There is a trinity of enhanced pleasure givers without which I would consider my store cupboard to be bare. These three are the saucy undies of the kitchen. The Ann Summers peek-a-boo, knickerless crotches that will serve to stiffen the flaccid sinews of dull and lifeless cooking. They are on the top shelf of the spice rack (pace 70’s) out of the reach of children and picky eaters who loathe them.This glorious mess of lugubrious, glossy, emerald studded flesh, carelessly draped with curves of silky citron is composed of that trio of ticklers: anchovies, capers and lemon zest. It is these that will make Sally scream when she meets Harry and she won’t be faking it.
The wonder of these three ingredients is their synergy. It’s so easy to kill a dish, with ill considered additions,when the tasting spoon is delivering disappointment, yet simply swirling anchovies and capers into a pan of hot butter will produce a piece of magic that changes the ordinary into extraordinary. Only recently, I did this very thing with a deeply dull bread crumbed turkey escalope that had hidden in the freezer waiting to be consumed in the final months of a siege which had not as yet transpired whereas the end of its freezer life most certainly had. Encased in its crisp, golden outer casing, having been floured, egged, parmesan crumbed and fried in butter, there was no suggestion of the dullness that lay beneath. No sooner had upper and lower teeth met than the tongue had shared with the brain information that their owner was eating a dreadful mistake and something about it needed to be done quickly. The brain had anchovies and capers swirling around in a pan of hot melted butter before you could say anything interesting, adding a squeeze of lemon before ordering the hands to pour it carefully over the horrid thing that their misguided owner had just been eating. In the briefest of moments the gestalt of tongue, brain, and nose were transported. Magic indeed.