An Unfinished Tangent

Thanks to a random mixture of A.A Gill's recent profile of London, continuing my perusal of Daniel Miller's The Comfort of Things, the announcement of the last of the Billingsgate Fish Market Porters and lots of recent city wandering and bus riding, I've been inspired to scribble down some words that have little to do with food... 

I love how London never seems to forget. It's a city that acquires - architecture, history, people, industry, culture - taking it all in but never quite being able to relinquish its grasp of what it already has, no matter how much detritus piles up. It's a city of layers, applying coat after coat of new paint to an old shopfront, demolishing buildings but leaving façades, mixing people and shifting populations, increasing the melting pot of areas rather than replacing the old with the new. It's seen in the store whose shining new sign still reveals the worn hand painted typography of the butchers that once filled its space; its the strip club in an old pub, whose lattice work of dancer's poles mingle with weathered gilded crown moulding and a rich mahogany bar, juxtaposing worlds and history amidst gyrating hips and shady old men.

London hoards - it shoves new belongings on the nooks and crannies of things already in place, the ultimate urban Tetris game to make everything fit, never knowing when a past memory might be of use.

When something does disappear, it's not often by choice - The Great Fire, WWII bombings, even the rise of housing prices pressuring longtime locals from the neighbourhoods they helped form. When change is suggested, it comes with a level of melancholy and anger equivalent to the loss of a family member, only reluctantly accepting change when necessity dictates it as so. London tries its best to look forward, but it can't help but perpetually linger in the past, covered in a haze of nostalgia as thick as its infamous fog...


(This is as far as I got scribbling on the bus this afternoon... I'm not entirely sure where its going, but just a few words to end the weekend.)

The Journey to a Night to Remember

I don't normally write New Year's resolutions, or if I do, they tend towards the "I'll try to eat healthier, plan to exercise more, etc..." - all very non-comital and difficult to measure in terms of success. For some reason though, this year I wrote down an actual list - not just of the vague general statements like "Dance more," and "Balance work and life better," but at the bottom of that list was one very concrete goal - "Hold a pop-up supper club." Now, this is something I've always dreamt of doing, but why this year, of all years, I chose to put it down as something to achieve, only serendipity knows. 

The fates seemed to collide between Tom and I, as our friend and co-worker passingly mentioned the two of us should talk about food together one night at the pub. Fast forward a few weeks were up at the crack of dawn meandering Billingsgate Market, leaving with a lingering smell of salt water and more fish than any normal human would buy. A bison grass vodka-fuelled conversation after our fish feast led us to the casual idea of a supper club to help rid ourselves of our large catch of bream, and surprisingly, our sober minds the next day found a date in the calendar and with two weeks to go, set to work - the Bream Team was in motion. 

The Bream Team in the element (photo by Barry Craig)

When my flatmate Barry caught wind of our idea, he quickly became our guardian angel, not only supplying us with the most ideal venue at his photography studio Taylor James, who generously lent us their loft for the event, but helping with all the annoying little tasks that one always forgets. With venue, date and fish in place, the Twitter and Facebook call for guests went out, and amazingly, within 2 days our seats were filled! Granted nearly all were friends, but still!

The weekend before was one of testing, running through our initial ideas, tweaking, making notes and plotting what was to become a 5 course feast (our first go, every course had fennel...).

The week before was spent practicing and tweaking recipes (and thus eating LOTS of fig tarts), drawing the menus, tracking down plates and cutlery (found in a stockpile of mismatched china at Tom's parent's house) and getting all our ducks in order (literally!). We even cycled down to visit Tom's cheese guy to nab a few wedges for a smoking experiment. 

Smoking our cheese with sage and thyme

Once again the gods were in our favour when hunting for a table large enough for 16, as we drove by a giant piece of wood labelled "Please Take Me," just begging to be used for our supper (although getting it up and down 4 flights of stairs was less than simple...).

Strapping out makeshift table to the roof

On the day, I was in the loft early, setting up and dancing along to our playlist for the day as Tom jet-setted across London in his lean mean green Voyager, collecting our chairs and various accouterments for the evening's feast. 

A glimpse at our place settings, including the picture-only menu

By midday our kitchen was buzzing, fish scales flying and fennel shaving as we prepped for the night ahead... (to be continued)

Bream Team

Tomorrow, we supper club. 

A Day of Fish

EDIT: BBC2 have put out a striking documentary about  Billingsgate Market, following the battles the market is facing as a one of the oldest establishments in London in a rapidly changing city, and the people who live and breath the market life. 

Wholesale markets are typically an elusive world to those not in the food industries - they hit their stride well before the sun has risen and lack the clinical packaged comfort of our grocery stores. While elusive, many of these still welcome those individuals willing to brave the dark hours and bartering banter, and offer many rewards for those who do.

Last weekend, a friend and coworker of mine ventured out just before dawn, bearing south for Billingsgate fish market, on the hunt for some fresh finds. By the time we arrived at 6:45am, the market was well past its busiest time, but a pungent smell of sea water and sea creatures lingered into the car park. We had to do a couple walk around before making our first buys, and the choice and abundance of fish was something I'd never seen before. 

Fish I'd only ever seen in books before and fish I wouldn't even know what to do with flopped over boxes of ice, staring you straight in the eye, wondering if you'd dare try to throw them in a skillet. 

Most of the fish (like this looker just above) were beyond the depth of two city-slickers with minimal fridge space, so we aimed our sights on some smaller varieties. Once our first purchase was made, a slew of others followed and in the end, we walked away with:

23 seam bream

18 scallops

1/2 a salmon

3 dressed crabs

2 sea urchins

1 live lobster

With our loot in tow, we made our way for the only thing one can eat after such a purchase - a kippers breakfast at the greasy spoon in the corner of the market, rubbing elbows with fishmongers and glassy eyed shoppers as we dove into smoked fish and scrambled eggs. 

Fish bought, stomach filled and the effect of our early morning starting to set in, a morning of lethargy, Herzog and fish freezing was in store. Lunch was round two of fish, taking my first stab at searing scallops, much to my flatmate's delight, and served simply with smoked garlic, butter and sauteed broccolini.

Dinner meant traveling to Tom's house, where most of the fish resided for 6 courses of fish-filled gluttony. 

Sea urchins were the one disappointment of the day... not sure I recommend... 

Seared scallops with sweet corn puree and crispy bacon faired much better. 

Home smoked salmon with Tom's hand built smoker was even more impressive, and coupled with some simple rocket and light vinaigrette. 

Posh fish and chips with pan fried seam bream, freshly made chips and peas with tartare sauce was up next, smoking the room up in the process but well worth the hazy view. 

Next up was our friend Henry James, a brave and valiant fellow, who sacrificed himself for us in a feat of gallantry not seen since the Knights of the Round Table. We thank you Henry, you were delicious. 

After some well deserved digestion time and several more glasses of wine (and some buffalo grass vodka), our evening was completed with a rich, gooey chocolate fondant with black cherry sauce. 

And thus completely a day of fish. 

(on the topic of fish.... look out for the next post!) 

Recent Food-scepades