Aug 10

Bacalhao – Salt Cod

Many of us enjoy visiting food markets when we are on holiday or travelling. The best account I have read  of what appeals to us about markets is by US chef and food writer James Beard in his book, Delights and Pleasures. But I also take great pleasure in visiting small, local grocery stores when I am on holiday, especially in more rural areas or in less prosperous parts of cities.  The smell of side-street grocery stores the world over is a mixture of washing powder plus local food staples and in some regions, one dominant staple turns this into a signature whiff.  Nowhere is this more true than in Portugal, where off-white, crusty boards of bacalhao – dried salt cod – are often stacked high on open shelves.


I’m not sure if it would be right to call it a “national dish” but when I asked a Portuguese colleague recently what is typical of her nation’s cooking, she grinned and gasped “bacalhao!” in a mixture of weary groan and dreamy fondness, rolling her eyes to the heavens.  The Portugeuse have an unimaginable repertoire of salt cod dishes. Cod, salted and/or dried in varying degrees, is a common produce across many regions from Scandinavia, through Italy, Spain, Portugal, southern France, to the Caribbean (Ackee and salt fish!) and Alaska and probably other places besides. Naturally, it has its origins in northern climates as a way to preserve fish when catches were good and as winter protein. There aren’t many cod in the Med, but preservation helps food to travel and to survive in hotter climates as an exotic delicacy. It is telling that in Portuguese, cod in its unpreserved form must be distinguished as “bacalhao fresco”. In Italy, salt cod may have originally been an import via Portugal but there is also a story of a Venetian shipwreck at Lofoton island, off Norway, where the nobleman Piero Querini and his crew were so enamoured of the local dried cod that they returned it to Venice as a delicacy. There are regional confusions in Italy of the terms baccala and stoccafisso meaning variously salted or dried cod. On a recent trip to Venice I tasted Baccala Mantecato di Venezia, a dish of creamed cod similar to Provencal brandade and effectively mayonnaise made with fish instead of eggs. Two fluffy, pearlescent dollops arrived with toasts and a slice of lemon – a fatty, fibrous texture like rillettes, with the distinctive salt-cod taste, so familiar from Spanish croquetas.  I have been desperate to try it again ever since, intrigued by trying to reproduce it, with a fillet of salt cod sitting in the fridge waiting for its chance!  I am not sure whether Venetians most normally use salt cod or stockfish for this dish – perhaps someone will set me straight? – but it seems to have worked fine. What was satisfying about making this dish was that the dynamic was similar to beating egg white or cream but in reverse: you pummel and beat away at it for about half an hour, and only when it is broken down enough and loosened with enough oil and water does it get loose enough to whip air into it and it suddenly jumps into its final form.


Where else in the world is preserved cod a delicacy or staple and what do they do with it?

Aug 01

Globe artichoke

Version 2Strangely, I have always thought of globe artichoke as a hazard food…occupying the same place in my mind as, say, durian fruit or puffer fish. With the durian fruit, it’s a hideous smell and with the puffer fish it’s the poison but what these all have in common, is that the gourmet’s prize is supposed to be worth the hazard. Err, yes and with the artichoke? Well, having parents of the ‘modern’ variety, I was encouraged to eat grown up foods from very early on. Children were rarely served up something different and we now adopt the same policy with our own children. When I was a child growing up in the North of England, artichokes were an uncommon delicacy from continental Europe. Those that were available were the large, full grown heads. Whether expensive or not, they were certainly a treat. So they were usually boiled whole. That way, we made the most of it by tearing the leaves off one by one, sometimes sharing. The sense of delicacy attained by that mode of eating was immense: Dipping each morsel in vinaigrette, then turning the leaf to scrape the tender smear of flesh from its root with your bottom teeth, then savouring the unusual flavour. Both the act of dipping and of extracting with the teeth are actions we naturally associate with delicacy. They appeal to the human animal in us all, and to children especially, with their enviable lack of self consciousness. But that is just the beginning, because eating an artichoke like this is so much more; it is a religious allegory! Those who are humble as they climb the Hill Difficulty will be rewarded with a joyous abundance in the Delectable Mountains…but not before they endure one more test in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, for Beelzebub shoots arrows! Enough butchering of Bunyan.  As a child I was instructed how to remove the hairy core cleanly from the heart before slicing up this prize. But I did not have the dexterity to do this and remember the horror of these irritant hairs stuck in my throat. These days I can dodge the arrows. Home alone last Monday night, I cut my first home grown artichoke of the season and trotted confidently up the Hill.