both sides at the same time. Finish with a little lemon juice.
To serve, arrange the slices of ciabatta and some pieces of fresh and semi-dried tomato on each plate. Dot on a generous amount of the brown crab puree. Position the fish on top of one of the pieces of ciabatta. Scatter the asparagus spears, white crab meat and basil leaves around the plate and finish with a good amount of the dressing.
Working in the line of work that I do, I’m very lucky to have access to some really fantastic produce. For my dad’s birthday last year, my present to him was a large turbot. He has always loved eating fish, and the times when I was a child and he’d constantly encourage me to eat ‘disgusting’ mussels, get stuck in peeling prawns or cooking things like skate from an early age helped form the foundations for my own passion for food. That night we roasted the whole fish simply, sat on a bed of roasted lemons and fennel and surrounded by clams and mussels. A wonderful and memorable evening. Since then I’ve always wanted to have another go at cooking with a large flat fish, but have never had the occasion. Last week I ended up thinking ‘sod it’, and phoned up our lovely Cornish suppliers at Newlyn. A couple of minutes later I had a sizable brill ordered to wing its way up to me for later in the week.
With the larger flat fish such as turbot and brill there are two real choices to go for. The smaller fish between 1-2 kilogrammes are lovely cooked whole on the bone and make a cracking meal shared with a few people. But the bigger ones are something else, true dustbin lids that you can fillet or steak and still get a proper chunk of flesh from. Certainly something for a special occasion, or in this case, a blog challenge. When it arrived, I was taken aback at quite how big it was. At 2.7kg there was no chance of it fitting into my small fridge at home. So I got to work with it straight away, taking off all four fillets and making sure the bones and roe were kept so that I could use every single bit possible. Ideally I would have cut the fish into steaks, or tranches, on bone to maximise flavour. Unfortunately though my knives just weren’t heavy enough, and I had to make do with fillets. The plan was to cook them very gently in a strong fishy and buttery poaching liquid, allowing no chance of them going dry.
When using fish of such freshness and quality I didn’t really want to confuse it with a pile of other flavourings. So for this recipe I stuck along with tradition and nature, pairing simply with some sea vegetables and shellfish. The smokey flavour in the sauce and the burnt kale was inspired by my recent visit to The Manor in Clapham, and in this dish it adds a subtle contrast to the buttery flavours that I have also used.
Monk’s beard has long been on my list of ingredients to use, but in previous years I’ve found it tricky to get hold of during its swift season. This time around I luckily managed to order some from the wonderful Quality Chop Shop. If anyone hasn’t been, make sure to pop in when you’re next around Farringdon/Exmouth Market; it’s an absolute trove of great produce and gorgeous cooking paraphernalia.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
For the brill:
2 fillets of brill, taken from the thickest part of a 2.5kg fish, skinned
2 good knobs of butter
For the fish stock:
The bones from the brill
1 glass of dry white wine
1 carrot, chopped
1 leek, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, crushed
2 shallots, sliced
1 fennel, sliced
1 bay leaf
1.5 ltrs of water
For the burnt kale:
2 handfuls of curly kale
50g almonds
½ a garlic clove, grated
1 lemon, zest and juice
Extra virgin olive oil
For the kale and monk’s beard:
1 handful of monk’s beard, washed and trimmed
1 handful of kale
1 good knob of butter
A squeeze of lemon juice
2 tbsp of the fish stock
For the caramelised shallot:
3 shallots, thinly sliced
A good knob of butter
1 tsp of sugar
For the smoked clams, oysters and sauce:
20 clams
4 oysters
2 ladles of the fish stock
1 handful of straw
2 knobs of butter
Preheat the oven to 190⁰C.
First make the fish stock. Drizzle a little olive oil over the brill bones, season well and roast in the oven for about 20 minutes, or until lightly caramelised and golden. Meanwhile, heat some oil in a large saucepan and lightly brown the root vegetables. When the bones are roasted, transfer to the saucepan with the bay leaf and add the wine. Bring to the boil, then cover the ingredients with the water. Bring to a simmer and cook for 20 minutes, then remove from the heat and strain into a clean saucepan.
Turn the oven up to 200⁰C.
Scatter the kale for the burnt kale on a roasting tray and toss in a little oil and seasoning. Put in the oven for about 15 minutes, or until dark and charred. While the kale is roasting, set a dry frying pan on a medium-high heat and toast the almonds until golden on both sides. Transfer both into a food processor with the garlic and lemon and blitz until finely chopped. Trickle in a little extra virgin olive oil (about 2-3 tbsp) to bind everything together into a pesto-type consistency. Taste and season, it should be bitter and citrusy.
For the caramelised shallot, melt the butter in a saucepan and add the sliced shallots. Season well and add the sugar, then cook gently for about 20 minutes, or until golden and sticky. Keep warm.
Put a small saucepan on a medium-high heat. When hot, add the clams and a good ladle of the fish stock. Put the lid on and shake gently once or twice, then allow the shellfish to steam for 3-4 minutes, or until they are all open. Use a fork to remove the clams to a bowl and add another ladle of fish stock to the saucepan. Bring to a simmer. Open the oysters, draining their juices into the saucepan as well. Take the pan off the heat and poach the oysters for about 2 minutes, or until just cooked. Remove from the pan and add to the clams. Pour the clam and oyster liquid into a bowl. Put the straw into the bottom of your smoker and light well. When the flames have gone out and the straw is smouldering, put the clams, oysters and the bowl of liquid onto the shelf above and smoke for 5 minutes. Remove the smoked shellfish and sauce and set aside until needed.
Heat up the large saucepan of fish stock and bring to a simmer. Stir in the butter for the brill, then remove from the heat. Season the brill fillets, then lower into the liquid and poach, using the residual heat to cook the fish. After 5-6 minutes it should just be cooked through.
While the fish is cooking, melt the butter for the monk’s beard and kale in a saucepan. Add the kale and monk’s beard and a couple of tablespoons of fish stock. Cook on a medium heat for a couple of minutes until the greens are cooked but still al dente. Squeeze in the lemon juice.
Reheat the smoked sauce and whisk in the butter until thickened and emulsified. Add the clams and oysters and gently warm through.
To serve, spoon a bit of the burnt kale and almond onto each plate and top with some of the kale and monk’s beard. Add a good tablespoon of the caramelised shallot and scatter over the clams and oysters. Position a piece of the brill on top and finish with a good amount of the sauce.
With the shellfish season still very much at large, I thought it rude not to carry on using it for this recipe as well. Langoustines are always just that little bit special, and I’ve been meaning to create a recipe with them for ages. Not that I haven’t tried. A few years ago I made something with john dory, langoustines and peperonata, which just didn’t quite work in the execution. Same for the dish with scallops and crispy langoustine claws. So after those rather expensive mistakes, I’m really pleased that I’ve finally managed to get something up. Those previous attempts weren’t wasted though, and served as something of a work in progress in helping to make this final recipe. The shellfish sauce and lemon mayonnaise was nicked from the first attempt, and I’ve incorporated those crispy claws after all. But here everything works really well and the finished dish was a joy to eat.
The langoustines that I managed to get hold of were feisty old things, nothing like the sad little pink ones that line supermarket fish counters around Christmas time. These were almost like mini lobsters, with great big claws that they weren’t afraid of having a go with. I certainly had to be careful not to trap a finger! Despite their size, the actual yield of the langoustines was pretty small, and especially at the price they were it was important that I used as much of them as possible. The shells, combined with the sweet flavour of the gurnard bones made an intense sauce. The smell that came from that lot caramelising in the pan had me salivating. When it came to the claws, I drew inspiration from something I’d seen Philip Howard make on the television a few years ago. He had found himself in the enviable place of having a glut of disused langoustine claws, and instead of wasting them, he scooped out the meat and deep fried them. The technique itself was a fiddly one, but well worth it as the crispy bits of soft langoustine that I was left with were really good.
With the cooking of the langoustine tails themselves, it was another lesson previously learnt. On other occasions I had hard-fried the tails and found them to seize up in texture, with the tendency to overcook very quickly. By slowly cooking them in butter, this whole process was much gentler and controlled. In taste there was no comparison; they were buttery and soft and just melted in the mouth.
Gurnard is another ingredient that I’ve been desperate to use. At work they are such a difficult fish to sell, and it’s purely because they look so different to everything that customers are used to buying. I think there’s a certain charm to their big heads and overslung mouths, and certainly when it comes to flavour they really are delicious. Their flesh has a sweet, almost shellfish flavour that certainly is attributed to their bottom-feeding diet. Their bones also give a huge boost to soups and stocks. For a cheap fish they are so underrated.
There are lots of different elements going on in the rest of the dish, but everything comes together on the plate. The key is to be as prepared as possible and to make whatever you can in advance. There is quite a bit to do right at the end, and as long as you are well organised and have plenty of space it’s easily achievable.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
6 live (or freshly dispatched) langoustines, peeled; shells, claws and heads kept
For the gurnard:
1 medium gurnard, filleted, pin boned and carcass kept
1 knob of butter
A squeeze of lemon juice
For the crispy claws:
4 of the langoustine claws
3 tbsp plain flour
1 egg, beaten
4-5 tbsp panko flakes
Oil for frying, approx. 1 litre
For the shellfish sauce:
The bones from the gurnard
The shells, heads and spare claws from the langoustines
1 fennel bulb, finely chopped and any spare fronds reserved
1 leek, finely chopped
1 carrot, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, grated
1 tbsp smoked paprika
1 tsp fennel seeds
1 lemon, zest only
3 tomatoes, roughly chopped
1 tsp tomato puree
A splash of brandy
500ml fish stock
1 knob of butter
For the butter-poached langoustine tails:
The peeled, deveined tails from the langoustines
250g unsalted butter
For the lemon mayonnaise:
2 egg yolks
A splash of white wine vinegar
1 tsp Dijon mustard
1 lemon, zest and juice
200ml rapeseed oil
For the leek oil:
The top green leaves from 1 leek
4/5 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
½ a lemon, juice only
For the charred leeks:
1 large leek or 4-6 baby leeks
½ a lemon
To finish:
Nasturtium leaves
Fennel fronds
Make the leek oil the day before serving. Put the green leek ends into a food processor and pour in the extra virgin olive oil, lemon juice and a little seasoning. Blend well until a fine paste is achieved. Pour into a bowl and refrigerate overnight. Once the oil has infused, strain through some muslin into another bowl. Discard the mushed leek. Cover and set aside until needed.
For the lemon mayonnaise, put the egg yolks, vinegar, lemon zest, mustard and a bit of seasoning into a small food processor and blitz well. With the engine still running, pour the rapeseed oil in really slowly. When the oil has all been emulsified you should have a thick mayonnaise sauce. Squeeze in the lemon juice and let down with a little water if necessary. Taste and adjust the seasoning/acidity then transfer to a plastic bottle and refrigerate.
To make the shellfish sauce, heat up a little oil in a large saucepan. When at a medium-high temperature, add the langoustine shells and the gurnard bones. Colour well on all sides, then add the fennel, leek, garlic, carrot, fennel seeds, paprika and lemon zest. Turn the heat down slightly and soften the vegetables. Stir in the tomato puree and continue to cook for another couple of minutes. Turn the heat back up and pour in the brandy. Burn off the alcohol and reduce slightly. Tip in the tomatoes, pour in the stock and bring to the boil. Simmer for about 20 minutes and then strain the liquid through a sieve into another saucepan. Discard the fish and vegetables. Bring the liquid in the new saucepan back to the boil and reduce until only 6-7 tablespoons of thickened liquid remains. Take off the heat and stir in the knob of butter. Set aside until needed.
Pre-heat the oven to 180⁰C.
For the charred leeks, heat a griddle pan up until smoking hot. Add a little oil, then fry the leek until well charred on all sides. Transfer to an oven tray and roast for about 15 minutes, or until cooked through. Peel away the burnt outer layer and slice what’s left roughly lengthways (into about 6 pieces if using one large leek). Squeeze over the lemon juice and season well.
To prepare the langoustine claws, carefully break and peel away the shells to reveal the meat inside. Scrape the meat away from the cartilage so that you are left with 4 long, soft strips of flesh. Arrange two plates and a bowl on the work surface. Put the flour and panko onto the plates and beat the egg into the bowl. Season each element. Coat the claws in the flour first, before dipping in the egg. Finally transfer to the panko plate and roll around until well covered.
Just before cooking the fish and shellfish to complete the dish, get everything else ready. Reheat the sauce and warm up the leeks if necessary. Make sure your finishing garnish is ready to go.
Preheat the frying oil in a saucepan until it reaches 180⁰C.
Melt the butter for the langoustine tails in a small saucepan and heat until just below simmering.
Pour some oil into a non-stick frying pan and heat to a moderate-high temperature.
When the melted butter is at temperature, season the langoustine tails and lower them into the pan. They should be fully submerged. Take the pan off the heat and allow to cook through really gently for 5-6 minutes.
While the langoustines are cooking, fry the fish. Season the gurnard fillets and lay them skin-down in the hot pan, holding them down for a few seconds to stop them from curling. Cook for 2-3 minutes depending on the thickness, until the skin is crispy. Turn the fillets over and add the butter to the pan. Remove the pan from the heat, and continue to baste the fish with the butter for a minute or so. Finally season again and squeeze over the lemon juice.
At the same time as finishing off the other elements, fry the langoustine claws. Lower them into the hot oil and cook for 1-2 minutes, or until crispy and golden brown in colour. Transfer to some kitchen paper to drain and sprinkle with a little salt.
To plate up, arrange some of the leeks around one side of the plate. Dot around a few blobs of the lemon mayonnaise and add three of the langoustine tails and two of the crispy claws. Arrange the fillet of gurnard on top before spooning over some of the shellfish sauce and a small spoonful of the leek oil. Finally finish off with the nasturtium leaves and the fennel fronds.
Sometimes when out food shopping I see something that is just impossible not to put into the basket. I have a blinkered mentality when buying ingredients for preconceived recipes, and will always be armed with a regimented list. This causes its fair share of problems. Mostly looking like a gormless idiot in the middle of a shop when told that the specific thing that I visited for is out of stock. Little cogs will be whirring away in my head trying to merge the detailed planning with the array of substitutes available. Hence the tendency for spontaneous, and not entirely useful or necessary ingredients. At this point I am in serious danger on picking up any old thing that looks interesting or particularly good. Sure that purple cauliflower, baby artichoke or gooseberries looked lovely in my larder (bowl on the side), but they sure as hell had nothing to do with any cooking I had in mind when leaving the house.
On this occasion it was the scallops. I was out struggling to find guinea fowl for a pasta lunch that I wanted to cook for some friends, and in my confused state I took a momentary breather at the fishmongers. Somehow I must have thought that looking at a varied and colourful display of ultimately totally irrelevant fish would clarify my judgement. It didn’t. But while I made my mind up I carried the extra weight of a handful of plump and voluptuous molluscs. Ever since my dad introduced them to me as an occasional childhood treat, I’ve always been a sucker for a scallop. And these were pearlers; firm to the touch, super-sized and carrying that subtle sweet smell of very fresh shellfish.
But what to do with them, that was the question. They certainly weren’t going to somehow cameo in my long thought-out and just about sourced poultry main. In my last post I rambled on about the importance of planning ahead when cooking for numbers, and with that in mind all I wanted to do was create something quick and simple. Paired with black pudding and peas they are a delicious classic, but not massively interesting. Tarragon, apple and lemon add tanginess, and contrast creamy, salty bacon butter to achieve a delicate balance. And all ready to go in a matter of minutes.
These scallops were very large, and on this occasion were perfect as a small couple of forkfuls before a main course. Double the quantities and halve the diners for something more luxurious and substantial.
Serves 4
Ingredients:
For the scallops:
4 very large scallops, corals detached
1 large knob of butter
For the celeriac:
4 heaped tbsp of fine celeriac julienne
1 heaped tbsp. of fine braeburn apple julinne
1 lemon, juice only
For the bacon butter:
3 tbsp butter
2 rashers of smoked streaky bacon, finely diced
½ a lemon, juice only
To finish:
Tarragon leaves
½ lemon, juice only
4 scallop shells for presentation (optional)
Mix the celeriac and apple julienne with the lemon juice and a little seasoning in a small bowl. Cover and allow to soften and lightly pickle for about 30 minutes.
Heat a small saucepan to a medium-high temperature. Add a little oil and fry the bacon for 4-5 minutes, or until brown and crispy. Remove from the pan with a slotted spoon. Spoon the butter into the same pan and turn the heat up slightly. When the butter turns a light brown colour, remove from the heat and stir in the lemon juice and a little pepper. Tip the bacon back into the butter and keep warm.
Pour a generous amount of oil into a non-stick frying pan and set on a high heat. Pat the scallops and corals dry and season well all over. Sear both parts for 1 ½ minutes on each side, adding the butter with about a minute to go and basting everything well.
Spoon a quarter of the celeriac and apple mixture into the bottom of each scallop shell. Place a scallop and coral on top and pour over a little of the bacon butter. Scatter over some tarragon leaves and a squeeze of lemon.
