Jane Grigson's Fish Book Part 5

NOTE If you can only buy smaller pieces of carp fillet, make individual pasties. If you can only buy smaller pieces of carp fillet, make individual pasties.

CARPET-Sh.e.l.lS see see A FEW WORDS ABOUT... A FEW WORDS ABOUT... CARPET-Sh.e.l.lS CARPET-Sh.e.l.lS CATFISH see see A FEW WORDS ABOUT... A FEW WORDS ABOUT... CATFISH CATFISH CERO see see MACKEREL MACKEREL CHAR see see TROUT TROUT

CLAMS.

Venus mercenaria, Mercenaria mercenaria [image]

Everybody knows that clams are American. It is true that in Scotland scallops are often known as clams, and that we use the phrase 'as tight as a clam' about secretive people, but clams really belong to our rosier knowledge of American life. There is clam chowder for a start (not in fact a Red Indian dish, but an adaptation of the name and recipe of a French fish stew, see see below). We have probably heard rather enviously of New England clambakes, those summer feasts on the beach when the sh.e.l.lfish are steamed on a bed of seaweed over red hot stones, along with lobster, chicken, sausages and a variety of vegetables. If we remember pioneering tales, we can probably recollect that wampum, the Red Indian money, consisted of strings and belts of clam sh.e.l.ls (hence the second word of the specific name, below). We have probably heard rather enviously of New England clambakes, those summer feasts on the beach when the sh.e.l.lfish are steamed on a bed of seaweed over red hot stones, along with lobster, chicken, sausages and a variety of vegetables. If we remember pioneering tales, we can probably recollect that wampum, the Red Indian money, consisted of strings and belts of clam sh.e.l.ls (hence the second word of the specific name, Venus mercenaria Venus mercenaria).

It is not generally known that the bubbling dishes of praires farcies grillees praires farcies grillees, served in Norman and Breton restaurants (see Huitres farcies grillees, Huitres farcies grillees, p. 256 p. 256), are clams, real American clams, of the kind known as quahaug, quahog or hard clams. Efforts were first made to introduce them into France in the second half of the nineteenth century. Now they are acclimatized all down the Atlantic coast of France. As one sops up the last garlicky juices, one does not spend much time regretting the American clams that are not not acclimatized in Europe the cherry stone, little neck and b.u.t.ter clams which are eaten raw like oysters; the long razor clams which come to the table fried as well as in chowders; the soft clams which rejoice in the local names of gaper, maninose, nannynose, old maid and strand-gaper. I am sure that none of them can equal the acclimatized in Europe the cherry stone, little neck and b.u.t.ter clams which are eaten raw like oysters; the long razor clams which come to the table fried as well as in chowders; the soft clams which rejoice in the local names of gaper, maninose, nannynose, old maid and strand-gaper. I am sure that none of them can equal the praires farcies praires farcies or at least surpa.s.s them. or at least surpa.s.s them.

Clams are among the easiest sh.e.l.lfish to grow commercially. It is true that they take four years, almost as long as an oyster; but they are more good-tempered, less of a risk. As demand increases, so will production. It does seem ridiculous to go to France to eat them, let alone America, when we could be enjoying them at Southend or Torquay or in our own kitchens. Like many other sh.e.l.lfish, clams are best in the summer months. We tend to be superst.i.tious about eating them when the month lacks an R (as we once were about eating pork). It seems that this is a groundless form of m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic self-denial. Apparently only the native oyster, not the Portuguese but Ostrea edulis Ostrea edulis, should be avoided in July and August, because, as one authority put it, the sh.e.l.ls are 'full of gritty little babies'.

HOW TO PREPARE CLAMS.

Having found your clams, how are you going to open them? If they are fresh and alive, use the oyster method, see see p. 254 p. 254. A few moments in warm water makes it much easier to push a knife through the hinges.

Some cookery books suggest using the mussel method (a large pan, covered, over a moderate heat) or, for the large ones, the scallop method (a few moments in a fairly hot oven, gas 6, 200 C/400 F, until they begin to open). Clams which have been deep-frozen are the easiest of all. Put them in warm water to thaw, until the sh.e.l.ls just begin to gape. Finish the job off with a knife, oyster fas.h.i.+on. Keep deep-frozen clams for cooking.

Once the black-tipped siphon has been removed, all of the clam meat can be eaten. The coral foot and pinkish-white muscles are firmer than the central body part: for some recipes, it is a good idea to chop these parts, while leaving the soft part whole. Most oyster, mussel and scallop recipes can be adapted to clams especially the one for Huitres farcies grillees. Oysters Rockefeller (p. 261) is also particularly suitable.

CLAMS AU NATUREL.

Fresh clams can be eaten raw on the half-sh.e.l.l, like oysters. Lemon juice and cayenne pepper can be served with them, plus the usual wholemeal or rye bread and b.u.t.ter, and a white wine such as Muscadet.

In The Boston School Cookbook The Boston School Cookbook, f.a.n.n.y Farmer recommends that clams should be served with individual dishes of melted b.u.t.ter, sharpened with a little vinegar or lemon juice; the clam liquor should be strained, and served in gla.s.ses, for drinking at the same time.

Certainly clam liquor should be cherished, like oyster and mussel liquor.

CLAM CHOWDER.

Being English, and of a tranquil disposition, I hesitate to offer comments on one of America's sacred inst.i.tutions. Even to suggest a recipe verges on impiety. But now that we have our own clam-producing beds, I can't duck the issue, or any missiles that may come my way in consequence. It is strange how the monotheistic spirit has entered the kitchen. Each clam-chowder missionary expects everyone to bow down before his one true recipe (it is the same with Bouillabaisse in France). Tomatoes or no tomatoes? Milk or water? Onions how many? f.a.n.n.y Farmer instructs readers to take a pint of hard clams or a dozen large clams and one thinly sliced onion... In response Louis P. de Gouy thunders, 'A dozen clams forsooth!... Men and women of Rhode Island and Ma.s.sachusetts Bay never sat down to less than a peck of clams apiece.' A peck, if I may remind the new metricians, is quarter of a bushel think of a bushel basket for picking apples in other words two gallons. They were G.o.ds in their appet.i.te, the men and women of those days, cast in a gigantic mould. Here is one of them, Ishmael in Moby d.i.c.k Moby d.i.c.k, describing his first encounter with chowder at the Try Pots Inn run by Mrs Hosea Hussey in Nantucket: 'Oh! sweet friends, hearken to me. It was made of small juicy clams, scarcely bigger than hazel nuts, mixed with pounded s.h.i.+p biscuits, and salted pork cut up into little flakes; the whole enriched with b.u.t.ter...'

Walt Whitman, too, would have found f.a.n.n.y Farmer and her Boston School a little on the meagre, ladylike side: The boatman and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me, I tuck'd my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time; You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.1 Here, therefore, is Louis P. de Gouy's recipe from The Gold Cook Book The Gold Cook Book (1948): (1948): 'Take 4 or 5 dozen good soft clams, if your family is a small one... Then take 6 large onions and pound [250 g] of the finest salt pork. Cut the pork in half-inch [1-cm] dice and brown them slowly in an iron skillet,2 then add the onion slices to the pork fat and let them turn to golden-brown rings. Meanwhile wash the live clams, using a brush to get rid of all sand, and heat them slowly in a pan till the sh.e.l.ls open. Save the juice, cut off the long necks and remove the coa.r.s.e membrane, then chop half of the clams, not too finely, and keep the rest whole. Put pork, onions, clam juice, and 1 quart of boiling water in a kettle, then add the onion slices to the pork fat and let them turn to golden-brown rings. Meanwhile wash the live clams, using a brush to get rid of all sand, and heat them slowly in a pan till the sh.e.l.ls open. Save the juice, cut off the long necks and remove the coa.r.s.e membrane, then chop half of the clams, not too finely, and keep the rest whole. Put pork, onions, clam juice, and 1 quart of boiling water in a kettle,2 add 3 large peeled tomatoes, 1 bunch of leeks cut finely, 2 stalks of celery, finely minced, 2 young carrots, diced, 1 tablespoon of parsley, chopped, teaspoon of thyme leaves, 2 large bay leaves, 1 teaspoon of salt, generous teaspoon of freshly ground black pepper, a slight grating of nutmeg, and let the mixture boil up smartly. Then reduce to the simmering point, and put in 3 large potatoes, peeled and cut in neat small dice. Prepare a roux by browning 2 rounded tablespoons of flour in 2 rounded tablespoons of b.u.t.ter, and make it smooth and creamy by stirring in broth from the kettle. Put all the clams into the kettle before the potatoes begin to soften, and simmer slowly until the potatoes are just tender, then stir in the roux and 2 large pilot biscuits add 3 large peeled tomatoes, 1 bunch of leeks cut finely, 2 stalks of celery, finely minced, 2 young carrots, diced, 1 tablespoon of parsley, chopped, teaspoon of thyme leaves, 2 large bay leaves, 1 teaspoon of salt, generous teaspoon of freshly ground black pepper, a slight grating of nutmeg, and let the mixture boil up smartly. Then reduce to the simmering point, and put in 3 large potatoes, peeled and cut in neat small dice. Prepare a roux by browning 2 rounded tablespoons of flour in 2 rounded tablespoons of b.u.t.ter, and make it smooth and creamy by stirring in broth from the kettle. Put all the clams into the kettle before the potatoes begin to soften, and simmer slowly until the potatoes are just tender, then stir in the roux and 2 large pilot biscuits2 coa.r.s.ely crumbled, and add 1 teaspoon of Worcesters.h.i.+re sauce and a dash of Tabasco sauce. Serve sizzling hot. coa.r.s.ely crumbled, and add 1 teaspoon of Worcesters.h.i.+re sauce and a dash of Tabasco sauce. Serve sizzling hot.

'If preferred, omit the tomatoes and add instead 1 cup [125 ml/ 4 fl oz] of scalded cream.'

CLAMS FARCIES.

As well as the recipes for grilled and stuffed oyster or mussels, try this delicious mixture. Bacon and mushrooms are good with most of the small sh.e.l.lfish.

Serves 648 clams125 g (4 oz) mushrooms4 slices bacon, crisply cooked1 tablespoon chopped parsleybreadcrumbs (see (see recipe recipe)salt, pepperb.u.t.ter Like oyster sh.e.l.ls, clam sh.e.l.ls need to be settled firmly on a supporting base if they are not to wobble about during cooking. Tin pans with a thick layer of sea salt are one solution: the clams can be pressed down into the salt. I prefer large 'platters' of bread, in which holes have been made with a small scone cutter; the sh.e.l.ls rest in the holes, and any juice which bubbles over is sopped up to your ultimate benefit by the bread. Having settled this point, open the clams, and pour off their liquor into a jug.

To make the stuffing, chop the mushrooms finely and crumble the bacon. Mix them together with the parsley and strained clam liquor. Stir in enough breadcrumbs to make a normal stuffing consistency spreadable, but not sloppy. Season to taste. Divide this mixture between the sh.e.l.ls, to cover the clams. Dot with b.u.t.ter and bake in a moderate oven (gas 4, 180 C/350 F) for about 12 minutes; until they are nicely browned and bubbling.

CLAM FRITTERS.

Although soft sh.e.l.l clams are recommended for this recipe from The American Heritage Cookbook The American Heritage Cookbook hard clams can be used instead. So can mussels. hard clams can be used instead. So can mussels.

By my estimate, 33 kg (67 lb) of clams in the sh.e.l.l should produce the required amount, or 4 kg (8 lb) of mussels.

Serves 6375 g (12 oz) clams, drained2 eggs, separated80 g (2 oz) white breadcrumbs, toasted1 teaspoon salt teaspoon pepper dessertspoon chopped parsley dessertspoon chopped chivesgenerous 60 ml (2 fl oz) milkb.u.t.ter or vegetable oil Chop the drained clams finely. Beat the egg yolks, then mix in the clams, breadcrumbs, seasoning and herbs. Add enough milk to make a heavy batter. Beat the egg whites stiffly. Fold them into the mixture just before you intend to cook it. Heat the b.u.t.ter or oil in a frying pan. Drop spoonfuls of the mixture into it and cook in the usual way.

Although the recipe doesn't say so, lemon quarters are a good garnish: their juice cuts the richness of the fritters.

CLAMS MORNAY.

You will need a prepared base for the clam sh.e.l.ls, see see p. 81 p. 81. Alternatively, you can discard the sh.e.l.ls, and divide the sauce and clams, on the same principle, between six little pots.

Serves 648 clamsb.u.t.ter175 ml (6 fl oz) dry white wineMornay sauce*125175 g (46 oz) grated Gruyere cheese3 tablespoons breadcrumbs Open, remove and drain the clams, retaining the liquor. Fry the clams for 2 minutes only in just enough b.u.t.ter to cover the base of the pan. Pour in wine and simmer for 4 or 5 minutes don't overcook. Drain the clams carefully and set aside; add the reserved clam liquor to the cooking liquor, and reduce until you have a strongly concentrated essence. Add this gradually to the Mornay sauce, stopping before it becomes too salty.

Put some of the sauce into the sh.e.l.ls, lay the clams on top and then cover with some more sauce. Mix the grated Gruyere and breadcrumbs, and sprinkle over the top. Brown lightly in the oven, or under the grill the latter is simpler, and more easily controlled. Serve immediately.

This is a good recipe, too, for scallops 18 should be enough for 6 people.

COLCHESTER CLAMS WITH SAMPHIRE.

The biggest indictment of our catering trade is fish or rather the lack of it. You can spend a thousand days at the seaside without being able to sit down in a cafe to a platter of seafood lobster, crab, mussels, oysters, shrimps, prawns, whelks, winkles served on ice with a bowl of proper mayonnaise. In seaside hotels, the one item of fish on the menu will be frozen or dull or overcooked, most likely all three. We need the influence of the new cooking from France, with its insistence on fish. Thank heavens that it begins to show though this is often indignantly denied in our best restaurants, the brave hundred (according to one food guider) that care about ingredients.

In fact, I think that the best turbot I have ever eaten was in Norfolk when Melanie de Blank had her hotel in s.h.i.+pdham. Many of her ingredients came from her husband's London shops, but the fish was splendidly local. She took advantage, too, of the samphire that covers the salt marshes of the flat Norfolk coast. In summer, you can pick it yourself (wellingtons are a prudent measure), or buy it from village stalls outside farmhouses and from fishmongers. Take home plenty because it freezes well. Steam or blanch it in unsalted water, after picking it over and cutting away brown stem lengths, and serve it with b.u.t.ter like asparagus. You pick it up, nibble off the tender tops and then chew the green lower sections from their central strings.

In this recipe, samphire is teamed with Colchester clams (mussels or oysters could be used instead), and the sauce is flavoured with saffron not in these days from Saffron Walden but from Spain. Only use the stringless green tips of samphire, serving the rest at another meal: 1 kg (2 lb) should provide enough.

Serves 66 handfuls of samphire tips36 clams150 ml (5 fl oz) dry white wine2 small shallots, chopped1 medium carrot, choppedpinch of saffron, steeped in a little hot water300 ml (10 fl oz) creme fraiche or half each soured and double creamjulienne shreds of carrot and leek, blanched, to garnish Wash and steam or blanch the samphire. Drain well. Scrub the clams. Bring the wine, chopped shallots and carrot to the boil, put in the clams, cover and leave for 2 minutes. Remove the clams, if open; otherwise leave a little longer until they open. Set aside six clams in their sh.e.l.ls. Remove the remaining clams and discard the sh.e.l.ls. Strain the liquor into a wide shallow pan, add the saffron and its liquor, and boil down to concentrate the flavour. Stir in the cream (s), and boil slightly to thicken. Off the heat, stir in the clams and cool. Add seasoning, if necessary.

Put the samphire on six plates, spoon over the clams with their sauce, and decorate with the julienne and the reserved clams in their sh.e.l.ls.

SPAGHETTI ALLE VONGOLE.

Small clams in a tomato sauce are often served with spaghetti in central and southern Italy. In the north, in Venice, they would be added to a risotto with a lump of b.u.t.ter rather than tomato sauce.

Serves 6500 g (1 lb) spaghetti3 kg (6 lb) clams, washed1 large onion, chopped3 cloves garlic, chopped3 tablespoons olive oil400 g (14 oz) can tomatoes60 g (2 oz) chopped parsley (large bunch) Cook the spaghetti in plenty of boiling salted water in the usual way, until it is cooked but not slimily soft. Drain and keep warm until the sauce is finished.

Start the sauce as soon as the spaghetti goes into the pan. Open the clams in a large pan over a moderate heat, discard the sh.e.l.ls and strain off the liquid from the fish. Brown the onion and garlic lightly in the oil. Add the tomatoes and some of the clam liquor. Boil down to a rich sauce. Add clams, which will be adequately cooked, just to re-heat them. Remove sauce from the stove, stir in the parsley and pour over the spaghetti, mixing it well.

COD, LING, COLEY, POLLOCK, POLLACK, etc.

Gadidea spp. spp.

[image]

Cod, oh dear not cod. Again cod. Again. I used to dislike it, or perhaps I used rather to feel bored by it when it was the bottom fish on the marble slab. When I was first writing Fish Cookery Fish Cookery in 1971, I noted that there were a number of things you could do with it, but were they worth your while? Although Escoffier had remarked that if cod were only rarer, 'It would be held in as high esteem as salmon; for when it is really fresh and of good quality, the delicacy and delicious flavour of its flesh admit of its ranking among the finest of fish,' when it came to the count, he had only been moved to give six recipes to it in his in 1971, I noted that there were a number of things you could do with it, but were they worth your while? Although Escoffier had remarked that if cod were only rarer, 'It would be held in as high esteem as salmon; for when it is really fresh and of good quality, the delicacy and delicious flavour of its flesh admit of its ranking among the finest of fish,' when it came to the count, he had only been moved to give six recipes to it in his Guide Culinaire Guide Culinaire, by comparison with sole which had 182.

Fifteen years later, the laugh is on me: in those days, cod was forty-five per cent of the total wet fish landings in Britain; by 1985, it had dropped to just over thirteen per cent. A figure that would, I think, have surprised Escoffier. As I write now, in December 1986, there are reports of reduced breeding stocks with national quotas in the EEC adjusted accordingly. Prices are at 900 per tonne, whereas two years ago they were 700 and in 1982, 300. The conclusion of the article in The Independent The Independent, from which these figures come, is that prices cannot continue to rise. With more and more farmed salmon and the lowering of salmon prices accordingly, will there be parity of esteem? Perhaps not over the whole consumer range, since the magic of the word salmon may take a year or two to dispel, but many friends I have talked to agree that they would rather eat top quality cod than some of the farmed salmon one sees around.

This rarity of the real thing has drawn attention to the lesser relations. I exclude from this category haddock (p. 148), hake and whiting (pp. 161 and and 446 446), which have strong ident.i.ties of their own. They are all fish of fine quality. Somewhat less glorious, though adequate for stocks, soups, fish pies, fish cakes possibly, fish fried in batter, and for salting, is a bevy of fish with a confused nomenclature. From the cook's point of view, all one actually needs to know is that they are all cooked like cod, haddock and hake. Nevertheless, here is a modest attempt to disentangle some of them, with French names to help if you are catering for the family abroad and are bewildered by the much greater choice of fish in the markets: ling (Molva molva; lingue or julienne) (Molva molva; lingue or julienne)coley, coalfish,black pollack, rock (Pollachius virens; Lieu noir, colin noir)salmon, etc.pollack, Dover hake,lythe, Margate hake, (Pollachius pollachius; Lieu jaune, colin jaune)pollock, etc.Alaska pollack orpollock (Theragra chalcogrammus) You will see that pollack or pollock covers at least three realities.

Having acknowledged the lesser fry, let us return to the king of the cod fishery, Gadus morhua Gadus morhua, once the most important food fish in northern Europe. It has all the freshness and crispness of form that cold seas can give it. The English name, cod, goes back to the year dot pretty well. No etymologist can work out where it has come from. One thing is sure, it has no connection with the Greek gados gados from which the first element in the Latin name derives. Obeisance should be made to its majestic importance, but it should also be pointed out that from the eater's point of view there is cod and cod. Go for the small insh.o.r.e fish that haven't been bruised around in ice in a s.h.i.+p's hold for weeks. Official sizing this side of the Atlantic goes by length: from which the first element in the Latin name derives. Obeisance should be made to its majestic importance, but it should also be pointed out that from the eater's point of view there is cod and cod. Go for the small insh.o.r.e fish that haven't been bruised around in ice in a s.h.i.+p's hold for weeks. Official sizing this side of the Atlantic goes by length: small codling: less than 54 cm (21 inches)codling: 5463 cm (2125 inches)sprag: 6376 cm (2530 inches)cod: over 76 cm (30 inches) This gives you some idea of what to ask for, if your fish kettle measures 60 cm (24 inches). a.s.suming, that is, that you want to cook it whole as they do in Norway for Christmas dinner. There you choose your fish on the quay as it swims around in the tanks. The fishmonger dispatches and cleans it, and you take it home to poach and serve with a traditional mustard or egg sauce, or with melted b.u.t.ter and fine grated horseradish.

Another place where small codling are given their due is Boston (Boston, Ma.s.s., not Boston, Lincs.). It appears there, and so does haddock, under the name of scrod. They measure the fish there by weight: scrod: 1 kg (12 lb), less than 50 cm (20 inches)market: 15 kg (210 lb), 5075 cm (2030 inches)large: 512 kg (1025 lb), 75100 cm (3040 inches)whole: over 12 kg (25 lb), over 100 cm (40 inches).

People fly across the States for it, I gather. One keen traveller ran out of the airport and jumped into a cab: 'Take me some place good where I can get scrod!'

The cab drive sat back and paused, admiringly: 'That's a question I've been asked many times. But never in the pluperfect.'

Nowadays in Boston, sadly, and in Gloucester, cod fis.h.i.+ng is not the vast trade it once was. Down at the pierhead auction with George Berkowitz who runs five of the best fish restaurants in Boston (each with a fishmonger's counter beside the till, so that inevitably you walk out with supper after enjoying your lunch), I heard complaints of the great Russian s.h.i.+ps which have invaded the traditional fis.h.i.+ng grounds and hoover up the seabed like a carpet. In Europe, memories of the cod war with Iceland a few years ago are still sharp in many people's minds. Its virtues, now we are unable to take it for granted, are more apparent.

Really fresh cod, not overcooked, falls apart in large firm creamy flakes, and the bones are easy to avoid. Its clean aplomb can be toned down to delicacy with a fine sauce, or underlined with sh.e.l.lfish or bacon, tomatoes, peppers, spices, wine. In batter, quick from the pan with a squeeze of lemon, it is perfect food for hungry people. Smashed down in the blender or processor, cod makes an excellent fish pudding. I use it as a subst.i.tute for un.o.btainable species of fish when trying out a stew. The cod chowders of America's eastern seaboard are infinitely variable, warming food for a cold night.

Cod may not yet be regarded as an epicure's delight, but as the fish of human martyrdom, of the tragedy of lost lives, it does have a splendid novel to itself. In Pecheurs d'Islande Pecheurs d'Islande, Pierre Loti turned the sufferings of this dangerous trade into a work of art, a sustained elegy for the tough, inarticulate Bretons who spent the summer in a frail 'house of planks', rocking on the North Sea in the pale void of the nights, 'under the gaze of this sort of spectral eye which was the sun'. Beneath them, the 'innumerable fish, myriads and myriads, all alike, gliding noiselessly in the same direction, as if they had a goal in their perpetual journeying. They were the cod which were executing their evolutions together... Sometimes, with a sudden stroke of the tail, they all turned together, showing the gleam of their silvered bellies and then the same stroke of tail, the same turn were propagated through the entire shoal in slow undulations, as if thousands of metal blades had given, under water, each a little flash.' Again and again, one of the men who worked in pairs hauled in the lines heavy with fish, the live cod allowed themselves to be caught, 'it was rapid and incessant, this silent fis.h.i.+ng. The other gutted with his large knife, flattened, salted and counted, and all the time the soused fish which was to make their fortune on their return was piling up behind them, streaming and fresh.'

Nowadays, the cod fishermen spend winters there as well, in vast modern trawlers with wireless, and refrigerated chambers for the catch. They have a better chance against the ice and tumult of those bitter seasons off Iceland and the North Cape. It is still hard going, though, for the smaller insh.o.r.e boats out from the Ma.s.sachusetts ports, whose living is so precarious that they turn for home at the last possible moment, fearing to lose any possible chance of the fish that may just turn their sorties from loss to profit.

Some years ago, I was ticked off by a reader on account of my liking for salt cod. 'Poverty food,' she said, 'and in this country, we are beyond the need for that kind of thing.' Certainly the need for salt fish inland for the many fast days of Christianity long ago is no longer with us. The Reformation saw to that and, if it hadn't, modern refrigerated transport would have done so in our time. Now we can eat it for pure pleasure, an extra item in our diet, just as buckling or kippers, ham or bacon, make extra variations on the basic themes of herring and pork.

Salt cod was originally the product of Holland and Scandinavia in the Middle Ages. I have read that Portuguese fishermen who were also after the cod in Greenland waters were setting up their drying tenters on the sh.o.r.es of America and Canada decades before Columbus set sail in 1492. Portugal is reputed to have a salt cod recipe for each day of the year: certainly my own favourite salt cod recipe is Portuguese (p. 103), followed by the creamy savoury pounded salt cod made in Languedoc and northern Italy. It is interesting that the best recipes all come from the destinations of the trade, rather than from its original homes in Holland, Iceland and Norway. In those countries, until quite recent times, you could see green and stony fields white over with fish, laid to dry in an unending patchwork. Nowadays the fish is hung up on racks in huge sheds where the drying is properly regulated and no longer affected by the uncertain weather. The main market was and still is the Mediterranean, with stops on the Atlantic coasts of Spain and Portugal. The s.h.i.+ps brought back wheat and dried fruit.

Along with the salt cod went stockfish, which is made from the same members of the Gadidae Gadidae family, cod, hake, coley and so on, but without the salting process. The fish is simply split and dried. This is the board-like fish that hangs in high rows, fringing shops in Ghana and other parts of Africa, still its main market. You will not find it easy to obtain in Britain or America. In some languages, the word stockfish is used interchangeably with the word for salt cod. And one can make use of them interchangeably in the same recipes, with adjustments of soaking time and seasoning. They are a sombre reminder like black and red herrings ( family, cod, hake, coley and so on, but without the salting process. The fish is simply split and dried. This is the board-like fish that hangs in high rows, fringing shops in Ghana and other parts of Africa, still its main market. You will not find it easy to obtain in Britain or America. In some languages, the word stockfish is used interchangeably with the word for salt cod. And one can make use of them interchangeably in the same recipes, with adjustments of soaking time and seasoning. They are a sombre reminder like black and red herrings (p. 191) of the days of slavery: boats full of salt cod would set out from Boston for Spain and Africa, keeping back a little of their cargo to feed the people that were then crammed into the empty holds for the journey to the West Indies. Their place was taken by the sugar and mola.s.ses of the plantations that the slaves were imported to produce, and so back to Boston. This means, of course, that another source of good salt fish recipes is the Caribbean and Brazil.

HOW TO CHOOSE AND PREPARE COD.

Whether you are buying whole fish, fillets or steaks, the top quality comes from insh.o.r.e codling. It should look particularly bright and fresh; the steaks should have a milky whiteness that draws your eye.

Do not let this put you off coley (also called saithe and coalfish), which is a most unalluring dark greyish-pink colour. Often it is a good second best; it whitens in the cooking and tastes pleasant enough. For Bergen fish soup, below, one of the finest and most delicate of all fish soups, it is essential. You will find it works well in cod chowders (p. 515), too, and for fish stocks when you cannot get hold of fish bones and tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. I admit it is not the best of the cod-like fish hake, haddock, whiting would be most people's preference but I feel protective towards it ever since I heard an old lady say to a fishmonger, 'Oh, and give me a bit of coley for the cat!'

Cod's head and shoulders used to be a favourite of the Victorian family table. There are good pickings, but today we are more squeamish. If you have a modern young fishmonger with a genteel trade, you may be able to get the cod's head from him for very little (an older man may well have a better idea of its worth). Use the head for fish stock, removing the cheeks, jaw muscle, and so on, when they are just cooked. Or make soup see the Salmon head soup on p. 318 p. 318 using the cooked fish as a final garnish. The reason people ate the cod's head and shoulder in the past was because they were quite sufficient for a dish, and also because it is difficult to cook a whole cod evenly 'when the thick part is done, the tail is insipid and overdone'. Codling is all right cooked whole, however. using the cooked fish as a final garnish. The reason people ate the cod's head and shoulder in the past was because they were quite sufficient for a dish, and also because it is difficult to cook a whole cod evenly 'when the thick part is done, the tail is insipid and overdone'. Codling is all right cooked whole, however.

Another comment from Mrs Beeton is that fresh cod can be a little watery in the cooking. If you rub salt into it a couple of hours beforehand, it will stiffen and flavour it. In fact, I find most fish are improved by seasoning in advance, giving the salt time to penetrate. Obviously this works better with steaks and fillets than with whole, unskinned fish: even so, rubbing salt into the cleaned cavity and over the skin does help.

BERGEN FISH SOUP.

This soup was the great delight of a trip we made several years ago now. We were part of a group of journalists from all over the world who were being taken to visit the salmon farms that are staked out in the narrows of the low rocky coast. In between lectures, there was some lovely food, especially one evening at the Royal Hotel, where we were staying: the chef gave us his recipe for the great local speciality, which is made by choice from coley.

Serves 81 kg (2 lb) coley fillet, cubed1 kg (2 lb) fish bones, heads, etc.1 large onion, finely chopped1 large leek, trimmed, sliced2 medium-sized bay leavessalt, pepper1 teaspoon sugarwhite wine vinegar2 medium carrots, cut in julienne stripswhite part of 2 leeks, cut in julienne strips1 tablespoon plain flour2 tablespoons b.u.t.ter3 egg yolks150 ml (5 fl oz) each double and soured creamchopped chivesFISH b.a.l.l.s250 g (8 oz) haddock fillet, skinned teaspoon salt2 teaspoons plain flour2 teaspoons cornflour or or cornstarch cornstarch2 tablespoons soft b.u.t.terpepper, nutmeg225 ml (7 fl oz) cold boiled milk4 tablespoons cold boiled cream Make a stock by simmering the first five ingredients together in plenty of water to cover. Give them 45 minutes, then strain off the stock into a clean pan. Season with salt, pepper and sugar. Liven the flavour with a teaspoon of vinegar, taste and then add a splash or two more but do not overdo it. Pour off enough of the stock into a shallow pan to make a 2-cm (-inch) depth for poaching the fish b.a.l.l.s, which can be made while the stock simmers.

Reduce the haddock, from the fish ball ingredients, and the salt to a fluffy puree in a blender or processor, and add the rest of the ingredients in turn, one by one. Chill the mixture, if this is convenient, while you get on with the soup.

To the large pan of stock, which should be at simmering point, add the carrot shreds. Give them a minute's cooking, then put in the leek. Mash the flour into the b.u.t.ter and add it to the pan in little bits, keeping the soup below simmering point from now on. Beat the egg yolk and creams, whisk in a ladleful of soup and pour back into the pan. Stir for 5 minutes and taste again for seasoning. Put in the chives. Keep warm without further cooking.

To poach the fish b.a.l.l.s, heat the shallow pan of stock to simmering point. Form little b.a.l.l.s, quite tiny ones, with two teaspoons, slipping them into the stock. After 2 minutes, taste one. If it feels light and soft, without any hint of flour, the fish b.a.l.l.s are done. You may well not need all the mixture, which can be kept for another occasion (it is tricky making a smaller quant.i.ty).

Place the fish b.a.l.l.s in the soup, and add their stock to the pan as well. The final result is a creamy white soup, with streaks of colour from the carrot and leek, beautiful and delicate, not insipid.

COD WITH MUSHROOMS.

The important thing is to cook the mushrooms and cod together so that the flavours intermingle. A surprisingly good dish. Aim to keep the mushrooms in a light juice, rather than a lot of liquid.

Serves 66 175250 g (68 oz) cod steakssalt, pepper, nutmeg6 slices of crustless bread cut to the size and shape of the cod125 g (4 oz) clarified b.u.t.terseasoned flour375 g (12 oz) mushrooms, caps sliced, stalks chopped1 clove garlic, crushed, skinned, chopped12 tablespoons chopped parsley Put the steaks on a dish and season them, then set aside while you fry the bread until brown and crisp on one side only, in half the b.u.t.ter. Place the bread, cooked side down, on a hot dish and keep warm.

Dry the fish, turn it in the flour and fry it in the remaining b.u.t.ter. Add the mushrooms and garlic when you turn the cod. Remove the cod when done, putting it on top of the bread. Give the mushrooms a little longer if necessary, and season them. Put them round the cod, sprinkle a little parsley on top of the fish and serve.

NOTE Instead of slices of bread, you could fry small bread dice or coa.r.s.e breadcrumbs and scatter them over the dish before serving. A crisp contrast makes a dish of this kind much livelier. Instead of slices of bread, you could fry small bread dice or coa.r.s.e breadcrumbs and scatter them over the dish before serving. A crisp contrast makes a dish of this kind much livelier.

FISKEPUDDING (Fish pudding) If you visit a Stockholm market, you may well see on the fish stalls a regimentation of what looks like collapsed kugelhupf cakes. A sad and weak-kneed array, to an outsider at least. They are likely to be interspersed with plastic tubs. Customers come along quite briskly all the same. The fishmonger wraps the chosen collapsible in foil, presumably for reheating, and hands over a plastic tub as well. Everyone seems happy. Try this recipe and you will see why. Having a processor is the secret.

Serves 46375 g (12 oz) cod fillet130 g (generous 4 oz) b.u.t.ter, softened2 large egg yolks2 level tablespoons plain flour150 ml (5 fl oz) double cream150 ml (5 fl oz) milk1 teaspoons salt1 teaspoon sugarpepper2 large egg whites.e.xtra b.u.t.ter, for greasing the mould23 tablespoons fine breadcrumbs1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley Sc.r.a.pe the fish from the skin, removing any bones. Process with the b.u.t.ter, yolks, flour, cream and milk and the seasoning, gradually and in batches if necessary. Whisk the whites in a bowl and fold in the fish mixture. Taste for seasoning.

Grease a 1 litre (2 pt) kugelhupf pottery or metal ring mould with b.u.t.ter. Mix crumbs and parsley and shake them about in the mould to coat it. Tip out any surplus.

Put in the fish mixture, cover with b.u.t.tered paper and steam or cook in a bain-marie in a moderate oven, preheated to gas 4, 180 (350F) for an hour or until firm to the touch. Ease with a knife, turn out on to a hot dish and serve with shrimp or prawn sauce, p. 281 p. 281 that is what the plastic pots contained in the Stockholm market. that is what the plastic pots contained in the Stockholm market.

POACHED CODLING WITH OYSTER SAUCE AND MELTED b.u.t.tER.

Here's English cooking for you and, if well done, it is very well worth eating. Do not jib at the quant.i.ty of salt: if the fish is whole, you will find it agreeably seasoned and no more, just as you do when baking a whole fish or whole chicken in a mound of sea salt (p. 367). Oyster sauce is a special treat with chicken and turkey, as well as with white fish of firm quality.

Serves 61 kg (3 lb) codling, cleanedcoa.r.s.e sea or rock saltsprigs of parsleysmall new potatoes, boiledSAUCE24 large or or 36 medium oysters, opened 36 medium oysters, opened60 g (2 oz) b.u.t.ter, softened2 teaspoons plain flourcreamcayenne pepperb.u.t.tER250 g (8 oz) unsalted or lightly salted b.u.t.ter, cut in dice Start with the sauce. Tip the oysters with their juice into a bowl. Swish each oyster about in the liquor to get rid of bits of sh.e.l.l and put it into a small pan. Strain the liquor over them, through a cloth. Bring to simmering point and hold them there until they look plump. Remove immediately and strain off the liquor into a measuring jug. Mash the b.u.t.ter and flour together and put into the top pan of a double-boiler. Add enough cream to the oyster liquor to bring it up to 300 ml (10 fl oz), and add a pinch of cayenne. Leave near the stove for last-minute cooking.

For the melted b.u.t.ter, bring the diced b.u.t.ter to boiling point in a small pan. Let it bubble briefly, then leave for the sediment to settle. Pour off into a small jug, for later reheating.

To poach the cod, lay it on the strainer tray of the fish kettle. Pour over enough water to cover it properly, measuring as you go. Stir in enough sea salt to make a brine, allowing 90 g to every 2 litres of water (or 3 oz to 2 pt). Bring up to a rolling boil, standing the kettle over two burners, then immediately lower the heat so that the water barely trembles. Poach the fish for 1015 minutes, keeping it submerged by laying a dish on top. Test after 10 minutes by giving the first dorsal fin a little tug: if it comes out easily, the fish is done. Remove it to a hot serving dish and keep warm while you complete the oyster sauce.

Have the lower part of the double-boiler half full of boiled water. Pour the oyster and cream mixture into the top part and set it in place. Stir steadily until the sauce thickens: it should become very hot, but not boil. Stir in the oysters and give them a few moments to heat through, without further cooking. Remove and pour into a hot jug. Stand the little jug of melted b.u.t.ter in the double-boiler to heat up.

Surround the cod with sprigs of parsley and boiled potatoes. Serve with the two jugs of sauce and melted b.u.t.ter.

VERY FRESH COD NORWEGIAN STYLE.

A fish straight from the tank should be cleaned preserve liver and roe and cut in 'finger-thick slices'. Keep the head. Put all the fish into a bowl under a running tap until about 30 minutes before the meal, then drain.

Boil water with salt, as above, in a fish kettle. Lower the fish on the strainer tray, then remove the kettle from the heat when water returns to the boil. The slices will be almost cooked. Give them a minute or two more if necessary; the head will not need much longer.

Meanwhile, simmer any roe in salted water separately, tied in muslin, until just firm, about 10 minutes, then serve in slices with the cod. The liver should be chopped and cooked in the minimum of barely salted water with a splash of vinegar: this makes one sauce. Provide another such as hollandaise * or, in nineteenth-century style, an oyster sauce (p. 263). And boiled potatoes. Tuck bunches of parsley around the cod's head, slices and roe.

CRAB STICKS ALIAS POLLOCK (OR CROAKER).

The crab stick or, in some circles, krab stik is a phenomenon of 'high tech'. A fairly recent phenomenon. A fishmonger in Cirencester market gave us a couple free in, I would say, 1983 when they were new on the British scene. Looking first at their rouged cheeks, and then pus.h.i.+ng the thready synthetic sweetness round our mouths, we never thought they would come to anything. If someone had told us that a vast industry in j.a.pan is devoted to such things, we would not have believed them. Yet now crab sticks lurk in the corner of every fishmonger's slab.

I would say that they are spurned by the knowing customer here. Certainly it never occurred to me that crab sticks would appear in the revision of Fish Cookery Fish Cookery until a trip to Paris in 1986. Three of us were taken by SPOEXA to the great food fair that is held there every other year. One evening we went to an elegant restaurant, the Quai des Ormes: among the dishes ordered was pasta with crab sauce. When it came, we were startled to see that the final flourish was an artistically squashed crab stick. Three days later, when I was with friends in Aix en Provence, the cook of the family came home from market with a new treasure. Just the thing, the fishmonger had a.s.sured her, for a nice crab salad, little batons of claw meat. until a trip to Paris in 1986. Three of us were taken by SPOEXA to the great food fair that is held there every other year. One evening we went to an elegant restaurant, the Quai des Ormes: among the dishes ordered was pasta with crab sauce. When it came, we were startled to see that the final flourish was an artistically squashed crab stick. Three days later, when I was with friends in Aix en Provence, the cook of the family came home from market with a new treasure. Just the thing, the fishmonger had a.s.sured her, for a nice crab salad, little batons of claw meat.

When I said, 'Ah, crab sticks!', she was mortified. Next day, we paid the fishmonger a visit. He swore they were the real thing look at the fibres, Mesdames, and the colour that you always find on crab close to the sh.e.l.l. Obviously he believed himself. His sincerity was touching. It made us very nervous. Nothing is more impermeable than a gastronomically sincere French fishmonger except perhaps a gastronomically sincere French chef. The implications are daunting. Watch out when you next go to France. Be wary of crab on the menu.

If crab sticks are not crab, what are they? That, as I discovered from a seafood quarterly, Ocean Leader Ocean Leader, published in Seattle, is more interesting than you might suppose, and far more ancient.

The idea goes back a thousand years, to ingenious j.a.panese fishermen who for one or another reason were too far from home to get back and sell their catch in time. To save what they could, they boned and chopped the fish to a jellied hash that they called surimi surimi. This was mixed with something starchy and salt, and cooked. The resulting paste was then moulded round bamboo sticks (chiku) in rings (wa), for later sale. This faceless edible surimi is a kind of marine tofu. It can be made from many fish, though nowadays it comes mainly from the vast catches of Alaskan pollock (and croaker) in the Bering Sea.