When at the fishmongers, it is always best to try and buy something as big as possible. Not only does this dodge the ethical issue of eating unsustainable, baby fish, but often it will result in a better finished dish. This is particularly the case with whole fish such as sole, turbot, bass, bream and salmon. A larger fish will yield a thicker fillet, which will cook more evenly and be much more succulent and satisfying to eat than little bits and pieces scraped from the bones.
Of course, buying large fish is often expensive and impractical if you’re not feeding many. But there are a few ways around this problem. Many types of fish when handled correctly will freeze in individual fillet portions really well, creating a few easy dinners in the month to come. Alternatively, you can try curing or preserving the remaining fish. I’ve been particularly enjoying this in the last few months, and see it as an opportunity to create something completely different out of what would be leftovers. It takes minutes of effort and once cured will keep in the fridge for a good few days. Most fresh fish can be prepared in this way; this year alone I’ve had great results with gurnard, brill, salmon and mackerel.
To turn my cured fish into a finished dish, I always consider the final balance of flavour. Oiliness, saltiness, sweetness, sharpness and texture all needs to be judged properly to get the best out of the fish. For this recipe, I’ve used some of the wonderful sweet summer peas and baby courgettes that are right in season at the moment. It really is worth making the effort to shell each little pea properly, as this will remove any bitterness. To counter the sweetness, I’ve made a punchy lemon puree. This stuff is strong, and you certainly don’t need much of it on the finished plate.
As with the last recipe, the seatrout season has now finished (boo!). But good quality salmon will work perfectly in its place, as would a firm white fish such as monkfish, john dory or brill. Just increase or shorten the curing time depending on the thickness and density of the fillet.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
For the cured seatrout:
1 thick top end of a seatrout fillet, about 400g, pin-boned
150g sugar
150g salt
A few sprigs of mint
A few sprigs of tarragon
1 lemon, zest only
For the lemon puree:
2 Sicilian lemons, peeled
130g caster sugar
½ a lemon, juice only
5 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
For the vegetables:
2 large handfuls of fresh British peas
3 baby courgettes
To finish:
Extra virgin olive oil
A few sprigs of mint
A handful of peashoots
First get the seatrout on to cure. Put the sugar and salt in a food processor with the tarragon, mint and lemon zest and blend well until everything is finely chopped. Tip half of it into a dish large enough to snugly fit the seatrout in. Pop the fish on top, then cover with the remaining half of the cure mixture, making sure all sides are covered. Seal the top with clingfilm and refrigerate for 4-6 hours, until the seatrout has firmed up. Rinse the fish well and pat dry with kitchen roll. Remove the skin, then carefully slice into thin ‘D’ cuts.
While the fish is curing, make the lemon puree. Put the lemons into a saucepan and cover with water. Sprinkle in about 10g of sugar and bring to the boil. Drain the water away, then repeat this process another 7 times, until the lemons are very soft. Transfer the lemons to a food processor and blend into a puree with the lemon juice, some salt and pepper and a teaspoon of the caster sugar. With the motor still running, drizzle in the olive oil until emulsified. Have a taste and adjust if needed, you want it to be quite sharp. Pass through a fine sieve and pour into a plastic bottle. Set aside for plating.
Fill up a saucepan and bring to the boil. While you’re waiting for the water to heat up, pod the peas. Add a little salt to the water and blanche the peas for two minutes, then refresh in a big bowl of cold water. Drain well, then squeeze the shells away from the sweet inner-peas. Dress the peas with a good glug of olive oil and a pinch of seasoning. Trim the baby courgettes and slice into thin rounds, then add to the peas.
To plate up, arrange some slices of the seatrout onto each plate. Dot a little of the lemon puree around the plate, and scatter over the peas and courgette. Finish with some peashoots, mint leaves and a final drizzle of extra virgin olive oil.
After Katie and I got married back in June, we spent the following week driving around the west coast of Scotland, meandering through mountain ranges and hopping on and off ferries as we explored Skye, Lewis and Harris. We got lucky on the wedding day itself, with glorious sunshine that burned the back of my neck and had all of the children cartwheeling in the fields. We royally paid for it on our honeymoon though, and bore the true reality of a Scottish summer. Horizontal rain was frequent, and night temperatures had me reaching out for an extra blanket. But we were full of dizzy adrenaline-fuelled happiness and nothing could have dampened our spirits.
Part of the objective for our honeymoon was exploring the food that that part of the country had to offer. It seemed as though you couldn’t talk to anyone about the islands without hearing a story about a £5 lobster, a ginormous black pudding or the best fish supper in the land. We hit jackpot on our first night, when we decided to treat ourselves with a stay at The Three Chimneys on Skye. The whole experience was sensational, and I can honestly say that the meal that we had there was the best food that I have ever eaten. Everything was so delicately and fantastically judged, and each dish was crammed full of produce grown, caught or reared a matter of miles away. I wish that I could visit again for more crab and apple parfait, Cullen skink and marmalade soufflé. All in an environment where you could walk out the door and be blasted with fresh sea air.
Obviously that meal was going to be hard to top, but the rest of the holiday was still scattered with truly memorable eating experiences. From wonderful steaming hot fish and chips overlooking Portree harbour, to frying thick wedges of steak on a campfire, whilst sea otters played yards away in the estuary. We even managed to find a remote roadside honesty box on bleak and barren Harris crammed full of the most delicious frangipane tarts. So although we’re still searching for that bargain lobster or bucketful of langoustines, I think we managed ok.
And these happy recaps lead me onto this recipe. I wanted to take inspiration from our travels, and incorporate a very Scottish ingredient into this blog. While we were away in late June, sea trout were bang in season, flooding the rivers on their journey back from the oceans. When I returned back to work I had access to some fantastic wild fish from Montrose, and having never cooked one before I jumped at the chance.
Obviously I’m a little late with this post and the season for seatrout is sadly over for another year. But now with wild salmon season in full swing, they would make a perfect substitute.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
For the pan-fried seatrout:
2 fillets of wild seatrout from a 2kg fish, trimmed and pin-boned
For the date puree:
1 handful of dates, stoned
1 lemon, juice only
1 tbsp caster sugar
3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
2-3 tbsp boiling water
For the hot-smoked seatrout:
2 thin slices of seatrout, approx. 70g each
1 tbsp honey
1 bunch of thyme
1 handful of rice
2 tbsp of caster sugar
For the braised chicory:
3-4 heads of chicory, leaves sliced lengthways
2 tbsp caster sugar
2 tbsp white balsamic vinegar
1 garlic clove, finely chopped
3 tbsp olive oil
For the dressing:
1 tbsp white balsamic vinegar
1 tsp Dijon mustard
3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
A squeeze of lemon juice
To finish:
2 tbsp pine nuts
1 handful rocket leaves
Start by hot-smoking the seatrout. Mix the honey with 1 tablespoon of olive oil and some salt and pepper. Pour onto a plate and use to coat the seatrout slices all over. Line a heavy baking tray with foil and line the bottom with the sugar, rice and thyme sprigs. Place a rack above so that it sits an inch or two above. Seal the top with a large sheet of foil. Set onto a medium-high heat, and when it starts smoking, place the seatrout onto the rack. Replace the foil and allow to smoke for about 10 minutes, or until the fish is just cooked through. Transfer to a plate and set aside.
For the date puree, pop the dates into a bowl and cover with boiling water. Leave for 10-15 minutes to soften, then transfer to a small food processor with the lemon juice, caster sugar and some salt and pepper. Blend well, and with the motor still running, slowly drizzle in the olive oil. Thin out with a little more boiling water if needed. Transfer into a plastic bottle.
Set a large frying pan onto a medium heat. Add a good glug of olive oil, then tip in the chicory, sugar and garlic. Allow to fry and lightly caramelise for a couple of minutes, then drizzle over the balsamic vinegar. Turn the heat down and gently cook for another 5 minutes or so, until the chicory has softened and the vinegar has reduced. Season well and stir in another tablespoon of extra virgin olive oil.
While the chicory is braising, make the dressing. Pour the vinegar and lemon juice into a small bowl and stir in the mustard and a bit of seasoning. Slowly incorporate the oil with a whisk until well emulsified. Taste and add more seasoning, lemon or vinegar if necessary.
Finally pan-fry the seatrout fillets. Heat a non-stick frying pan up to a medium-high temperature and add a good glug of oil. Season the fillets well and cook skin-side down for 3-4 minutes. Use a spoon to baste the tops of the fillets well with the hot oil. Turn the fillets over and take the pan off the heat; the residual heat will finish the cooking.
To plate up, spoon some of the braised chicory onto each plate and add a piece of the hot-smoked fish to one side. Dot on a few blobs of the date puree. Position a pan-fried fillet on top, and scatter around some of the rocket leaves and pine nuts. Finish with a good amount of the dressing.
Columbia Road is that most mayflyish of London pathways. A ghost town of boarded up shops sit eerily amongst the cobbles and mosaic throughout the week, their enticing geometric windows totally inaccessible behind heavy, metal grates. Come Saturday morning and the whole place suddenly livens up, the air tinged with the smell of just-ground Ethiopian beans and the sound of heel on brick. And after Sunday’s floral cockney peacock display its back into hiding.
Thankfully there are still some beacons shining warm yellow light and open doors to those who dare walk the streets after hours. The Royal Oak pub is a favourite, showcasing that terrible representation of gentrification; good beer, some pulled, smoked meats and clean toilets. Ghastly. That said, I was genuinely sad to see the turnaround of the Birdcage, whose old-timer’s Saturday night karaoke was a hilarious and entertaining institution. And then there is Brawn. So subtle that it probably took me five attempts to work out where it was. But when I did, I was instantly taken by its charm; a small room (the back room even more concealed again) filled with wood tables and chatter, stripped back but with those simplistic twists of design that brought everything to life. Simple chalk boards and interesting prints hung from the walls and shelves bulged with wine. I had enjoyed a meal at sister restaurant Terroirs, with food led by flavour and comfort. A booking was only a matter of time.
Katie seemed less enthusiastic. “You want to take me to somewhere called Brawn? That’s offal right? So you want to take me to an offal restaurant? Oh great…”. But with a bit of gentle persuasion and upon showing her the menu (tripe only listed once!), she decided that there were at least a handful of dishes that looked “well nice”. I on the other hand thought that it all looked well nice. And I had secretly already made a booking. And there was no online booking thingamijig to silently back out, and I was damned if I was going to phone up with some measly cancellation excuse.
No matter where we go to, date nights are always lovely. And this was a particularly good one. This was the first evening of a two and a half week holiday. We would be wed within the fortnight and still had that energetic nervous excitement of whether we would be able to pull the whole thing off, or whether largely being lazily laid back for a year and flying by the seat of our arses for the last few months would indeed bite us in the bum. But whatever was to happen, we were on holiday. Rain had just freshened up a bright, warm evening and we were off out for dinner.
We sat on a charming corner table musing over the aesthetic joys of the room. We sipped beautifully balanced Aperol from brittle-thin tumblers, clinking delicately as the ice clumsily brushed the glass. Candlelight flickered through the orange liquid, making it appear molten around the edges. Food kicked off with a simple bowl of almonds. But such simple things are encouraging when each nut had been evenly covered with an oily, salty slick. Katie started with a classical combination of mozzarella, Serrano ham and melon. There’s no hiding in these kind of dishes, and the quality and ripeness were on key. What lifted such simplicity were the mint leaves that flecked between the white, pink and orange. My duck hearts however hit the jackpot. Since our visit we have indeed been successfully married and honeymooned. We have travelled around Scotland and eaten some incredible food. But I can still taste those duck hearts. The skewer of charred, yet melting meat sat atop sumac studded, soft chickpeas atop a thin disc of sourdough. Everything worked so well in texture and flavour. It was the kind of starter that you really wished would return for the main course and dessert.
After such a good start I couldn’t wait for the main to arrive. It’s always brilliant to see rabbit on a menu; one of those ingredients so abundant yet so often overlooked. The fact that it came swimming in a sea of tagliatelle made it a must order. I hate turning up to a restaurant with a pre-conceived idea of what I want to eat, but I have to admit that I had seen a photo of this dish previously, and I secretly hoped it would be available. It was a bit of a shame when in real life it didn’t quite match my expectations. The flavours were terrific, and they had really captured the gaminess of the wild meat. The pasta was delicate and thin. I just didn’t think the two came together very well. Instead of a ragu, the pasta was mixed with fairly dry little lumps of the rabbit and other diced vegetables. As I said, it was tasty, and I polished the whole thing off, but there was a level of oozy satisfaction missing.
Katie’s main was the opposite, and was indeed wonderfully satisfying. Five decent pink medallions of lamb neck stood proud out of a deep borlotti and tomato broth. I love this kind of cooking, and I’m so happy that these kind of dishes are coming back into culinary fashion. The one problem that Katie encountered was in the eating. Armed with only a knife and fork, it was frustrating to be left with a delicious slick of inaccessible liquid sloshing about in the bowl.
As so often on these evenings, we were content and stuffed by this point. But as so often we were tempted by one last thing. I couldn’t help smiling as a large wedge of tiramisu was plonked down between us. And like everything else, it was balanced and flavoured with precise care.
Brawn is another tucked away gem that is well worth seeking out, be it for a quick lunch and glass of wine or a long, relaxing dinner. It is certainly worth braving deserted Columbia Road on a school night for.
Blimey, what a few weeks! I’ve been away getting married in Scotland, followed by a short honeymoon on the Islands of the West Coast (more on this next week), so things have been a little slow on the blog of late. But I’ve got a massive backlog of brilliant recipes coming up in the next few posts, and I’m happy to finally have the time to get things back in order.
As we’re still clinging desperately onto the dregs of asparagus season I thought that this recipe would be best to get going with. Yet again the season has passed by in a flash, and yet again I haven’t taken advantage of the wonderful produce nearly as much as planned. I’m already looking forward to next May when I can grill more of those lovely green spears before covering in lemon juice and good olive oil… Only 11 months to go! That said, it’s never much of a disappointment when asparagus season is over, as we’re now thrown into heady gluts of peas, broad beans and courgettes, and even more recipe ideas.
As usual I’ve got sidetracked, but for this recipe I decided to use white asparagus. The meatier texture and slightly subtler taste combined well with the mushrooms, and the strong porcini flavour running through the dish. Instead of the usual grilling and charring, I decided to cook them in a little water and a fair amount of butter. This way they almost poach and steam at the same time, absorbing the butter but losing very little flavour at the same time.
This recipe came by chance whilst I was out shopping for a different recipe. That week I had had a real craving for a rich, meaty ragu, buttery and heavy with parmesan (this is before the heatwave!). I fancied pot-roasting some pigeons until the meat fell off the bones, before stirring it through some tender homemade pappardelle or orecchiette. I went to the shops hell bent on serving it up for dinner, but I couldn’t for the life of me find any pigeons! With such preconceptions on my mind I was stuck, and had no idea what to cook instead. At the fourth or fifth butcher I spotted some lovely plump Norfolk quails, and along with a nice selection of mushrooms I came up with the idea for this dish. Happily it was damn satisfying, but I still vow to rectify my pigeon woes…
Serves 2
Ingredients:
2 quails, portioned into crowns. Wishbones removed and legs and trimmings saved for sauce
3 large knobs of butter
6 sprigs of thyme
For the asparagus:
4 white asparagus spears, trimmed and peeled
1 knob of butter
A squeeze of lemon juice
For the mushroom ketchup:
350g chestnut mushrooms, very finely sliced
3 garlic cloves, grated
2 shallots, finely chopped
5 sprigs of thyme
3 tbsp dried porcini mushrooms
2 tbsp sugar
2 tbsp cider vinegar
For the sauce:
The trimmings from the quail
2 shallots, chopped
2 garlic cloves, crushed
The trimmings from the mushrooms
3 tbsp dried porcini mushrooms
6 sprigs of thyme
A large glass of white wine
500ml good chicken stock
1 knob of butter
For the wild mushrooms:
2 handfuls of wild mushrooms, I used fresh porcini, girolles and morels. Cleaned and trimmed
1 clove of garlic, finely sliced
3 sprigs of thyme
1 knob of butter
A squeeze of lemon juice
For the broad beans:
2 handfuls of broad beans, podded and shelled
½ a lemon, juice only
For the pancetta:
4 rashers of smoked pancetta
Start by making the mushroom ketchup. Put the dried porcini into a small bowl and cover with a bit of boiling water. Allow to soak for 15-20 minutes, then chop finely, reserving the soaking liquid. Set a large frying pan on a medium heat and add a good glug of olive oil. When hot, fry the shallots, garlic and thyme until softened. Add the finely chopped chestnut and porcini mushrooms and continue to cook for another 10-15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until everything is very soft. Stir in the sugar and the vinegar and taste, adding more seasoning, sugar or vinegar to get the balance just right. Tip the contents of the pan into a food processor and blitz well, then pass through a fine sieve into a bowl. Spoon into a squeezy bottle and set aside.
Next make the sauce. Heat a large, high sided frying pan to a medium-high temperature and add a generous drizzle of olive oil. Season the quail trimmings well, then brown on all sides in the hot pan. Add the shallots, garlic, thyme and any mushroom trimmings to the pan and lightly caramelise, then pour in the wine. Reduce the liquid by half, then top up with the stock. Throw in the dried porcini mushrooms at this point. Bring to a boil and reduce to a thickened sauce, about 20-30 minutes. Strain through a sieve into a small saucepan and stir in the butter until emulsified. Set aside.
Bring a small saucepan of water to the boil and quickly blanche the broad beans for a minute. Shock straight away in ice cold water, then carefully squeeze the tender beans out of their shells. Squeeze over the lemon juice, sprinkle on some salt and pepper and set aside.
Heat up the grill to medium-high. Arrange the smoked pancetta on a lined oven tray, then grill for a few minutes on each side until the rashers are crisp. Drain well on kitchen paper, then break into pieces.
Heat the oven to 190⁰C.
To cook the quail crowns, set a heavy frying pan on a high heat. Add a glug of olive oil, then sear the birds for 1-2 minutes on each breast. Turn the quail so they are sitting upright, then add a knob of butter to the pan and baste all over until golden brown. Transfer to an oven dish, then roast in the oven for 8 minutes, rubbing with more butter half way through. Let the cooked birds rest for 10 minutes before carving the breasts.
While the quails are resting cook the asparagus. Melt the butter in a large saucepan and add seasoning and a good splash of water. Add the asparagus and cook for 4-5 minutes, turning frequently. Finish with a squeeze of lemon juice and add the shelled broad beans to warm through.
Heat a large frying pan for the mushrooms and melt the butter. Add the thick porcini mushrooms first along with the garlic and thyme and cook for a couple of minutes. Tip in the girolle and morel mushrooms and toss everything together, then continue to fry until everything is just cooked and tender. Finish with a squeeze of lemon juice.
Reheat the sauce.
To plate up, arrange two pieces of asparagus on each plate and position the quail breasts to each side. Squeeze on a good dollop of the mushroom ketchup. Scatter over the mushrooms, broad beans and crispy pancetta. Finish with a good few spoonfuls of sauce.
Now that we’re into June the produce is really coming along. The first broad beans are threatening, and I know it won’t be long until my favourite peas start to make an appearance. Expect many a pea love in anytime soon. We’re still clinging on to asparagus, and lovely Jersey Royal potatoes and samphire are back on the menu. Sadly though this time of year spells the end of the wild garlic season, but I think I’ve rinsed it quite enough; using it wherever possible to flavour stuffings, oils and salads. I’ve just about managed to sneak it into this recipe, but from now on I’ll have to slowly build up my anticipation for next spring.
One ingredient that I haven’t rinsed is octopus. I probably on average cook one octopus a year, but that definitely needs to change. A more moreish, delicious thing I struggle to imagine. At work we sell a fair few of these lovable beasts every week, but mostly to Spanish or Italian customers who don’t blink at leaving the shop lugging a 3kg cephalopod behind them. The majority of others squirm, or pull a funny face at a glance! I guess they are slightly intimidating if you’ve never had a go at cooking one before, but you quickly learn how easy and satisfying the results are. Nevertheless, and slightly devastatingly, Katie really isn’t a fan, so I always have to try and steal an evening or afternoon when she is elsewhere before I can quench my octopus cravings. A sunny day last week provided the ideal opportunity…
Freezing food rarely improves it, but with octopus (octopi? octopuses? octopus?...) the process performs miracles. Traditionally to tenderise the firm, elastic flesh you would have to bash the living daylights out of it with a mallet, or flail it against the nearest rock. But after a quick stay in the freezer, all of this is done for you. All that is then required is a gentle simmer for just under an hour and it’ll be wonderfully soft. At this point it is ready to eat, and can be tossed through a salad, drenched in marinades or merely sliced and nibbled on at will, but I think that a quick exposure to a fierce heat really gets the best out of it. The deep, savoury, smoky flavour and crispy/soft combination is so addictive. I polished off the lot.
This is less of a hot dish, more along the lines of a warm salad; and as I discovered with the leftovers, is equally delicious cold. The longer that the lemon marinade gets to slosh around and permeate into the potatoes, samphire and octopus the better. And it’s a fact that a bit of mayonnaise will always make things better.
Serves 4
Ingredients:
For the octopus:
1 Mediterranean octopus, the double sucker variety, about 1 kg, cleaned
2 shallots, sliced
1 fennel bulb, sliced
2 garlic cloves
1 bay leaf
½ a lemon
1 large glass of white wine
For the squid ink mayonnaise:
2 sachets of squid or cuttlefish ink
2 egg yolks
1 clove of garlic, grated
1 tsp Dijon mustard
250ml olive oil
1 lemon, zest and juice
1 tbsp white wine vinegar
For the jersey royal potatoes:
4-6 medium-sized jersey royal potatoes, washed
2 lemons, juice only
1 large clove of smoked garlic, thinly sliced
3-4 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
For the winkles and samphire:
2 handfuls of live winkles, purged in salted water for at least 20 minutes
2 handfuls of samphire
1 lemon, juice only
To finish:
12 wild garlic leaves, washed
Start by braising the octopus. Put the octopus in a large saucepan along with the shallots, fennel, garlic, bay and lemon. Pour in the wine and top up with an equal amount of water. Bring to the boil, then cover and simmer very gently for 45 minutes, or until the octopus is very tender. Remove from the pan to a side plate and allow to cool, then remove the head and chop the tentacles into individual pieces.
While the octopus is cooking, boil the potatoes. Put the washed jersey royals into a saucepan and cover with cold, salted water. Bring to the boil and simmer for 15-20 minutes, or until cooked through. Drain well, then cut into thin slices and arrange in a bowl. Make the dressing by squeezing the lemon juice into a small bowl and adding the smoked garlic. Slowly but thoroughly whisk in the olive oil until emulsified, then season well with salt and pepper. Pour two-thirds of the dressing over the potatoes while they are still warm, then set aside.
Put the egg yolks for the mayonnaise into a small food processor along with the vinegar, mustard, salt, pepper, garlic and lemon zest, then blitz together well. With the motor still running, drizzle in the olive oil very slowly, until it is all poured in and the mixture has emulsified into a thick mayonnaise. Squeeze in the squid ink and the lemon juice and combine well again so that the dark colour permeates the whole mixture. Taste and adjust the seasoning, and loosen the texture with a splash of water if needed. Spoon into a plastic squeezy bottle and set aside.
Bring a small saucepan of well-salted water to the boil. When hot, add the winkles and boil for 3-4 minutes. Drain well, then use a fork to pick the meat out of the shells. Remove the dark stomach sacks and hard feet from each winkle. Heat a generous amount of olive oil up in a large frying pan until it reaches a low-medium temperature. Add a good splash of water, then add the winkle meat and the samphire. Warm through for a couple of minutes.
Heat a griddle pan up until smoking hot. Coat the octopus tentacles with olive oil, then cook for 2-3 minutes in total, turning once or twice, until lightly charred.
To plate up, arrange two of the octopus tentacles onto each plate, along with a few slices of the marinated potatoes. Dot on a good amount of the squid ink mayonnaise, and spoon some of the samphire and winkles on top of the potatoes. Finish with some of the wild garlic leaves and a drizzle of the reserved lemon and garlic dressing.
