In my view there is no substitute for seasonal wild salmon caught from our rivers in the British Isles. Many, I know, disagree with me and would wish to put me to the test and see if I could tell the difference between a fish from the Tay and a bright red, too-evenly textured specimen from a computer-controlled farming station. Let’s face it, flavor and texture are paramount. The very appearance of a fine wild salmon is a joy to behold. Its life has been full of adventure. Swimming up and down river and stream, out to sea and back, leaping up gushing waterfalls and spawning in the most natural way.
When you see the real thing alongside its lowly pretender on a fishmonger’s slab, all is revealed. Shining, glossy skin with large scales, a resolute firmness of flesh, prominent well-formed fins and tail, and a brightness of eye.
Its neighbor, however, sports stunted growth in the fin and tail departments, and has softer flesh. After all, man cannot “farm” characteristics.
It is very easy to cook salmon. Its fatty makeup allows a few degrees of heat either way that will not spoil the texture or taste of the fish. That is not to say that you can put it on a low heat and go out to the pub.
Like many fish (or for that matter meat or poultry), its taste and texture are far superior when cooked on the bone. This applies to a whole fish, a piece cut from it, or even a steak. That is not to say that salmon cannot be enjoyed as a fillet; indeed, for some recipes it is essential.
I love whole salmon poached in a good court-bouillon (vegetables, a splash of wine, herbs), simply lifted off the bone, skinned, and served with hollandaise sauce, new potatoes, and a cucumber salad dressed with a little wine vinegar. It is the perfect summer lunch.
When I was a child this was a special Saturday night supper, always cooked by my father. The smells emanating from the kitchen said summer had arrived. Apple mint in the new potatoes; the aroma of cucumber mixed with vinegar, parsley being minced (he used a funny multi-chopper that always left a deep green ring on the chopping board) and fresh peas simmering. Also the slightly nutty smell of butter seeping out of the foil-wrapped salmon cooking in the oven (we didn’t have a fish kettle and if you don’t have one either this is another successful way to cook salmon).
Thinking of other ways of cooking salmon, a fond memory of a delicious supper cooked by a friend several years ago comes to mind. This was a small fish weighing around 5 lb. It had been gutted, its head removed, and the scales scraped off. Its skin had been rubbed with salt. The friend in question had a very well-equipped kitchen that included a huge heavy cast-iron frying pan into which she melted much farmhouse butter. The pan amply accommodated the whole fish and it was vigorously fried until the skin attained the texture of sandpaper.
All that was served with this fabulous fish were peas and pink fir apple potatoes gathered from her garden that very evening. Butter from the frying of the fish, and some cut lemons were the only accompaniments.
It just goes to show that simple preparations, good ingredients, and a confidence in what you feel to be just right is the key to good food.
I would like here to sing the praises of George Perry-Smith, one of the great pioneers who changed the eating habits of an apathetic British public. Alongside Kenneth Bell, Francis Coulson, Ray Parkes, William Heptinstall, and others, George Perry-Smith breathed new life into the hearts of a post-war restaurant-going public.
He made his name at The Hole in the Wall in Bath, which he opened in the late 1950s. And Elizabeth David was his biggest influence.
An early menu from the 1960s that I have would not be out of place today. Moreover, it reads like a testament of sensibility, good taste, and fine tradition—much in fact that is missing in a fiercely competitive restaurant scene today. Only the prices seem mythical.
With much respect and a great deal of admiration, I hereby salute you, George, with my version of your most famous creation.
I think this derives from an old English recipe where sweet ingredients were often used with meat and fish. It may sound odd to use preserved ginger together with further sweetness from the currants, but it works like a dream.
12 oz brioche paste or puff pastry
3–4 globes of preserved (stem) ginger
2 tbsp currants
½ cup butter, softened
salt and pepper
a pinch of ground mace
1½ lb filleted salmon, skinned and boned, cut from a central piece
1 egg yolk
Divide the brioche paste or puff pastry into four 3-oz pieces. Roll out very thinly to approximately 5-inch squares and chill on a lightly floured pan in the fridge. Cut the stem ginger into slivers, and pour a little boiling water on the currants and leave to swell up for 5–10 minutes. Drain the currants and stir into the butter together with the ginger, salt and pepper, and the mace. Divide the salmon into four equal pieces and spread each one with the seasoned butter. Chill. Mix the egg yolk with a little water and with a pastry brush paint one side of each piece of pastry. Place each piece of salmon in the middle of the eggy side, butter-side down, and form a parcel with the join on top. Now turn the parcel over so that the butter-side of the fish is uppermost. Chill once more for about 30 minutes. Meanwhile preheat the oven to 400°F. Brush the parcels of salmon with more egg yolk, mark a crisscross pattern, if desired, with a small knife, and place on a buttered baking sheet. Cook for 20–30 minutes or until golden brown.
George Perry-Smith used to serve a sauce Messine with this—an herb and cream sauce sharpened with lemon juice. I prefer a hollandaise sauce lightened with whipped cream. But as the dish itself is very rich, it is equally nice just served with a wedge of lemon. A big bunch of watercress and some new potatoes are all the accompaniments necessary.
One might say that this recipe is old-hat but the combination of salmon with this classic French sauce is truly remarkable. There have been many recipes for beurre blanc in many books and too many comments about its trickiness. It is in fact very easy.
I first tasted beurre blanc in the Loire valley when I was about twelve. It was served with local salmon and I shall never forget its buttercup yellow color, sweet yet sour taste, and its divine richness. The very finest chopped shallots had been left in the sauce. These days they are often sieved out, which is a shame because then it just becomes another little butter sauce. To add cream is heresy, and so is using onions in place of shallots. Also, some people suggest using white wine and vinegar or just white wine. I find that white wine is unnecessary. Just vinegar with a little water is the right thing to do.
2 pints water
2 carrots, peeled and sliced
1 large onion, peeled and sliced
1 celery stick, sliced
2 cloves
a few peppercorns
2 bay leaves
1 tbsp salt
2 tbsp white wine vinegar
2-lb piece of wild salmon on the bone
6 tbsp white wine vinegar
¼ cup water
4 shallots, peeled and very finely chopped
salt and white pepper
1 cup cold, unsalted butter, cut into cubes
a squeeze of lemon juice
Put all the ingredients for the court-bouillon in a large pan, preferably stainless steel or enamel. Bring to the boil and simmer for 20 minutes. Slip in the salmon, bring back to the boil, switch off the heat, cover, and leave for 20–30 minutes. The fish should easily be cooked through after this time, but a few minutes longer left in this liquid is not going to spoil the fish.
To make the beurre blanc, take a small stainless steel or enamel pan and in it put the vinegar, water, and chopped shallots. Add a pinch of salt and a grinding of pepper. Over a high heat, reduce until all the liquid has evaporated. Over the lowest thread of heat, whisk in the butter piece by piece until all has been incorporated. The result should be of a consistency similar to thin cream. Taste for seasoning and add lemon juice to taste. Keep warm.
Carefully lift the salmon out of the court-bouillon. Remove the skin and lift the flesh off the bones onto a warmed dish. Serve with boiled potatoes, a fresh green vegetable such as string beans, and hand the sauce separately.
To cook salmon in this way, with the skin intact, produces a marvelous crust with the flesh of the fish being just cooked. The accompanying sauce is aromatic and mayonnaise-like in consistency and the fennel salad provides a nice crunchy contrast. You will need a stove-top cast-iron ribbed grill for this dish.
1½-lb piece of boned fillet of salmon, scaled but not skinned, cut into 4 pieces
a little olive oil
1 tbsp Maldon sea salt
pepper
2 fennel bulbs, well trimmed and very thinly sliced
salt and pepper
juice of 1 lemon
3 tbsp olive oil
a bunch of flat-leaf parsley, leaves only
a bunch of watercress, leaves only
4 tarragon sprigs, leaves only
4 mint sprigs, leaves only
10 basil leaves
2 anchovy fillets
1 quantity aïoli made with half the amount of garlic (see here)
Put the fennel in a bowl, season with salt and pepper, add lemon juice, and mix thoroughly. Spoon over the olive oil and leave to marinate.
Preheat the grill. Bring a large pan of water to the boil, throw in the parsley and watercress leaves, give a quick stir, and drain. Rinse briefly with cold water and squeeze dry in a tea towel. Chop the tarragon, mint, and basil leaves with the anchovies until extremely fine. Do the same to the parsley and watercress, and stir all of them into the aïoli. Check the seasoning and sharpen with a little extra lemon juice if necessary.
Brush the skin side of the salmon with olive oil and sprinkle evenly with the Maldon salt. Grind pepper over the flesh side. Place on the grill, skin side down, and cook for about 3–5 minutes or until the skin is well crisped and almost blackened. Turn over and cook on the flesh side for about the same amount of time. Transfer to a hot plate and rest in a lukewarm oven for 5 minutes. Arrange on individual plates together with the fennel salad and a spoonful of the sauce verte. Serve with lemon wedges if you wish.
Although this is another traditional, and one might think uninspired, recipe, it is one of the nicest ways to eat salmon. Hollandaise and salmon were made for each other and the cucumber salad is just delicious.
For the cooking of the salmon, follow the recipe for Poached Salmon with Beurre Blanc (see here).
1½ lb salmon, on the bone
1 quantity court-bouillon (see here)
¾ cup unsalted butter
2 egg yolks
salt and pepper
juice of ½ lemon
1 cucumber, peeled and thinly sliced
3 tbsp white wine vinegar
½ tbsp chopped fresh dill
salt and pepper
½ tbsp sugar
Place all the ingredients for the pickled cucumber in a bowl and mix thoroughly. Leave to marinate.
Melt the butter, leave to rest for a few moments, and skim off the froth that will collect on top. Whisk the 2 egg yolks with a splash of cold water over a very low heat until thick. Continue whisking while adding the melted butter. Incorporate all of it but leave the milky residue behind. Season and add the lemon juice.
Fillet and skin the cooked salmon and serve with some new potatoes. Serve the pickled cucumber and the hollandaise separately.
For this recipe I use a basic salsa, as ceviche itself derives from Mexico and is, when all’s said and done, raw fish “cooked” (i.e., marinated) in lime juice. The other basic ingredient in ceviche is usually just onion but together with the tomato, cilantro, and chilli, this dish comes into its own. The chopped and seasoned avocado is an addition of my own and closely resembles that other Mexican favorite, guacamole.
1 lb fillet of salmon, skinned and boned
4 ripe tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and finely chopped
green chillies, seeded and chopped, to taste (I would use between 4 and 6 small hot chillies, which will produce quite a fiery ceviche)
juice of 2 limes
1 small red onion, peeled and finely chopped
1 bunch of cilantro, leaves only
salt
2 small ripe avocados
1 garlic clove, peeled and finely chopped
juice of 1 lime
2 tbsp olive oil
salt and pepper
Cut the salmon into chunky slivers and mix together with the tomatoes, chillies, lime juice, and onion. Chop the cilantro leaves coarsely and add to the mixture, and season. Leave to marinate for about 1 hour but no longer; any longer than this and the fish will be too “cooked.”
Meanwhile, peel the avocados, coarsely chop, and put in a bowl. Mix with the garlic, lime juice, olive oil, and seasoning.
The nicest way to serve this dish is to put a bowl of ceviche and a bowl of the avocado on the table, and let people help themselves. Serve with crusty bread or, to be really authentic, corn chips. Also a bowl of sour cream is an added indulgence.