These remarkably versatile discs of pure muscle could have been created for the table. They are a portion control officer’s dream and lend themselves to the neatest of presentation in perfect little circles. Sliced ever so thinly and dribbled or dressed with a sauce, they are also a boon to the profit-conscious. It is a pity to muck them about with too many other flavors or, similarly, with too many other textures. I was once served one raw scallop cut so paper-thin that you could see the pattern of the plate on which it lay. It had been smeared with a sticky sour-sweet dressing that reminded me of burned ketchup. This meager portion had then been topped up with a hive of deep-fried strips of leek that resembled unraveled Shredded Wheat. Naturally, any flavor, or texture for that matter, had been completely obliterated by a cowboy cook. I happen to like sashimi (Japanese raw fish) but prepared by someone Japanese who has the sensitivity to know when to leave well enough alone.
But this sweet and succulent mollusc comes into its own when it is shown the heat of a hot frying pan. Generally, I find that many cooks are not brave enough when frying or grilling scallops—or for that matter any fish or meat that requires a crust to bring out its savory qualities. The oil or butter must be hot enough to create a seal, otherwise water and juices flow forth and boil the chosen morsel into submission.
My favorite way of cooking scallops is to leave them whole and give them a thorough frying in very hot olive oil until one side forms the sort of jammy crust that you might find on an excellent roast potato. I then flip them over and cook for a few seconds longer. Then straight out of the pan onto the plate. Much garlic and chopped parsley are then thrown into the pan with a little more oil, sizzled briefly, and poured over the scallops. (The smell, by the way, is just fabulous.) Some bread, a piece of lemon, and a glass of cold Sancerre would be fitting accompaniments to a dish that I dare say is almost without peers.
Versatility is the scallop’s middle name, however, and some of the following recipes are also delicious. But you can’t beat the simple ones, can you?
The recipe for this is so simple that it almost doesn’t need recording. However, it’s good to have it written down so that it doesn’t get forgotten. The word “Provençal,” in everybody’s language, usually means tomatoes, garlic, and olive oil; in this recipe it is just that.
The definitive version of this particular dish I first ate at Chez L’Ami Louis.
2 large or 4 small very ripe tomatoes
¼ cup olive oil
salt and pepper
20 medium scallops, cleaned, roes intact
¼ cup butter
4 large garlic cloves, peeled and coarsely chopped
1 small bunch of flat-leaf parsley, leaves only, coarsely chopped
lemon wedges, to serve
If the tomatoes are large, slice them in half horizontally. Season and either broil or bake with a little of the olive oil until on the point of collapse and a little blistered. I always think that if you are going to cook a tomato, then cook it right through—there’s nothing worse than a hot, raw tomato. Meanwhile, heat a heavy-bottomed frying pan with a little more of the olive oil until almost smoking. Season the scallops and fry until really crusty and browned. The secret is to give them longer than you think before turning them over. When cooked—which should only take a matter of minutes—remove from the pan and keep warm with the tomatoes, which should be cooked by now. Add the butter to the pan and heat until foaming. Throw in the garlic, sizzle well, and add the parsley. Spoon over the scallops and tomatoes and serve with the lemon wedges.
Sauce Bercy is one of those classic French sauces that is just perfection. It is as simple as can be—a few shallots, a little white wine, and some parsley. But it is extremely versatile and with slight variations can accompany both fish and meat. The making of it has similarities to beurre blanc but its taste is quite different. It is delicious spooned over grilled and sliced fillet steak, calves’ liver, kidneys, and suchlike, and here one would introduce a touch of meat glaze to the sauce (see here).
4 shallots, peeled and finely chopped
1 cup dry white wine
1 thyme sprig
6 tbsp strong fish or chicken stock
6 tbsp cold unsalted butter, cut into chunks
salt and pepper
20 scallops, trimmed, roes intact
1 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp very finely chopped flat-leaf parsley
a squeeze of lemon juice
Preheat a cast-iron ribbed or flat-topped griddle. In a stainless steel or enamel pan, combine the shallots, wine, and thyme. Bring to the boil and reduce by three-quarters. Remove the thyme, add the stock, and further reduce by a quarter. On a very low heat, whisk in the butter, piece by piece. Check for seasoning and keep warm. Season the scallops, brush with the olive oil, and grill them until they are nicely charred on each side. Finish the sauce by adding the parsley and lemon juice, and spoon it over the scallops. Serve with boiled potatoes.
The first time I saw this recipe was in The Four Seasons Cookery Book by Margaret Costa. I have seen other versions since, so here’s another one. The marriage of scallop and Jerusalem artichoke is astonishingly good.
¼ cup butter
1 large onion, peeled and finely chopped
1 cup either fish or light chicken stock
1 bay leaf
1 thyme sprig
1½ cups milk
8 oz Jerusalem artichokes, peeled and coarsely chopped
salt and pepper
8 scallops, cleaned, roes intact, cut into large chunks
½ cup heavy cream
2 tbsp chopped flat-leaf parsley
croûtons to serve
Melt the butter and fry the onion until thoroughly soft without coloring. Add the stock, bay leaf, and thyme, cover, and simmer gently for 10 minutes or so. Add the milk and the artichokes, bring to the boil, season well, and simmer once more until the artichokes are completely collapsed. You may find that the liquid has a messy separated look about it, but once it has been blended until smooth (and it must be mixed in the blender), it will all come back together. Before processing the soup, strain off a large ladle of the liquid and in a small pan gently poach the scallops for a few seconds until just firm. Lift out with a slotted spoon, put on a warm plate, and cover. Return the liquor to the soup, remove the thyme and bay leaf, and blend until smooth. Pass through a fine sieve, reheat with the cream and parsley, and, finally, stir in the scallops to warm through. Serve with croûtons.
