I spent the weekend just passed on a whistle-stop visit to Brighton to celebrate my mum’s 68th birthday. And as is now tradition, I arrived clutching a bag of provisions to make lunch on the Sunday. Wherever they have lived, the kitchen has always been the central point of the house, and it was a total pleasure preparing food and catching up as they sat around the table with a glass of wine. As usual, I wanted to keep things simple and quick, just a few seasonal and tested ingredients together on a plate.
In the morning mum and I had driven to their lovely allotment on the hills overlooking the city, shrouded in the morning mist and spitting rain. There we collected beautiful courgette flowers, herbs, salad leaves and bulbs of garlic. They are always so humble about it, but I know how hard they work planning, digging, planting and watering, and I’m always blown away by the produce that flourishes in the neat beds and winds around geometric canes. It was exciting to collect food knowing that it would be on the plate within a few small hours.
First course out of my bag was a paper-wrapped package bulging with squid. Dad gasped. The man loves his squid, and some of my fondest childhood memories involve visits to fishmongers with him. Without fail, dad would always be drawn to squid, and we would rush home to fry them in a thin, crispy batter. On this occasion they were seared quick and fast, until charring at the edges, before being drenched in lemon juice.
I can’t get enough of samphire at the moment, so a few handfuls were also thrown into the mix. Combined with the incredibly tender young courgettes and a tangy dressing, they sat perfectly alongside the squid. This whole dish took about 15 minutes to casually put together, perfect for maximising time sat down eating together.
Serves 4
Ingredients:
4 medium squid, cleaned
4 small handfuls of samphire
4-6 baby courgettes, with flowers if possible
2 sprigs of marjoram
1 lemon
1 clove of garlic
1 good pinch of dried chilli flakes
Extra virgin olive oil
Fill a saucepan with water, and bring to the boil. Fill a large bowl with cold water and add a good handful of ice cubes. When the water in the pan is hot, tip in the samphire and blanche for 20 seconds. Drain and transfer straight into the iced water to cool quickly. When cold, drain and shake dry, then add to a large bowl.
Tear up the courgette flowers (discarding the stamen). Slice the courgettes into long, thin batons. Add both to the samphire, along with the chilli flakes, the lemon zest and half of the juice, the marjoram leaves and the finely grated garlic. Pour in 2-3 tbsp of olive oil and a good pinch of seasoning and toss to combine.
Using a sharp knife, open up the cleaned squid bodies to create a flat sheet. Carefully score one side in a crisscross, and repeat with the wings. Slice the tentacles into a few pieces.
Bring a large, heavy frying pan to a high heat and add 2 tbsp of olive oil. When smoking hot, add the squid and a pinch of seasoning. Cook the squid, in batches if necessary, for one minute on each side, or until golden brown and caramelised.
To serve, layer the squid and the samphire and courgette salad onto each plate. Finish with an extra squeeze of lemon juice and a crack of black pepper.
It’s summer supposedly, but despite the thunder, rain and perpetual state of mugginess, people are still eager to dust off the barbecue. Only barbeques in Britain require additional equipment of multiple umbrellas, raincoats and windshields. Due to this every-reliable method of cooking, everyone is all mackerel, bream, prawns and tuna. Despite being in prime season and wonderful condition, suddenly the humble soles, flounders and other flatfish become seemingly invisible. So here’s a summer recipe that takes full advantage of these delicious fish that can be whipped up in no time.
Turbot, lemon sole, plaice or halibut would all work perfectly with this recipe, but in this instance I opted for brill. Poor brill. Brill is like a child named Butch who turned out to be a bit of a weed. Nobody seems to want to hang out with brill. Its dull brown appearance and large size don’t do it any favours. It gets enough attention mind; “OH that’s a brill” they say, pointing, before finishing with “I’ll have two slices of salmon please”. Brill needs a break. Because underneath that dull exterior is beautifully textured, pure white flesh that on its day gives the prized turbot a run for its money.
Last year I splashed out and bought a whopper. I poached chunky fillets in butter and they were to die for. I fried the roes with anchovies and chanterelles. I even cured a bit. This time I wanted to go back to basics and simply fry a tranche with a few tried and tested companions. Cooking flat fish on the bone results in extra succulence and flavour, and it’s really not that fiddly at all when it comes to eating. A few technicoloured, ripe tomatoes, some wonderful baby fennel and a pile of finely grated bottarga and you’re pretty much there.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
For the brill:
2 tranches of brill, about 200g each
1 large knob of butter
For the tomatoes:
4-5 assorted ripe heritage tomatoes
1 small clove of garlic, grated
A pinch of dried chillies
To finish:
6 baby fennel and fronds
A generous grating of bottarga
A few fresh oregano leaves
Slice the tomatoes into randomly-shaped pieces and slide into a bowl. Grate over the garlic and sprinkle over the chilli flakes to taste. Season generously and combine with about a tablespoon of olive oil. Leave to sit while the rest of the preparation is completed.
Fill a small saucepan with water and bring to the boil. Cut the fronds from the fennel and blanche in the hot water for about 30 seconds, then immediately drain and shock in cold water. Set aside.
Set the grill to medium-high. Place the baby fennel bulbs onto an oven tray and toss with a little olive oil and seasoning. Slide under the heat and cook for 2-3 minutes on each side, until lightly caramelised and al dente.
Pour a glug of olive oil into a non-stick frying pan and bring to a medium-high heat. Season the tranches of brill all over. When the pan is hot, add the brill and fry for three minutes on each side. For the final 2 minutes, add the knob of butter to the pan and baste the fish continuously.
Remove the fish from the pan and set aside briefly. Pour in the tomatoes and add the fennel and fronds. Warm through for about a minute, tossing in the oil and butter.
To serve, add a piece of brill to each plate and surround with the tomatoes, fennel and fronds. Spoon over some of the buttery pan sauce, and grate a generous amount of bottarga on top. Finish with a few fresh oregano leaves.
Yet again there has somehow been a gap of a few weeks since my last recipe. Recently I’ve been running around like a headless chicken working on various projects, and I just haven’t been able to sneak over to the computer and jot down a few words. Thankfully, I’ve got a window of free time ahead, so my posting can hopefully get back to the usual frequency. There are some cracking recipes in the pipeline; brill, summer stews, baby beetroot and more.
The best thing about this recipe is that it marks my annual love-in with peas. Any regular readers will know that I’m borderline obsessed with the little sweet green orbs of joy. Memory and food is an important connection, and peas take me right back to childhood dinners. Then they would be served to provide some nutrition alongside a breaded chicken escalope, or they would be jammed, hiding inside penne or pasta shells. As a supposedly responsible adult, I have tried on occasion to grow them. The idea of a plentiful and replenishing supply of peas at my fingertips is too good to resist. Alas, unfortunately I am constantly reminded that my gardening prowess leaves a lot to be desired. And any few miracle peas that made it were engulfed in seconds, without hope of even nearly making it into the kitchen.
So peas are wonderful, but very much in a safe kind of way. You know what you’re getting with peas. They’re Mr Reliable; sweet, with that satisfying pop. Yet at a recent dinner the excellent Pidgin, local to me in Hackney, my eyes were opened when whole pods of peas were served to me grilled. They proved a total revelation and made perfect sense, the charred exterior adding a wonderful smokiness. I just had to give that a go.
This dish is a celebration of the humble pea. But the soft and rich gnudi are certainly not the bridesmaids. These soft, hot, balls of melted cheese are total crowd pleasers, and something that I don’t nearly make often enough. The long preparation time is a bit of a commitment, but as is so often the way, when it’s actually time to cook they are ready in a flash.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
For the gnudi:
250g ricotta
25g parmesan, finely grated
500g semolina, for rolling
For the pea puree:
250g frozen peas
½ a lemon
A small bunch of mint, leaves picked
1 large knob of butter
For the grilled peas:
10 fresh peas in their pods
For the fresh peas and shoots:
2 handfuls of fresh peas
1 handful of pea shoots
To finish:
1 large knob of butter
A few mint leaves
A few gratings of parmesan
Start by making the gnudi. Tip the ricotta into a bowl and combine with the grated parmesan and a good pinch of seasoning. Carefully form the mixture into small balls. Line a large plate or tray with the semolina and roll each gnudi in it until coated all over. Space the gnudi out on the tray in one layer, and scatter a little more of the semolina over the top. Cover the tray with cling film and refrigerate for 24 hours.
Bring a large saucepan of water to the boil and salt the water well. Fill a large bowl with very cold water (iced ideally) and have it standing to the side ready. Blanche the shoots for 20 seconds before transferring to the cold water with a spotted spoon. Repeat with the two handfuls of fresh peas, blanching for 1 minute. Once cool, drain the water away and shell the peas, and set aside in a bowl with the shoots for finishing later.
Tip the frozen peas into the now empty pan of boiling water and cool for 2-3 minutes, until tender. Drain and shake dry, then pour into a food processor. Add the lemon juice, mint leaves and butter and blitz until a puree is formed. Pass through a sieve, then taste and adjust the seasoning and lemon content if necessary. Pour into a small saucepan and cover. Keep warm.
Set the grill to high. Rub the whole peas with a little oil and season well. Scatter onto an oven tray and slide under the grill for a couple of minutes on each side, until slightly charred.
Take the gnudi out of the fridge. The semolina will have formed a crust around the cheese. Gently brush off any excess grains.
Bring a large pan of water to the boil and salt the water well. Place a large frying pan over a medium-low heat and melt the butter. When the water is hot, drop in the gnudi and boil for a couple of minutes; they are ready as soon as they float to the surface. Transfer them to the butter pan with a slotted spoon and carefully roll around. Add the blanched peas and shoots and cook for a minute to warm through.
To plate up, spoon a good dollop of the puree onto each plate. Top with the gnudi, peas, shoots and a spoonful of the hot butter from the pan. Arrange some of the grilled peas in the gaps. Finish with a generous grating of parmesan and a scattering of mint leaves.
This is a true late spring dish that these warm, sunny evenings have been screaming out for. After many months of waiting, I was excited to see the first of the newly picked samphire arrive at the shop, but I certainly wasn’t the only one. This marsh grass has a crazy effect on people, and soon I was scraping the bottom of the box, desperate to salvage just one last handful. Samphire, samphierre, sampher, salicorne, seaweed, that green stuff, the names are endless, and I hear new ones every summer. But call it what you will, it does magical things when cooked with fish. And lamb for that matter.
Following the seasons makes dreaming up new ideas a total doddle, and this recipe is a prime example. In the same few weeks that the samphire emerged, we also started receiving the first of the wild black bream that visit Cornwall and the south coast every spring. These deep, darkly-scaled fish are true beauties, with flesh firm with freshness flashing blue and silver in the light. Closely related to seabass, they cook in a similar way, and are best filleted and pan-fried until crisp, or roasted whole in a hot oven. Even if you do decide to go with fillets, make sure that you take the bones as well. It’s always nice to use the whole of an ingredient, and the carcass of the bream will provide a lovely stock.
Unlike the samphire and the black bream, the mussel season only has a few weeks remaining. As the weather and seas warm for the summer, their quality really does decline, and it’s best to hold on until September before you plan your next mariniere. But if you’re quick, you will still be able to sneak a bowl or two before this exodus. Although clams tend to get all of the glory with their pretty shells and classy spaghetti alle vongole, I adore the rich flavour of the humble, cheap mussel. In this dish they are cooked and then blitzed into a silky, buttery sauce, that really brings the fish and greens and potatoes together as one. But made in a larger quantity, the same method would make a fantastic soup. Just add a wedge of bread.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
1 black bream, approx. 1kg in weight. Scaled, filleted and pin-boned
1 large knob of butter
For the fish stock:
The cleaned bones from the black bream
1 carrot, roughly chopped
2 shallots, halved with the skins left on
The trimmings from the fennel bulb
1 clove of garlic, crushed
A handful of fresh parsley
1 tsp fennel seeds
1 bay leaf
For the mussel sauce:
500g mussels, cleaned and de-bearded
1 fennel bulb, finely chopped
1 clove of garlic, grated
½ tsp chilli flakes
1 large glass of white wine
A squeeze of lemon juice
The reduced fish stock
1 large knob of butter
For the Jersey Royals:
6-8 small Jersey Royal potatoes, washed
To finish:
6 stems of purple sprouting broccoli
A generous handful of samphire
To begin with make the stock. Place all of the ingredients and a good pinch of seasoning into a large saucepan and cover with water. Bring to the boil, then simmer for 20 minutes. Strain the liquid through a sieve into a smaller saucepan, then set on a high heat and return to the boil. Reduce the liquid by three quarters.
Put the washed Jersey Royals into a small saucepan and cover with well-salted, cold water. Bring to the boil, then simmer until tender, about 20 minutes. Drain and rinse well with cold water to halt the cooking process. Using a butter knife, scrape off the skins and discard. Set the potatoes aside to reheat later.
Fill a saucepan with water and stir in a good pinch of salt. Bring to the boil, then blanch the trimmed broccoli stems for 2-3 minutes, or until just tender. While the broccoli is cooking, fill a large bowl up with very cold water. Transfer the al-dente broccoli to the cold water to shock. Repeat this process with the samphire, boiling for 30 seconds to soften slightly.
Bring a large saucepan to a medium-low heat. Add a good glug of olive oil and add the fennel, garlic and chilli flakes, and sweat until soft. Turn the heat of the pan up and tip in the mussels and the wine. Cover with a lid and allow the mussels to steamfor 3-4 minutes, or until all of the mussels have opened. Allow to cool slightly, the remove the meat from the shells with a spoon, discarding the shells. Reserve 6-8 mussels aside to decorate the dish when plating. Transfer the remaining mussels and vegetables to a food processor and blend well. While the motor is still running, pour in enough of the stock reduction to loosen into a smooth sauce. Squeeze in the lemon juice and season to taste. Strain the sauce through a sieve into a small saucepan.
Set a non-stick frying pan to a high heat. Pour in a generous amount of olive oil and season the bream fillets all over with salt and pepper. When the pan is hot, place them skin-side down into the pan and fry for 3 minutes. As the fish is cooking, carefully use a spoon to baste the flesh side of the fish with the hot oil. Add a knob of butter to the pan fry for a further minute, continuing the basting process. Remove the fish from the pan to a warm side plate.
Turn the heat of the pan down slightly and add the potatoes, samphire, broccoli and reserved mussels. Cook for 1-2 minutes to warm through, adding seasoning to taste.
Reheat the mussel sauce, then finish by beating in the knob of butter until fully emulsified.
Lay half of the sprouting broccoli onto each plate and top with a piece of fish. Arrange the potatoes, samphire and mussels around the sides. Finish with a generous amount of the mussel sauce.
