Apparently mackerel skies can herald an approaching depression in the same way that the look in my wife’s eyes heralds her approaching depression at the sight of a bag of charcoal in my hand. With our fridge packed with mackerel, purchased on account of their health giving properties and seductively, attractive cheapness, I felt it may be time to cook some of them, and to cook them in sight of their namesakes that were soaring some 30,000 feet above my head, presaging more rain to extinguish what is left of the inappropriately named blazing June. It does not need much insight to notice the hubris in this plan. Cooking on a barbecue in the open air, with the portents of an imminent deluge racing headlong across the grey firmament above the proposed cooking site, is begging the fates to empty a bucketful of depression on the spluttering charcoal below. I laugh in the……. I should point out that this is being written before the attempted fish cookery, so I might not be laughing in the face of adversity a bit later but resorting to the old Navajo trick of kneeling, begging and pleading: pace Woody Allen.
Coinciding with the first suggestion of summer, in the Northern hemisphere, comes the appearance of a seasonal race of people, who claim the ability to cook on open fires as second nature. I am not amongst them, and if truth be told, nor are they. The simple act of lighting the charcoal produces in me a similar reaction to early man’s first finger burning experience: a mixture of wonderment and pain. Charred fencing and scorched earth bear testament to my experiments, with food and fire, in every corner of our small garden. Amongst the drawings, that archaeologists of the future will find on our cave wall, will be one depicting a harried woman bludgeoning an apron wearing septuagenarian who is trying to burn down their cave whilst incinerating a fish.
My earlier manipulations of a chicken’s entrails had foretold success and fine weather. How right those entrails were: henceforth, all chickens beware. In the future I shall not be listening to forecasters, or one in four casters, rather I shall be plunging my arm up a chicken’s fundament to get an accurate prediction of the expected hours of sunshine. While others in smart bars on La Croisette check their Rolex barometers for the coming days weather, I shall be sitting at a nearby table, with my trusty cock in my hand, content in the full knowledge of that which is about to come my way.
Back to the mackerel. The impetus for this atavistic cookery moment was a very good recipe by Tom Parker Bowles which appeared in one of my least favourite places – daytime television. Fish cookery, of the mackerel and sardine school, invariably leaves its olfactory mark on the interior of a small house in the same way that cats can do. The scent, a euphemism if ever there was one, hangs around for too long. The television version showed the cookery taking place in a well ordered kitchen, as is the way with the fairy tale that is television cooking. At one point it was mentioned that this dish would be even better prepared on a barbecue. I looked out of our window and noticed that summer was pouring down in stair rods. Fuck it, I thought, creatively, I shall swim to the shops and maybe catch a mackerel or two on the way. And so it came to pass. The sea parted and the sun shone down on my bowl of burning charcoal. In thanks to the powers that bring sun, I sacrificed a brace of mackerel and they were delicious. Here follows the recipe:
I never met a mackerel that I liked, but applaud you for cooking a recipe that you enjoyed. My last attempt at entering the good health world via mackerels was buying a can of mackerel shipped from Alaska. Since Thumper the rabbit, in Bambi, taught me the lesson that of you can’t say anything nice about someone don’t say anything at all, I won’t tell you what I thought of the can of mackerel.
Extraordinaty synchronicity. Canned mackerel appear to be the staff of life here – God knows why, as there is so much wonderful fresh seafood. However, I was tempted to try a tin of mackerel fillets in mustard sauce, and I would rather have needles in my eyes, as Jack said, than ever eat another tin of mackerel 🙂
If only they’d told the Vestal Virgins about predictions by cock…
Great mackerel pictures 😉
Well, they’d certainly have had to change the name of the band:)
I can’t stand the things, Roger. But you’ve certainly made them look beautiful!
Cheapness makes the heart grow fonder:)
I’ve never eaten mackerel, but when they are running in the harbor lots of people are on the pier catching them. With lots of fresh fish available that I like better, I just may pass on the mackerel and take your word they were good.
They seem to be very unpopular, these poor mackerel. You should try them:)
I seem to be an odd one out among your commenters so far – I love mackerel (although not in tins) and especially barbecued mackerel, one of the few fish that I find the flavour worth the horror (my horror) of fish bones. These look like a worthy sacrifice to the weather gods!
We seem to have had a few hours of sun so the weather gods have been appeased – for the moment:)
Your mackerel look beautifully cooked but what I think sounds especially good are the pickled vegetables.
They are excellent – it’s a good all round recipe.
Now you say you do NOT watch daytime television: well, thank God your alter ego did as you have given us one hell of a recipe,Mister 🙂 ! Like Karen, I love the sound of these pickled vegetables!!! And why does it seem to me you would not have minded an iota sitting in one of the ‘smart bars on The Croisette’ instead of potentially burning down house and home 😀 ! Hmm? Oh, mackerel: I rather like ’em if not burnt to a crisp and will kind’of admit to having opened a tin or two and then ‘done things to it’ . . . !!
I think my wife would be happier sitting on La Croisette rather than watch me burn down house and home in the name of cooking:)
First risotto and now mackerel? I seemed to have developed the ability to predict others’ recipes. (Could the lottery be next?) Just tonight I baked a few mackerel for myself, with an eye towards a future post. To be honest, I would have grilled mine if I thought I could get the results you did. Good job, Roger, and, as always, excellent photos.
Many thanks, John. I plan to make your gnocchi this weekend.
“The scent, a euphemism if ever there was one..” I guffawed, Roger. Just guffawed.
The Al Pacino sequel “The Scent of a Mackerel” 🙂
Brilliant Roger, this one had me in stitches – and beautiful shots even if I, like many others, will only eat the buggers if forced!
This opinion poll has been very good news for the mackerel population:)
Roger dear boy – how come you had sunshine chez toi ! I’m moving house .
There’s always room for another, Rick:)
They look amazing! I’m not too much of a fish person… But these are looking at me with their white eyes and telling me “Roger has done all the hard work, you just have to eat me”. 😉
This post has surprised me with the unpopularity of the excellent mackerel. Classic bistro “maquereaux au vin blanc”, the fact that gooseberries are called “groseilles de macquereau” – I think mackerel must be a French thing:)
I shall have to try the recipe. We have placed our gas barbecue in what will one day become the scullery of the main house, thereby circumventing the need for rain dances!
Excellent plan. The only dance that I excel at is the rain dance. My dancing, sadly, immediately brings rain rather than preventing its arrival:)
forgive the pedantry but …….
a rain dance is supposed to make it rain – isn’t it ?
That’s how I use it. Maybe the reason we get so much rain is through the constant misuse of the rain dance, as well as nature’s revenge on Morris Dancing 🙂
and by the way if you believe that Omega 3 wards off just about everything other than senility
EAT MORE MACKEREL !
Look at us Rick – no sign of senility there 🙂