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.
Now that all of the hectic scurrying about over Christmas and New Years has been done I can settle down again to the relative tranquillity of this blog. Hectic doesn’t really quite cover it. Every year I always vow to be organised, to buy my presents months beforehand and be quietly smug when late December comes. Did I manage to achieve such grown-up, stress-free bliss this year? Did I heck.
Christmas was also busy at work; my first in my newfound fishmonger profession. Ever since I started, a day didn’t pass without the fabled words “you just wait ‘til Christmas” escaping someone’s lips, and now I fully understand. Needless to say, after providing what felt like most of North, East and South-West London with their lobsters and smoked salmon for the big day a rest was definitely needed.
One thing that particularly surprised me whilst working over Christmas was the sheer amount of oysters that we sold. Having not really come from an oyster-guzzling family, it felt crazy to sell people 60, 70 and more. I love the idea of a huge platter of them, all shimmering and dressed, to be lazily consumed with a glass of prosecco whilst waiting for Christmas dinner to arrive. Although I have to say that the thought of waking up on Christmas morning with a hangover and the task of shucking them all is not hugely appealing!
With this in mind I was inspired to return to a native oyster dish that I made a few months ago and that somehow I had forgotten to write about until now. It was the middle of September, and with the water starting to gently cool the shellfish season returned. After a barren summer we now had piles of plump, strong mussels, clams squeezed tight shut and boxes of beautiful oysters. I had never really seen or eaten native oysters before, and as with anything like this I was intrigued to give them a try. An idea was soon firmly planted in my head of making a few different dressings and garnishes and celebrating this first tasting.
To cut a long story short, celebration was the furthest thing from my mind when it came to opening the first one. I had opened oysters before, but it had been about a year, and despite approaching the whole thing very confidently I was soon hot-headed and embarrassed at how I couldn’t get the damn thing open. Unlike the normal rock oysters, natives take a bit more prising, and I really wasn’t prepared for it. Luckily, with calluses fast forming on my hands, I got it open. And as per usual, once that first one was popped open the rest soon followed.
After getting in such a flap, the eventual eating was made all the sweeter. Each flavouring really worked; accompanying and not overpowering the clean, mineral taste of the oyster. I could have eaten a bowlful of the almost scampi-like crispy fried variety, as long as someone else opened them for me…
Serves 4
Ingredients:
12 very fresh live native oysters
For the crispy oysters:
5-6 tbsp panko breadcrumbs
3-4 tbsp plain flour
1 large egg, beaten
Vegetable oil for frying, approx. 500ml-1ltr
For the pickled cucumber:
1 small-medium cucumber, deseeded and cut into thin strips
100ml cider vinegar
50ml water
50g caster sugar
1 shallot, finely sliced
1 garlic clove, crushed
A few tarragon sprigs
1 tsp fennel seeds
For the watercress oil:
2 handfuls watercress, washed
1 lemon, juice only
5-6 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
For the diced apple:
½ a braeburn apple, peeled and finely diced
1 lemon, juice only
A small pinch of caster sugar
For the hollandaise:
200g unsalted butter
4 tbsp white wine vinegar
1 bay leaf
6 black peppercorns
2 egg yolks
½ lemon, juice only
For the soft leek:
1 leek, finely julienned
1 large know of butter
A squeeze of lemon juice
To garnish:
A few small watercress leaves
A few tarragon leaves
You can prepare the watercress oil, the diced apple, and the pickled cucumber the day before.
For the watercress oil, bring a medium saucepan of water to the boil. Fill up a large bowl with cold, icy water and have it ready on the side. Blanch the watercress in the hot water for 30 seconds before draining and plunging into the cold water. Once cooled squeeze dry and transfer to a food processer with the lemon juice and extra virgin olive oil. Blitz to combine well, then transfer to a small bowl. Cover and refrigerate for a few hours, preferably overnight. Once infused, strain through fine muslin into another bowl and discard the now used watercress pulp. Cover the green, flavoured oil and set aside until needed.
For the diced apple, put the finely chopped apple into a small bowl and combine with the lemon juice and sugar. Cover and refrigerate until needed.
To make the pickled cucumber, pour the vinegar and water into a small saucepan along with the herbs, garlic, shallot, sugar and fennel seeds. Bring to the boil. Put the cucumber strips into a small bowl and when the pickling liquor is hot, pour it over to cover. Allow to cool.
On the day of eating, prepare the other elements of the dish.
Melt the butter for the leeks in a frying pan. Add the thin leek ribbons, season well and sweat down on a low-medium heat until soft and sweet. Add a squeeze of lemon juice to taste. Keep warm.
Melt the butter for the hollandaise in a small saucepan. While the butter is melting, add the vinegar, bay leaf and peppercorns to a small saucepan and reduce until only 1 tablespoon remaining. Strain into a small food processor. Allow both butter and vinegar to cool slightly. Add the egg yolks to the vinegar along with some seasoning and combine well. With the motor still running, very slowly drizzle in the warm butter until it has all been emulsified and you are left with a thick sauce. Mix in a squeeze of lemon juice to taste; you want it to be quite sharp. Transfer to a bowl and set aside.
Pour the vegetable oil for the fried oysters into a saucepan, you want enough to be 2” deep. Heat to 180⁰C.
For the crispy oysters, place two plates and a small bowl together on a work surface. Pour the panko and the flour onto the plates and beat the egg in the bowl. Season each element. Carefully coat each oyster in the flour then dip into the egg, so that it forms a thin paste around the outside. Finally cover with the panko breadcrumbs. Fry the crumbed oysters in the hot oil, in batches if necessary, for 1-2 minutes or until golden brown. Drain on kitchen paper.
Shuck the remaining oysters just before serving. Carefully remove the meat and give the shells a quick scrub.
To plate up, arrange three shells on each dish. Spoon a dollop of the hollandaise into one of the shells and top with a raw oyster and a few tarragon leaves. Position the other raw oyster into another of the shells and pour over a little watercress oil. Garnish this one with some of the diced apple and watercress leaves. Arrange some of the pickled cucumber into the final shell and top with the crispy oyster.
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.
With my last blog post taking the best part of a week to make, it’s a refreshing change that this recipe is one of the simplest that I have ever written. Don’t get me wrong, I love spending hours in the kitchen making something complicated, but I only get the chance to do that every so often and most of the time I’ll get back from work and just chuck something in the oven. And this was exactly what happened here.
I’ve recently started a new job working with Jonathan Norris in Victoria Park. As a business that I have championed loads as a customer previously, I’m loving being involved on a more hands on level; for someone like me it’s just fantastic to be surrounded by such top quality produce. As I’m new to trade though I’ve had a lot of quick learning to do, and I can tell you that it’s a totally different thing to gently fillet a fish in the calm of your own kitchen than when there’s a paying customer peeping over your shoulder! I’ll also be expanding my recipe writing, and in the near future we are launching a blog with fish dishes throughout the seasons. Even just a few weeks in, my whole perception of shopping for fish has been turned upside down. I often agonised for weeks thinking up dishes designed for specific fish and always visited the fishmonger with a preconceived idea. I now know to be much more open-minded. That much lauded phrase ‘catch of the day’ really does exist, and sometimes we have been able to buy a certain species of fish that is extra-special.
And yesterday at the market stall, the humble dab was one of those fish. As I had never cooked or even tried one before, Jon suggested that I took one home for dinner. To say my mind was blown would be an understatement. When the slab is full of glistening seabass, turbot and red mullet these dull-looking, wallet friendly flat fish are easily overlooked, but the quality of eating was just sensational. When produce is that fresh creating a recipe is a doddle; cook simply with a few well-matched ingredients.
White fish with brown-butter, shellfish and loads of lemon is an all-time classic, and it is often difficult to want anything else. So nothing new here, just a deeply, deeply satisfying meal. I have talked up the simplicity, and the only thing that slows the preparation is the purging of those inconvenient clams. To create a lovely mixture of seafood (we cringed when I sarcastically described this as a fricassee…) I would promote their inclusion and attempting this timely process. Ideally you would soak them slowly whilst at work, but alternatively leave them out and bulk up with the other shellfish. Either way, once that hurdle is climbed this meal is ready to stuff in your face within a matter of minutes.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
For the dab:
2 whole dab, gutted and trimmed if required
40g butter, cut into small cubes
3 lemons, two sliced into thin rounds
Olive oil
For the shellfish:
4 live razor clams
1 handful live cockles, plus a little flour for purging
1 handful live clams
1 handful live whelks
For the brown butter sauce:
100g butter
½ a lemon, juice only
2 tbsp flat leaf parsley, finely chopped
For the samphire:
2 handfuls of samphire
1 garlic clove, finely chopped
20g butter
½ a lemon, juice only
Prepare the shellfish first. Purge the cockles for at least a few hours in plenty of water combined with a small amount of flour. Change the water a few times during this process to try and get rid of as much grit as possible. Rinse the other shellfish lightly to clean.
When ready to start cooking, heat a medium-sized saucepan to a high heat and when hot, add the razor clams and a splash of water. Cover, give the pan a good shake and steam for a minute or two until the shells open. Pour the clams into a bowl topped with a sieve to collect the cooking liquid and allow to cool. Repeat this process with the clams and cockles. When you just have the whelks left, add 500ml of water to the pan and salt well. Bring to the boil, then simmer the whelks for 3-4 minutes. Drain the whelks but this time do not reserve the cooking liquid. Trim the hard feet from the whelks and razor clams, separating the firm edible tube of flesh from the latter and cutting into thin strips. Leave some of the other shellfish in their shells and pick the rest, then set aside.
Preheat the oven to 180⁰C.
Line an oven dish big enough for both fish with greaseproof paper and arrange on the lemon slices. Season all sides of the dab well and rub with olive oil then place side-by-side, dark side up on top of the lemons. Bake for 10 minutes, then rub the butter lightly onto the tops and return to the oven for another 2-4 minutes. When cooked, squeeze over the remaining lemon.
When the fish has a few minutes of cooking to go, melt the butter for the sauce in a medium saucepan over a moderate heat until it starts to turn a nutty brown colour. When very close to serving, squeeze in the lemon, season and add the cooked seafood and parsley, stirring lightly to combine and heat through.
At the same time as making the butter sauce, melt the butter for the samphire in another pan. Soften the garlic over a medium heat for a minute, then add the samphire and a good splash of the reserved shellfish cooking liquid. Cook for a further minute, then squeeze over the lemon and taste for seasoning.
To serve, spoon some of the samphire onto each plate and top with the cooked fish. Surround with the cooked shellfish and pour a generous amount of the brown butter over the top.
As with most cooks and food enthusiasts, most of my inspiration comes from my experiences and memories. I was quite a fussy eater growing up and would demand dry, plain pasta or breaded chicken. I hated marmite, mushrooms or anything with even the slightest hint of a sauce. I even refused to eat burgers until well into my teens, and when I finally allowed poor dad to cook me some they had to be cremated to within an inch of their lives. Oh how times have changed. But even with such rigid tastes, for some reason I took an early liking to fish and would be the first to snaffle a stray mussel or order a seafood pizza (something that I definitely wouldn’t nowadays!). I guess my dad was the driving force behind this, as his love for all things fishy almost matches mine.
My memories of eating lemon sole are deep rooted and happy. As kids we would often holiday driving through France or Spain, singing songs or deep in sleep in the back of a huge estate car. We would stop off camping along the way, spending the evenings fishing with bamboo rods and the days (much to our displeasure) looking at local castles or art. Sorry mum! For dinner we would often drive to the local harbour towns and pitch up at a restaurant along the front, the sort laid with baskets of bread and concentrated garlic butter and heady with sangria and sweaty mosquito repellent fumes. Despite many holidays I only remember ordering one thing; whole baked flatfish with garlic and herb butter. And I would order it again and again. Despite my adventurous ordering you must remember I was still very much fixed in my tastes! It would be back to a bowl of rice with the accompanying pile of picked out mushrooms upon my return…
Funnily enough I have barely eaten it since. It’s just been one of those meals that seems so obvious when at home but flies from your mind when it comes round to doing the shopping. So I was very happy when I left Jonathan Norris with a couple of superb lemon sole the other day. Although less fashionable than the dover sole, for my money they are just as tasty and a whole lot cheaper. Now is the perfect time of the year to eat them too; they are large and plump, and just starting to take on a little bit of roe. Although I have added a few accompaniments in this recipe, it all comes back to the wonderful taste of the freshly cooked, moist fish. After one mouthful I could have been back on holiday again.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
For the lemon sole:
2 large lemon sole, gutted and outer skirt trimmed
20g butter
Half a lemon, juice only
Olive oil
Salt and pepper
For the crispy mussels:
6 live mussels, de-bearded
Splash of white wine
1 egg, beaten
4 tbsp plain flour
4 tbsp panko breadcrumbs
Sunflower oil for deep frying
Salt and pepper
For the pickled cucumber:
Quarter of a cucumber, quartered lengthways, de-seeded and cut into thin slices
4 tbsp white wine vinegar
4 tbsp caster sugar
1 bay leaf
6 black peppercorns
For the hollandaise:
4 tbsp white wine vinegar
1 bay leaf
6 black peppercorns
200g butter, melted
2 egg yolks
1 lemon, juice to taste
Salt and pepper
To finish:
Chervil leaves
To pickle the cucumber, heat the vinegar, sugar, bay leaf and peppercorns in a small saucepan until combined and just boiling. Put the sliced cucumber into a small bowl and cover with the strained hot liquid. Set aside to cool down.
Put a dry saucepan onto a high heat. When hot add the mussels and the white wine, which will bubble straight away. Seal with a tight fitting lid and shake well. Cook until the shells only just open, about one minute then remove from the heat. Carefully remove the plump flesh, discarding the shells. Scatter the flour onto one plate, the panko onto another and beat the egg in a small bowl, seasoning each. Roll the mussels in the flour, then dip in the egg before finally covering in the breadcrumbs. Set aside until needed.
For the hollandaise sauce, melt the butter in a saucepan then transfer to a jug and allow to cool slightly. Reduce the vinegar, bay leaf and peppercorns in a separate small saucepan until only one tablespoon of liquid is left. Put the two egg yolks into a small food processor and combine well with the cooled vinegar reduction, a little salt and pepper and a splash of warm water. With the machine running pour in the butter very slowly, adding more water if the mixture looks too thick. When all of the butter has been emulsified, squeeze in a little lemon juice and taste for seasoning. Keep warm while you cook the fish.
Pre-heat the grill to medium-hot.
Pour 2 inches of sunflower oil into a saucepan and heat to 170⁰C.
Drizzle a little oil onto the bottom of a non-stick oven tray and season well. Rub oil all over the lemon soles and place on top, then add seasoning to the top. Cook under the grill for about 11-13 minutes, until the flesh just comes away from the bone. Baste every couple of minutes, adding the butter half way through cooking.
When the sole is a couple of minutes away from being cooked, lower the mussels into the hot oil. Fry for 1-2 minutes, until lightly golden and crisp. Remove to drain on greaseproof paper.
When the soles are cooked squeeze over the lemon juice and transfer carefully to plates. Top with the chervil leaves, drained pickled cucumber, crispy mussels and a few dollops of the hollandaise sauce. Eat straight away.
