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

Not Barbecued BBQ Brisket

Heggies Brisket

The plans I had for this lump of brisket that had been languishing in the fridge, I tell you. Having made its way from the hills of Herefordshire via Heggies, a family run butchers based in Hereford (of all places) as part of a wider selection of meat to sample; this frugal joint had been tucked it away with the express notion of doing something different. Namely to make pastrami with it. I got the idea from DIY Food, which is a new cookbook for bearded, grizzly homosexuals in plaid, if you were to believe one poor confused and sexually repressed individual, and I followed all the plans that were laid out in the book. In other words, I bought some salt and some spices and some herbs. But I never really got around to the simple stage of putting them all together to make a brine to start the whole curing process. I could have done but this is the sort of project that needs forward thinking. Five or six days of turning the beef in the brine before coating with cracked pepper and coriander seed, a period of hot smoking and then a final blast of steaming in the oven before serving up in thick slices, warm on rye bread and with pickles. Unfortunately, in five or six days time I plan to be lying flat on my face in a field in Devon somewhere, having drunk vast quantities of industrial strength farmhouse cider at a very small festival. 

So with regards to this whole pastrami business, you could say that there has been a conflict of interest. I will pick up on this thread in the near future though, once I return from the West Country, as the prospect of fumigating lumps of meat sounds very appealing. I don't have a smoker per se but with a load of foil, Betty MKII and an upturned mop bucket, I reckon I could rig one up quite easily. After all it worked with beer can chicken.

Anyway, the brisket did not go to waste, which I am sure you are glad to hear. It got served up yesterday over at my folks house after a thorough basting in a pot for about 8 hours on a low heat in the oven. A cheats method maybe and one that might not deserve the label of BBQ but the shredded brisket went down very well. So in the spirit of generosity, I thought I would share it with you, so that it may be added to the pantheon of great barbecue recipes that involve not actually using a barbecue. 

It is also worth mentioning, especially since I got it for free, that the meat that came from Heggies was of exceptional quality. As you might expect from locally sourced beef with all the inclusions of breed, traceability, the farmer's name, his favourite tie, what he likes for his tea etc etc. With that level of care and attention, the meat is guaranteed to taste good. If it doesn't, then someone is pulling the wool over your eyes (or blinding you with his tie). However, Heggies obviously do take pride. The flavour of their 30 day old steaks testifies to that. 

Interestingly though, Mrs FU wasn't massively keen on the deep tang of the sirloin and was irked further when I suggested that her taste buds weren't up to the challenge. In return, she was quick to point out the idiot who cooed over the amazing bacon, which also came in the pack and which didn't leak white 'stuff'. Furthermore, she chided that in future, I should dig further into my pocket if I wanted something decent to go into between two doorsteps of thick white bread and there wasn't a lot I could say to that.

I think I will try and win her affections back when I try to make that pastrami though. Because Heggies' brisket is a lot cheaper per kilo than their bacon. And it's on the way back from Devon. Sort of.

Not Barbecued BBQ Brisket - serves 8

1.5 - 2kg of brisket, rolled and tied

2 red onions, chopped

2 celery sticks, chopped

4 cloves of garlic, finely chopped

1 red pepper, chopped

100gms of cooking chorizo, chopped

3 tomatoes, chopped

1 Guajilo chilli, soaked in water if dried and chopped, seeds and all (I got my chilli from souschef.co.uk) 

50gms honey

50gms dark brown sugar

50mls cider vinegar

Good splash of Worcestershire sauce

Good splash of tomato sauce

A can of lager (I used Red Stripe)

1 tbs ground cumin

1 tbs mustard powder

Salt and pepper

4 tbs olive oil

Method

Pre-heat the oven to 150C. Place a large saucepan on the hob and turn on the heat, add the oil and then add the onion, celery, garlic and pepper, bring the heat down and gently fry until everything softens and caramelises, for about 20 to 30 minutes. Turn the heat back up and then add the chorizo, chilli and tomatoes, sauteing for a couple of minutes, stirring everything around with a wooden spoon. Add the cumin and mustard and continue to stir for another minute then add the honey, dark brown sugar, tomato sauce, vinegar, Worcestershire sauce and lager. Bring to the boil and then simmer for 15 minutes. Take off the heat and leave to cool for 5 minutes and then blitz in a blender or food processor and then season to taste (I like to put lots of cracked black pepper in).

Take a stock pot or casserole with a lid and place the brisket inside. Pour over the sauce mix to cover and place the lid on your chosen cooking receptacle and put into the oven. Return every half an hour or so, or when you can remember and turn the brisket in the sauce. Repeat for around 8 hours or until the brisket becomes very soft and tender.

Remove from the oven and take the brisket out of the sauce on a chopping board, cut the string and with two forks shred the brisket, starting at one end, pulling the fibres apart length ways into ribbons (should be quite easy). Then mix back into the sauce.

Serve in white buns or between slices of bread and add slice gherkins.

Placed on makeshift barbecue for food stylisation
(no actual barbecuing took place for the brisket but we did cook lots of other things, honest)

It's very niiiiiiiice

Aubergine Parmigiana

If you are ever in need of a boost, a little geeing up and wish to re-ignite that tickle in your stomach, akin to the feeling of standing in a sweet shop when you were five, go shopping in Aldi. Seriously, do it. It really is a veritable, bonkers paradise of hyper-consumerism, an Aladdin's cave of miscellaneous expendables and junk shop tat. I wandered in there the other day for some fruit, vegetables and what is collectively known in our house as 'sandwich stuff' ("Make sure you get some sandwich stuff") and I wandered back out with an electronic fly zaper, some Dr Beckmann Glowhite whitening detergent and a jar of Cowboy Burger seasoning by Schwartz. Because personally, I think this is the shiz that MEATLiquor has been putting into their burgers for ages now, I just need to test the theory. Ha! Your secret will soon be out boys!

Anyway, the fact is that I do love to go for a shop in Aldi and despite the moth-like attraction to power tools and comfortable slippers, we do make great savings on the food bill. For instance, I recently bought three gorgeously purple, rotund and sensuous aubergines for 49 pence each. This is an absolute bargain when you consider that other supermarkets normally punt them on for double that. How do Aldi do it so cheap? Is it down to a striped down, no-frills, super efficient teutonic business model? Or do they bring out the thumbscrews like all the other chains? I don't know but I happy and grateful to have an Aldi on my doorstep.

The interesting and funny thing about shopping there is the reaction you get from familiar faces when they get caught rummaging around in the freezers for basa fillets whilst carrying a duvet set under their arm. Cheeks blush, lips get bitten, puppy dog eyes arch ruefully to play the sympathy card and then comes the standard response:

"Oh hi, yeah, well oh God, hey, isn't cheap in here. I've just finished doing my bit in Waitrose but I remembered I was totally out of toilet roll and well, hey isn't it so cheap......so erm, see you!"

And off they tootle, waving with hand aloft and head surreptitiously bowed down in shame. I always do my best to wave back but more often than not, I am holding a fishing rod under one arm and a crate of iced tea in the other. Ah, the paradox of Aldi. We think we are saving money but really we are not. Clever Germans.

Coming back to the aubergines though, having saved some real pennies there, I decided to make melanzane alla parmigiana the other day using Mr Oliver's recipe. Now, most recipes take the route of frying slices of aubergine in oil until lightly browned and squishy and tender. However as this is a lengthy process and can often make the aubergine greasy, I decided to give his char-grilling method a go. The result was a mixed bag really as the aubergine hadn't quite cooked through, to transform into that gooey layer you normally expect but I did like in the inherent smokiness that came from the grilling them. It certainly added an extra dimension to this very comforting dish and if I were to consider this method again, I would probably whack them on the griddle and then whack them in the oven for a bit longer. Say for half and hour, in a lasagne dish, drizzled with a generous helping of olive oil.

In fact, I will probably pop out to Aldi right now and give it another whirl at the weekend, whilst their aubergines are still so cheap. Plus they've got a good deal on a bench grinder with sanding belt at the moment. I've been after one of those for ages.

Cheap aubergines, parmesan and mozzerella

Layering with cheeses

Splashing with olive oil

Crisp

Very nearly very good

Preserved Lemon

Preserved lemon and Moshi Moshi flask in the background

At some stage in my life, someone must have come up and tapped me on the shoulder and started extolling the virtues of preserved lemons. I don't know when, I don't know where and I don't know how. But someone, at some point in time, must have whispered into my shell-like about the benefits of pickling these yellow, ellipsoidal, citric fruits at home. I am sure of this. And I am sure that I listened quite intently, spellbound, mesmerised even, at what my fellow advisor had to say on the matter.

Perhaps the scenario when something like this:

"Yeah right, cos like preserving yer own lemons, well you can't beat it mate. I tell ya, for about five years...maybe six *burp* I was buying me own.... off the shelf, you know and well....they were alright but they just didn't quite cut the mustard, you know what I mean? They didn't 'ave that kick I was looking for, not quite the same as the sorta shit that goes into a proper good, decent, diamond tagine. Like the sort you might find in the ol' El-Fnna, yeah? You got me? Nah? OK, well look, do yourself a favour mate, grab a load of lemons. Not waxed! No facking wax! OK? Make a liddle biddy criss-cross of a slit in the top of one of your lemons and stuff it, stuff with salt and then throw it a jar, with a load more salt. Salt and some other shit. Coriander seed, bay leaf, chillies, cinnamon sticks....*burp*...go on, throw it in, throw it all in and then forget abahht it. Don't worry abahht it at all. Leave it in a cupboard and go for a walk somewhere. Just......just don' worry abahht it. And then......and then my sunshine, you can go back.... weeks..... months...... years later. And you can find that jar of yours and then you can prise that jar open and BOOM! Bloody hell, what 'ave you got? Preserved facking lemons that's what."

And you know, after that poetic soliloquy, I probably bought the guy a pint, shook his hand and on the way home, picked up a huge bag of lemons from Londis and carried out his instructions to a tee; repeating his mantra of "Boom! Preserved facking lemons!" With arms aloft. I probably made quite a mess later that evening, scattering aromatics and sea-crystals across the floor. I probably caused a huge clatter, throwing bits of expensive, unused toot out of the expensive unused toot cupboard. All in order to house these new jars of lemons. Jars that would remain untouched for some time, left to slowly macerate, embalm and steep. I probably fell asleep on the cold, tiled floor and then probably woke at some ungodly hour, all disorientated and confused, before making it upstairs with belt buckle loose and bare buttocks flapping in the wind.

These are all probables and whether you believe them or not is up to you. Some of the above is make believe, I'll admit that. Some, ahem, is not. However, the cast iron truth is that I stumbled across some preserved lemons the other day, which had obviously been lurking deep within the dark for some time and I honestly can't remember when I set about the task of 'immortalising' them. They were obviously part of some previous project, that shamefully didn't pique my interest for long enough. But I am glad that I found them though because it led to one of those happy occurrences when something unplanned and unexpected happens. Some chicken thighs were sitting in the fridge, awaiting their final destination and whilst they are great to enjoy on their own, (unadulterated thigh meat, dark and succulent doesn't need that much jazzing up in my opinion) I quite did fancy trying out something quite different. So after a quick rustle in the cupboards, bingo, a fortuitous solution was found.

Admittedly, I did seek further consultation from other voices (other than the ones in my head) across the internethighwayweb and Cookwitch, with her Greek sensibilities, suggested simply roasting the chicken thighs with the preserved lemon, along with garlic, thyme and olives. It was an inspired idea so I went with it. Except that I threw in some extra bay leaves in for good measure, to put my own stamp on things. "Oh yaah, yaah, it defo needs the bay."

And as with most 'one-pot, let's throw everything in and see what happens' dishes, it was very good.
It really is amazing actually, the difference you get from the intensity of flavour. A squeeze of a lemon used as a light, fresh touch doesn't really compare with the feral hit of preserved lemon, which is all heavy and condense but the one thing I did learn is that when it comes to these squalid, squashy objects of beauty, less can sometimes mean more. I used one whole flaccid, alien egg-like lemon sac for about 12 thighs when half would have done. And it could have done with a rinse to honest, just a quick splash under a cold tap to get rid of the salty residue, just to save the kidneys. However, overall, the preserved lemon did transform the already handsome chicken thigh into something altogether different and special and I plan on using up my supply quite quickly. In order of course to make plenty more, to try out with lots of other dishes. After all, preserved lemons are my new favourite thing. And this time, I won't fall asleep on the job.

Flaccid, alien egg

Chicken thighs before

Chicken thighs after

Roast chicken thigh, preserved lemon, garlic, olive and thyme (not forgetting bay leaf) with cous cous, aubergine, peppers and coriander leaf

Another photo of what I said for the photo above