Forever Summer (12 page)

Soak some wooden skewers in water, and then thread about three cubes of salmon on to each skewer. Barbecue or grill the fish for 3–4 minutes each side.

Makes 5 skewers.

COCONUT AND CHILLI SALMON KEBABS

I tend to shunt these kebabs on to my barbecue, but you can just as easily blister them under the grill. Think green Thai curry without the sauce – and to be frank you could stay within the correct register and just as easily make up kebabs by using chunked chicken or whole tiger prawns instead.

2 small Thai green chillies, roughly chopped

6 spring onions, roughly chopped

bunch fresh coriander, roughly chopped

1 tablespoon Thai fish sauce

juice of 2 limes

1 x 400g tin coconut milk

pinch salt

1 teaspoon caster sugar

1kg salmon fillet, cut into large cubes

Put the chillies, spring onions and coriander in a food processor and blitz until finely chopped. Add the fish sauce, lime juice, coconut milk, salt and sugar, and purée again until you have a thick paste.

Put the salmon cubes into a freezer bag and pour in the coconut marinade. Squeeze out the air, seal the bag tightly and leave in the fridge for at least an hour.

Thread the salmon on to wooden skewers that have been soaked in water; roughly, you should get about three cubes of fish for each kebab.

Barbecue for about 5 minutes; it’s hard for me to be specific since I don’t know how hot you can get your barbecue. And I find about 3 minutes a side more or less does it under a hot grill.

Makes about 10 skewers.

SEAFOOD LAKSA

I love a laksa, that noodly hot, sweet stew, somewhere between a soup and a curry. I know there are a lot of ingredients, but the cooking itself is not labour intensive. If you can’t find little red Thai shallots, then just use the same number of spring onions, chopped roughly before being put into the processor for blitzing. You can presume, as always, that the fish stock is not intended to be made from boney scratch. The regular bouillon concentrate will do fine.

2 long red chillies, deseeded

2cm ginger, peeled

1 teaspoon shrimp paste

8 Thai shallots, peeled

1 teaspoon turmeric

2 tablespoons groundnut oil

1 x 400ml tin coconut milk

1 litre fish stock

1 lemongrass, cut into 3

1 teaspoon tamarind water

2 teaspoons sugar

2 tablespoons fish sauce

250g medium raw prawns

250g cleaned squid tubes

125g beansprouts

250g medium flat rice noodles

bunch of coriander, chopped

Put the chillies, ginger, shrimp paste, shallots and turmeric into a food processor and blitz to a paste. Heat the oil in a wide saucepan and tip the mixture in, frying gently to soften but not colour.

Add the coconut milk, fish stock, lemongrass, tamarind, sugar and fish sauce, and bring to the boil.

Butterfly the prawns by cutting halfway through the inside curve of each prawn so that they fan out. Cut the squid into bite-sized squares and score them in a hatch pattern, taking care not to cut them all the way through. Add the seafood to the laksa, and then soak the beansprouts for a few seconds in boiling water and the noodles for a little longer until they rehydrate. (Check the packet instructions for the noodles you are using.) When the prawns and squid are cooked, in about 5–10 minutes, add the beansprouts and noodles and take the pan off the heat.

Ladle into bowls, sprinkling some freshly chopped coriander on top.

Serves 4–6.

MARINATED SALMON WITH CAPERS AND GHERKINS

I first ate this sitting under a shade on a small, unpeopled Ibicencan beach bar a few summers ago, and just had to make it, or a version of it, myself once back. It’s not what one might automatically think of as Spanish food; the fish, the way it’s prepared, as well as the dill that’s sprinkled on top remind me far more of northern European cooking. Still, let’s be realistic; the influx of Germans over the years (while it hasn’t reached Mallorcan levels of teutonisation) must account for its inclusion on the menu in the first place.

But derivation is of academic interest only. This is wonderful: light and refreshing and very, very easy to put together. It does, however, need to be cooked, if that’s the word, at the last minute; any more than 10 minutes’ steeping and the lime juice denatures and bleaches the salmon too much. Though if the idea of uncooked salmon spooks you – though why? – you can turn the slices quickly in a hot, oilless frying pan first.

If you get the salmon from a fishmonger, ask for it to be sliced like smoked salmon; otherwise just buy escalopes. I have to say, though, that I love it unmarinaded: that’s to say, left fleshily raw and coral still; you don’t have to change anything about the way you prepare it, you just take it to the table the minute everything’s on the plate.

Dill is one of those herbs which you love or detest; feel free to substitute chives or coriander or, indeed, leave it herbless.

juice of 1 lime

1 x 15ml tablespoon extra virgin olive oil

Maldon salt

white pepper, only if you have it to hand

325g salmon, sliced very thin

6 baby gherkins

4 tablespoons capers

fresh dill for sprinkling over

Squeeze the lime juice into a jug and fork in the the oil, salt and pepper. Using a pair of scissors, cut the salmon pieces into rough raggedy strips and arrange them on a large plate or a couple of plates. Pour the lime juice mixture over, cut the baby gherkins into slender slices lengthways and toss them, along with the capers, on top.

Sprinkle with dill and take to the table. Some Northern impulse in me makes me want to prompt you to eat it with pumpernickel. But buttered brown bread is fine: or (as I, to be frank, most often eat it), go pure and carbohydrate-free and just put a green salad on the table alongside.

Serves 4.

GRILLED SARDINES WITH LEMON SALSA

There is something about fresh, really fresh, grilled sardines that reminds me instantly of those long holiday lunches in rented summer houses abroad. But if neither sardines, nor a fishmonger to fillet them, are available, know that this lemon salsa is terrific with any fish – and indeed most meats. Most often I use mint in this; sometimes I replace it with coriander: occasionally I use both, in tandem. I don’t think there’s a way this could taste bad. Try it with a little bit of chopped tarragon alongside some summery-grilled chicken.

24 medium sardines (boned)

for the salsa:

2 lemons

1 large or 2 small red onions

small bunch fresh parsley

small bunch fresh mint (or coriander)

125ml extra virgin olive oil

juice of half a lemon

Maldon salt and black pepper

Preheat the grill (or a barbecue) to the hottest it will go.

Peel the lemons following the instructions for the
lemony prawn salad
, then chop them roughly and chuck them in a bowl. Now chop the red onion, parsley and mint (or coriander) either by hand or in the processor, being careful – please – not to turn them to mush.

Mix the oniony herby mixture with the chunks of lemon in the bowl and stir in the olive oil and lemon juice, salt and pepper. Sometimes, I have to say, I add some crumbled dried red chilli pepper (or a finely chopped fresh green or red chilli) as well.

Leave the salsa to macerate while you cook the sardines. When they’re really fresh, they scarcely need much time: just blitz them under a hot grill, transfer them to a waiting plate, sprinkle with Maldon salt and take to the table with the summer-sharp lemon salsa in its bowl alongside.

Serves 6–8.

PEPPER-SEARED TUNA

Those of my vintage may remember this dish from the eighties fondly as Tataki of Tuna: a log of ludicrously rubied fish, rolled in pepper, briefly seared and eaten finely sliced with shredded spring onions and twiggy strips of cucumber. Dunk in soy as you eat or go for the
Vietnamese dipping sauce
to go with it, or simply make up a few blobs of sinus-clearing wasabi. And if you do have some wasabi to hand, you can use this for smearing over the tuna, before coating it with peppercorns, in place of the English mustard stipulated below.

1 tablespoon sesame oil

1 teaspoon English mustard

3–4 tablespoons black peppercorns, crushed roughly in a pestle and mortar

500g sashimi-quality tuna fillet, cut in a log of even thickness at either end

to serve:

cucumber, cut into slender batons

a few spring onions, cut into short lengths and then into fine strips

In a small bowl mix the oil and mustard, and use a pastry brush to paint it on the tuna. Roll the tuna in the crushed peppercorns so that the long sides of the log are covered, but the ends are not.

Heat a dry frying pan until it’s very hot and cook the tuna on all the long sides, searing the fish to about 3mm in a circle around the edge. You’ll be able to see how much of it’s cooked, because the ruby flesh will turn brown and the depth of the ring, if you see what I mean, will be evident from the uncoated round ends. Take out of the pan immediately and cool on a plate.

With a sharp knife cut into the finest slices you can and serve with the cucumber and spring onions and soy, dipping sauce, wasabi, as you please.

Serves 8 as a starter.

KERALAN FISH CURRY WITH LEMON RICE

I’m on dangerous ground. Let me admit this straightaway. The recipe I’m about to give you is, purportedly, from Kerala – and have I ever been there? Well, I dream. And my excuse is, making this food is my way of dreaming. But even had I been there I wouldn’t be making any straight-faced claims for the ensuing recipe’s authenticity. One always has to be honest, and I’m never going to be other than a greedy girl with a wide-ranging appetite: what I can never be is Keralan.

But I have eaten Keralan food, cooked by those who actually come from there and, being a complete cookbook junkie, have the titles to slaver over in the comfort of my own home. And I love the food from this region. It is such a refined cuisine, in the best sense: the spices are used delicately to produce food that is aromatic rather than cough-inducingly hot; the scents of coconut, lime, coriander, pervade rather than invade.

This tamarind-tangy curry, the fragrant lemoniness of the rice, make for a perfect dinner on a hot night; light enough not to knock you out, but spiced enough to prompt a heat-drowsy appetite. And it is such gloriously easy food to make. In summer, particularly, that counts.