A Personal Journey – Through Celtic Lands and Flavours

Shallow Fried Ling — My Version of Fish and Chips at Home

Ling is not my favourite fish, but it’s honest, tasty, and easy to cook. I had a good fillet tonight — about 600 g — and as I walked downstairs I was convinced I’d make fishcakes. Ling is perfect for that. But halfway down the stairs I changed my mind. Twice. First it became a fish pie, then a bake, and then — thanks to something about fish and chips on the TV — I suddenly wanted something fried.

I love fish and chips, though I hardly ever eat them. The last time was over six months ago at the Black Country Living Museum, fried in beef fat — delicious, but that’s a story for another day. So tonight I decided to shallow fry my ling.

Before dealing with the fish, I made a hot fennel chutney. I fried chopped onion, garlic and ginger in rapeseed oil, then added carrots, rhubarb, chilli and sweet pepper. A splash of soy sauce, barley vinegar and Worcestershire sauce brought it together. Instead of tomato purée, I added a generous spoon of black treacle, finishing with chopped celery greens. While the chutney simmered, I sent new potato wedges into the oven. When I’m in a hurry, I cheat: I cut the potatoes into wedges, toss them with rapeseed oil and herbs, microwave them for three minutes — twice — and then finish them in the oven at 180°C for about twenty minutes. It works every time.

With the chutney ready and the potatoes baking, I turned to the ling. The fillet made life easy. I cut it into medium pieces, whisked two eggs with a little salt, and dipped the fish in the mixture. Then I coated each piece in breadcrumbs mixed with turmeric, paprika and dried dill, and into the frying pan they went.

The whole process took about an hour, though I was doing other things at the same time.

In the end, it was a sort of fish and chips evening — familiar, but different. And very nice. I’ll definitely make it again, maybe with pollack, pouting, cod or haddock. Next time I might skip the egg and make the chutney hotter with more chilli.

It was a good dinner. And I have plenty of fish left for tomorrow… and the day after. Some will go into the freezer tonight.

Whiting? Again? Yes — and this time baked with ginger

I remember the fish counter in our old supermarket in Bude ten years ago: pouting, coley, whiting… a surprisingly good selection for a small town. These days the counter is smaller, the variety not what it used to be. But here in Finistère, where I’m staying until the end of the month, every trip to the nearest supermarket feels like a small adventure. The choice is good, the prices fair, and there is always something new — or something nearly forgotten by many.

Today it was whiting. Tacaud, as they call it in French. A simple, tasty fish, and at 4 euros per kilo, almost impossible to resist. I bought two whole ones, about 400 g each. They were gutted at the shop, heads and tails still on — perfect for me tonight. If my family were here, I’d probably have filleted them, but cooking for myself, I wanted the ease and honesty of the whole fish.

I kept things simple. A baking tray brushed with a little oil. The whiting sprinkled with salt and dried dill. Slices of fresh ginger — unpeeled, just washed — tucked around them. A handful of fresh celery leaves in the corners. Half a lemon squeezed over the fish. A drizzle of naturally brewed soy sauce (not the dark, sugary stuff)..

I covered the tray with foil, matte side up, and baked it at 180°C for 25 minutes. Then I removed the foil and let the fish catch a little colour for a couple more minutes.
I served my dear whiting with thinly sliced roasted potatoes and a ratatouille that, if I’m honest, resembles a chutney more than a classic stew — not much sauce, but full of flavour. Pickled onions on the side, and of course a spoon of horseradish for that sharp, piquant touch I love.

Simple. Honest. Very good.

Scallops, Boudin and Samphire — A Celtic Surf and Turf

I couldn’t pass the fishmonger on my way back from my usual Saturday swim in Châteauneuf du Faou. Saturdays are their big day — the supermarket closes on Sunday, so they try to sell as much as possible, and there’s always a good choice of seafood at a very good price. Bonne marché, as they say.

Today I spotted half priced scallops. Good job I didn’t buy them yesterday, I thought. I wanted to treat myself tonight. Scallops, black pudding, and samphire — a classic combination I’ve enjoyed many times in Cornwall, sometimes as a starter in small cafés or good restaurants. But now I’m in Finistère, and voilà: a dozen scallops, two handfuls of fresh samphire, and the boudin I bought yesterday as if I somehow knew what I’d be cooking tonight.

It didn’t take long. I fried the scallops in olive oil — yes, I know, butter is traditional, but I don’t like the taste of anything cooked in butter. Three minutes on each side and they were ready. Of course I had to grab one or two with my fingers, just to taste. Then I fried the sliced boudin in the same pan, in the scallop oil, five minutes on each side, no more. The samphire simmered for a moment, just enough to soften it.
Lemon wedges, horseradish (I always bring some from Cornwall — impossible to find here), and a sprinkle of fresh fennel greens because I ran out of dill, which I love. And that was it.
I’m enjoying the taste again as I write: the sea and the ocean in every bite of the scallops, followed by the slightly salty samphire, and then down to earth with the boudin, sharpened by the horseradish. Everything brightened with lemon juice and the gentle anise of fennel.
Believe it or not, I finished the whole plate. Not a tiny bit left. What a great dinner. Vive la Finistère.

Scallops, Boudin and Samphire — A Celtic Surf and Turf

I couldn’t pass the fishmonger on my way back from my usual Saturday swim in Châteauneuf du Faou. Saturdays are their big day — the supermarket closes on Sunday, so they try to sell as much as possible, and there’s always a good choice of seafood at a very good price. Bonne marché, as they say.

Today I spotted half priced scallops. Good job I didn’t buy them yesterday, I thought. I wanted to treat myself tonight. Scallops, black pudding, and samphire — a classic combination I’ve enjoyed many times in Cornwall, sometimes as a starter in small cafés or good restaurants. But now I’m in Finistère, and voilà: a dozen scallops, two handfuls of fresh samphire, and the boudin I bought yesterday as if I somehow knew what I’d be cooking tonight.

It didn’t take long. I fried the scallops in olive oil — yes, I know, butter is traditional, but I don’t like the taste of anything cooked in butter. Three minutes on each side and they were ready. Of course I had to grab one or two with my fingers, just to taste. Then I fried the sliced boudin in the same pan, in the scallop oil, five minutes on each side, no more. The samphire simmered for a moment, just enough to soften it.
Lemon wedges, horseradish (I always bring some from Cornwall — impossible to find here), and a sprinkle of fresh fennel greens because I ran out of dill, which I love. And that was it.
I’m enjoying the taste again as I write: the sea and the ocean in every bite of the scallops, followed by the slightly salty samphire, and then down to earth with the boudin, sharpened by the horseradish. Everything brightened with lemon juice and the gentle anise of fennel.
Believe it or not, I finished the whole plate. Not a tiny bit left. What a great dinner. Vive la Finistère.

Shallow-Fried Whiting and Sand eels with Remoulade

We came back from the western coast with fresh fish, and I cooked it the next day — gutted, shallow-fried, with roasted potatoes and a quick remoulade. Nothing complicated, just a simple meal after a long weekend with the family and the dogs.

The remoulade is a simple Danish-style sauce: grated sweet pickled cornichons soaked in lemon juice, finely chopped onion, a bit of mayo, a bit of yogurt, and some dill (I used dried, as I had no fresh). It’s tangy, creamy, and the perfect complement to the fish.