To fillet or not? That is the question

Fish meet Knife. Knife meet Fish

This post first appeared on Great British Chefs blog.

Watching a fishmonger work with a knife and go about their craft is a simple yet entrancing pleasure. Now, I’ve witnessed many a butcher disassemble a carcass with ease and have always been impressed at the technical knowledge and surgical precision on display. But in terms of elegance and making everything look effortless, the flashing silver of a fishmonger's blade is hard to beat.  Slapped on the counter top, all wet and shiny, a plaice or a trout can be transformed in seconds into fillets or steaks via some carefully drawn lines and delicate maneuvering with a super sharp and sometimes flexible knife. Blink and before you know it, the fish is wrapped up in paper, slung in a plastic carrier bag and an expectant hand is leaning across asking for payment. And this is before you’ve even had a chance to ask for the head and bones.

I know my local monger of fish, though happy to show off his skills, often gets a touch frustrated at the time it takes for me to get my wallet out. This is largely because I am usually still gorping at what I have just seen; face all beatific, like the kid who has just seen the rabbit come out of the top hat. Heavy coughs normally shake me out of my stupor, with the occasional ‘tut’ from behind. And having paid up, off I will bounce into the distance. Satisfied and buoyant, having had my little fix of ‘fishy magic’ for the week.

Every now and then though, I do like to take my fishmonger by surprise by asking for a fish to be kept whole and intact. Better still, I like to meet his raised eyebrows with a defiant stare that sort of says - “You’re not the only one who can fillet fish around here you know.” Because I can. I went to Rick Stein’s Seafood School in Padstow about 8 years ago now and spent two days studying the finer art of fish dissection whilst drinking copious amounts of wine. As well as gaining numerous blue plasters during the course, I did also receive a certificate, which still proudly hangs on my kitchen wall. It pays to keep your oar in, so to speak and so early last week I decided to buy some lemon sole with the intention of recreating a fiery Malaysian themed dish. 

A child enjoying the benefits of a home economics lesson at home

One problem I have these days is that whenever I decide to fillet fish at home, there is the constant barrage of questions from young, inquisitive minds. No sooner do I think that I am going to settle down to some relaxing prep, then up pops a head asking “What are you doing Daddy?” Of course, this is all educational so I do my best to explain what I am up to and the children are actively encouraged to handle the fish wherever possible. The real issues arise however when you discover that your son has run off with some fins that have been snipped off the lemon sole and stuck them on the television screen in the living room. And on Buzz Lightyear’s head. Because Buzz needed a wig. By all accounts.

Another child enjoying instruction on fish filleting

The main drag though is that I really should invest in a new filleting knife. Sadly and inexplicably, the tip of my prized and rather expensive Global snapped off ages ago. Which does make cutting a fine line along the central bone difficult, let alone the long sweeping strokes needed for separating the prized fillets away from the bone. I persevered and got some decent(ish) cuts but I have to say that afterwards, I felt just as flat as the lemon sole. A true craftsman never blames his tools but after sweating and gurning my way through the job, it did occur that if I wasn’t keen on shelling out for a new knife, why didn’t I just let my fishmonger do it in a flash for me? 

Filleted-ed fish

Incidentally, I went back to him for some seafood later in the week and regaled my thoughts and concerns. He smiled and lent in saying that if ever I wanted a refresher course, I could always pop in for the afternoon and spend some time with him. He would even give me the number of a place where he gets his knives, relatively cheap. What a lovely man.

Malaysian Fried Lemon Sole with Roasted Tomato and Chilli Sambal

This is a variation of a dish we covered at Rick Stein’s Seafood School. Some purists might sniff their noses at this recipe regarding its authenticity, especially with the sambal, which is essentially a chilli-based condiment or relish. For a real humdinger of a sambal, you should check out this one by Shu Han.

But it is a very delicious recipe nevertheless. All very hot and spicy yet the lightness of the battered lemon sole still manages to shine through. A great starter.

Malaysian Fish Instramgrummed

Serves 4

3 lemon sole, filleted and skinned

175g corn flour

Sunflower oil for deep-frying

Salt and pepper

For the sambal:

350gms tomatoes cut in half

Variety of chillies (I used 1 birds eye, 2 ‘home grown’ green finger chillies and 2 regular red chillies)

3 shallots, peeled and halved

2 tbs of lime juice

2 tbs of Thai fish sauce

1 tbs of caster sugar

Sambal ingredients Unstigrommed

For the chilli sauce:

6 red finger chillies, roughly chopped

4 garlic gloves, roughly chopped

1 tps tumeric powder

5 cm piece of fresh root ginger, peeled and roughly chopped.

4 tbs sunflower oil

1 tsp salt

2 tbs rice wine vinegar

6 tbs cold water

Hot chilli sauce

Method

First make the sambal by pre-heating the grill to high. Put the tomatoes, whole chillies and shallots on a tray and grill for 10 minutes, until blackened, turning every now and then. Cool slightly and then roughly chop by hand. Place in a bowl and then mix in the limejuice and fish sauce.

Put all the ingredients for the chilli sauce into a blender or food processor and and blitz until smooth. Transfer to a saucepan and simmer on the hob over a gentle heat for 10 minutes or until the mixture begins to separate.

Smothered

Put the sunflower oil in a large pan until about a third full. Heat to 190c or until a small piece of bread dropped into the oil browns and rises to the surface. Put the chilli sauce into a shallow dish and the corn flour in another. Season the fish fillets and dip them first into the chilli sauce and then into the corn flour, making sure that the fish is coated evenly. Cook the fillets in the hot oil, only 2 or 3 at a time, otherwise the oil will cool too quickly. Fry for about 2 minutes until crisp and golden. Lift out with a slotted spoon and drain on kitchen paper.

Serve with the Roasted Tomato and Chilli Sambal.

Poifect

Marcello Tully's Rice Krispie Fish Fingers

 Snap, Crackle, Pop

When it comes to the matter of breakfast cereal, I do find that my opinions become quite divided on the subject. Let's face it, a bowlful of light ineffectual processed grain, laced with 'vitamins', laden with sugar and sploshed with milk isn't really the best start to the day is it. And the fact that the creator or originator of cereal, now a multi-squillion pound industry, was a flatulant Seventh-day Aventist who enjoyed a yoghurt enema every now and then, also makes me very wary.

But when cereal is used in a different context, say as an ingredient within a dish, as a component for texture, I do sort of become more relaxed with the whole idea of cereal. Take chocolate cornflake nest cakes for instance. OK, not much healthier than the morning bowlful. In fact, quite frankly, they are the culinary equivalent of crack. But still, whoever drummed up the concept of pouring melted cocoa over orange flattened corn scabs and leave to set again is a genius. It was probably a kid. An evil genius wunderkind, set on world domination via mind control. I know this because whenever I make them or buy them, after taking the first bite, I soon fall into this frenzied, beleaguered state and lose all self-respect and control. The amount of times I have woken up naked, in some distant woodland copse with mouth and chin smeared in brown, fingernails caked and bits of cornflake stuck on my matted hairy chest is beyond me. Ah, such is the lycanthropic power of chocolate clusters.

However, when cereal is used as a witty take, to liven up a traditional recipe and to give a things a twist, well then I am up for that too. Like rice krispie fish fingers for instance. Recently I took part in an online cookalong with Marcello Tully, as part of Great British Chefs' recent campaign to get kids into the kitchen and cod, coated with puffed rice was on the menu. As cookalongs go, this was one was good fun, even though I had trouble keeping up with Marcello and burnt the first batch of fingers. The twins were involved you see and whilst I applaud the good intentions of this project, which is in association with Tesco Real Food, I long for the day when their nimble fingers can be put to finer use. Rather than have to deal with the very same fingers when they are coagulated with egg, flour and rice krispies.

A question I had for Marcello was went along the lines of "WHEN DO KIDS FINALLY GET TO GRIPS WITH COOKING??" and it was nice to see a wry smile appear on his face. The man, a father of two himself, obviously felt my pain. The cookalong was recorded and can be viewed here by the way, where you can see me and the kids scrambling along at bottom. Thank gawd, I muted the microphone on the laptop is all I can say.

As for the fish fingers themselves, when I made them a second time for lunch, they came out very well. Surprisingly so. Rice krispies are an excellent conduit for keeping fish nice and moist so it seems and the addition of the paprika to the flour added a lovely warm depth to the crunch of the coating. The mayonnaise I made was a bit on the flabby side, trying to keep up with a daughter pouring half a gallon of sunflower oil into a bowl was very tricky. I am amazed it didn't split.

In terms of endorsement for the recipe though, the final word has to go to my boy, Fin, who initially thought I was "Mad" to use rice krispies for fish fingers. After ploughing through 4 fat goujons at the dinner table, he wiped his mouth, put his hand on my shoulder and with a smile said that maybe I wasn't so mad after all.

No, Daddy only goes mad when he eats chocolate cornflakes son.

Makin' Fish Soup, Ooh What A Palaver.....

I couldn't help but crack a wry smile as I peered out of the kitchen window earlier this week. It was my day off and it was pelting it down with rain. With my forehead resting on the cool glass and clutching a steaming hot cup of coffee towards my chest, I cast my eyes down upon a churned muddy scar running straight through the lawn and I thought to myself 'well that's perfect, just perfect'. And it was. I mean you just don't know how hard it was to turn to my wife and say "well darling, I don't think I am going to get much done in the garden today". You see the big project going on at home at the moment is to get the garden ready for the summer and some of the work involves filling in a whacking great big space where a concrete path used to be with tons of soil. I am not looking forward to it and it's highly likely that I am going to have to get cracking at the weekend. Unless it rains again of course. In which case I shall have to mask my glee and suppress any desire to skip through the kitchen, singing and clicking my heels together like some kind of Tommy Steele from yesteryear. Because that never goes down well.

After nipping out to do some shopping, getting mugged by an old charidee shop lady in the process and some play time with the twins where we built a camp to hide from the Gruffalo, I started to feel restless. As always, there is a billion and one things to do in the house, never mind outside landscape gardening so I decided it would be a good idea to retrieve a fish head and some bones from the freezer with the intention of some making fish soup. I know what you're thinking. 'My God, that man is practical'. I am often in the habit of freezing bones and the reasons are twofold. As you may well have already guessed, I do this firstly with the intention making stock at a later date but secondly to protect my dustbins from a marauding gang of cats that terrorise the neighbourhood. Around my way, leave a chicken carcass to ripen and rot in your bin at your peril because sooner or later, the mangy moggies will mount an attack. I've witnessed an eight strong platoon ram raid our bins with a scaffolding pole before. This not just a matter of wasting food.

Anyway, the fish bones in question came originally from a whole salmon after a bout of curing (or gravadlaxing, if that's a word) over the Christmas period and I was going to try and extract some decent stock out of them. However, after a consultation on Twitter back in January, I was persuaded by a certain Tom Addy, Scottish chef and blogger that the stock would be 'bogging. Instead he suggested that the bones, head and all, could be used to make a very tasty soup. I must admit this was a bit of a revelation for me despite being overwhelmingly obvious and considering that I love soupe de poisson so so much. Doh! Sometimes you need to hit a person over the head with plank before they will wake up and quite often that person is me. But anyway Tom fired off some brief instructions along the lines of 'sauté with loads of onion, carrot, celery, tonnes of garlic in butter', 'add tomatoes, bay, splash brandy and white wine, water/stock simmer for 2 hours and blitz, bones and all' and 'perhaps add cream or more butter for richness and perhaps cayenne and lemon to season = Good Soup'. So I did just that. Given the final result, it was a shame that I waited for a dull miserable day in February to make the soup because it tasted absolutely gorgeous and showcased just what you can do with a few key ingredients on the cheap or for free even, the principle being the salmon bones. If 'waste not, want not' is one of your mottoes (and of course it should be, these guys have got the right idea) then I would definitely recommend that people, you people in other words, give this very simple method a go.

I should add a word of caution though, please do consider the equipment at hand when you get to the blitzing stage. As per Tom instructions you do want grind everything up but be wary, not all regular domestic blenders might not be up to the task. In fact when Mrs FU spotted me ladling the condensed fish mush into our KitchenAid blender she did question as to whether it was wise to put the fish head in. I scoffed in her face and said "of course it'll be ok, the head and bones have been cooking down for two hours now, they're nice and soft". Cue switching of button on, whirling sounds, then a high pitched squeal, crunching noise and abrupt switching of button off, followed by several minutes of deflated silence. When I finally turned to face Mrs FU, she shot me a look which, well how can I sum it up, pretty much went like this:

I bloomin' well told you so,
but did you listen to me, no
you went ahead, with yer fishy head
and now the blender is bloomin' well dead
but did you listen to me, no

(or now who's going all Tommy Steele eh?)

So by all means go ahead and make this wonderful soup but perhaps it would be best to chop everything up in a heavyweight food processor first and then strain through a sieve. Yes I think that might be a better idea.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be out in the garden. In the pouring rain.

The key ingredients

The fish 'ead what done it

The sautéeing bit

The damage

The better tool for the job

The sieving

The soup

Masterchef Burnt My Maryland Crab Cakes

OK, hands up. When cooking at home in my kitchen, I do get a bit grouchy, precious and have been known to swan about like a prima donna declaring that "this is MY kitchen, this is MY domain". I haven't gone as far as wearing a keffiyeh wrapped around my head yet but if I'm not careful, these delusions of grandeur could get the better of me. I think my worst habit is being an absolute stickler for keeping an eye on things. I can't just leave the pots and pans be, gently simmering away. No it's a rhythmic succession of lifting lids, checking, tasting, stirring, checking, chopping, shaking, checking, cha-cha-cha, cha-cha-cha. And please don't talk to me when I am going through this process. I might just be warming some up soup, I don't care, genius is at work here. At dinner parties, best you remain in the living room but if you do need topping up with wine or another cold beer then just tip toe past me, softly and quietly. And god help you if you make any offer of help. The megalomaniacal streak in me will soon have me barking and lashing out with a plastic spatula as I press my ancient and knackered Kenwood food processor close to my heart like a female baboon clutching her newborn. When plating up, I even do that thing of checking each plate, eyeing it up intently and wiping spots clear with the corner of a white tea towel before nodding at my wife. She normally just walks off sighing and punctuates the air with a loud tut. I don't know where this comes from as ordinarily I have the attention span of a gnat. I think it's a general fear of cocking things up, getting it wrong. There's nothing worse than that deflating feeling as you scrape the burnt remnants of a risotto in the bin with bottom lip protruding like the kid who dropped his ice cream. So my mantra when cooking is: Pay attention at all times.

And when cooking fish this mantra is particularly important. A couple of weeks ago, I took receivership of some fine samples from Fish For Thought, a small fish and shellfish supplier based in Cornwall who distribute the bounty of the sea throughout the land via the magic of the internets. Fish For Thought are committed to sourcing their produce through local Cornish fishermen, placing an emphasis on sustainability and have recently gained accreditation from the Marine Stewardship Council. So with this mind, I was very happy to take on board 4 fillets of wild black bream, 6 Cornish scallops, a pack of Cornish cocktail crab claws and a hefty pack of freshly handpicked Cornish white crab meat. Well you would be wouldn't you. Eyeing up the moist crab meat, I immediately thought about making some Maryland Crab Cakes served with a Tarragon Vinegar and Butter Sauce from a Rick Stein recipe that I've used before. It was mainly because I had all of the ingredients to hand. And also because I didn't have to face the time consuming prospect of boiling a crab up and break it into teeny weeny pieces to get access to very little meat. I love crab but it is a pain sometimes to extract the best of the flesh especially when you've been blessed with clumsy, sausage-like fingers. Most of it winds up on the floor whenever I grapple with that damned crustacean. So I set about the task diligently and not before long I had some very pretty looking patties which went in the fridge to chill. Of course, as all good Michelin chefs do, I did a little taste test beforehand to check flavour and seasoning and kept a close eye on the 'sample' cake, giving it just a couple of minutes gentle frying, leaving each side golden crisp. And it tasted great. Savoury, rich, yummy and er crabby. That night's supper was looking good.

Except that night, MasterChef was on.

Now I confess, I've only watched a few episodes from the latest series but I switched on that night to find the final three had been whittled down. Through a series of intensive heats and tasks I should add and not just by John and Gregg's excessive gurning and shouting. A few minutes in, with iPhone in hand, I spied a frenzy of tweets on Twitter with people hashtagging #masterchef and noticed that MasterChef finalists Dhruv, Alex and Tim had been getting involved too. I then had the brainwave of contacting them to see if they would be interested in getting involved with Where's My Pork Chop? "Let's get in there quick before they get chewed up by the media machine!" I screamed, leaping out of the sofa. But then my wife uttered the words "so when are you going to do this dinner then?" What followed next was a frantic juggling of pots and pans and lighting of stove flames along with dipping in and out of the living room to keep track of the programme. Into the mix was thrown a manic dicing of tomatoes, a savage chopping of tarragon and the desperate fingering of a slippery iPhone pad because it got covered in melted butter. Totally abandoning my cooking principles and imaginary keffiyeh, I soon found myself in the middle of my own personal service nightmare and things started to slip. All because of bloody Masterchef. I had been reducing the white wine vinegar for the sauce but let it go too far. When I stuck my head under the extractor hood and my nose over the pan, I nearly keeled over because the vapours were so intense and strong. In the heat and confusion of washing up as I went along, I discovered that I had chucked away the clarified butter I made earlier down the sink, so I set about making some more. Only to find that we hardly had any butter left. So I screamed. "Arrrgh!" And then came the pièce de résistance as I heated the frying pan and popped the crab cakes in and then I glanced down at the iPhone again:

"Hey! Dhruv's heard of Where's My Pork Chop?!" I shouted out.

Suddenly, without any word or warning, I looked up and found myself transported to a countryside scene captured in soft focus. Where I was sat at a sunlit table outside an unidentified ye olde worlde pub with all three MasterChef contestants. These guys, it seemed, were my bestest friends and the air was heady with laughter, back slapping and the consumption of ale in pewter tankards, all of us resplendent in breeches and hats with feathers jutting out at a jaunty angle. A selection of silver platters laden with meat, cheese, bread and fruit were brought to the table by some buxom wench and to my surprise, the saucy maid had also placed down on the bench a clay jar full of bread sticks. To up the hilarity, I decided to take two of the sticks and stuff them up my nose but before they reached my nostrils, some other fug entered my senses. "What was that smell?" I thought. It didn't take long to realise that it was the grim stench of burning crab and I soon came crashing out of that particular daydream to discover that yes, I was burning my Maryland Crab Cakes!

I even announced it on Twitter and.........................................................................................................

........................................................I don't really know where to go after that random, rambling stream of consciousness but let me tell you these home truths:

1 - Despite burning the said crab cakes that night, they were still very delicious and I will faithfully type out the recipe at the end of the post.

2 - Even more delicious were the wild black bream fillets we had after, which I brushed with melted butter (the little I had left) and grilled. They tasted fantastic and I can thoroughly recommend Fish For Thought for quality and freshness. The cocktail crab claws and scallops however still languish in the freezer so all suggestions would be gratefully received.

3 - Dhruv, I still intend to get you to cook for me one day (and Alex and Tim)

4 - Blog posts should not be finished whilst under the influence........but hey it was fun eh! ; )


Maryland Crab Cakes with Tarragon and Butter Sauce

Serves 4

450g fresh white crab meat

40g cream crackers

2 tbs chopped parsley

1 egg, beaten

2 tbs mayonnaise (homemade)

1 tbs English mustard powder

1 tbs freshly squeezed lemon juice

dash of Worcestershire sauce

salt and pepper

4 tbs clarified butter

For Tarragon Vinegar and Butter Sauce

5oml white wine vinegar

4 tbs clarified butter

1 plum tomato, skinned, peeled and diced

1 tsp chopped tarragon

Method

Put crackers into a plastic bag and crush with rolling pin into fine crumbs. Mix crab meat and chopped parsley in a bowl and add just enough cracker crumbs to absorb any moisture from crab (you might not need all of it).

Break the egg into another small bowl and whisk in mayonnaise, mustard, lemon juice, Worcestershire sauce and some seasoning. Fold this mixture into crab meat but try not to break up the lumps of crab too much.

Shape the mixture in eight 7.5cm patties, put them on a plate, cover with cling film and chill for at least 1 hour.

Heat the clarified butter in a large frying pan. Add the crab cakes (4 at a time if your pan is not large enough for all 8) and cook over a medium heat for 2-3 minutes on each side until crisp and richly golden.

For the sauce, bring the vinegar to the boil in a small pan and reduce it to about 2 tablespoons. Add the clarified butter, diced tomato, chopped tarragon and some salt and pepper to taste and gently warm through. Place 2 of the crab cakes onto a warmed plate, spoon some of the sauce over and serve.

Taste Test

Burnt daydream

Beautiful Wild Black Bream