Del-icious!: A fish pie full of memories

I have loved the sea side since I was a child. It has special memories for me so indelibly etched onto my mind, I still feel the same sense of wonder, mystery and excitement whenever I am close to it.

When I was little, the seaside would mean days crabbing with tiny cooked prawns as bait, the fishermen disgusted by our flagrant use of such delicacies. The salty tang of the ocean air still evokes memories of fish and chips eaten while sitting on a pier. The batter would be crisp and shatter beneath our teeth revealing the firm, sweet white flakes and the chips would be salty and tangy from too much vinegar, malt, of course.

Sea gulls would scream overhead, once swooping down to snatch a piece of fish I held aloft, dripping sea-water from it's feet all over my remaining chips as though he wanted to ensure that he spoiled my dinner as spite for his constant hunger.

Polperro, Cornwall, South West England

We would beach comb and come home laden with treasures; pieces of driftwood, bleached, gnarled and twisted like old men's legs. Shells, delicate pink coral and iridescent cream, still smelling slightly of the sea air, filling our town house bedrooms and lungs with some borrowed magic. They would adorn mirrors and trinket boxes, decorated with limpets stuck on with glue which would never last, a reminder of those small coastal villages.

Looe, Cornwall, South West England

Even as an adult, now living within throwing distance of the ocean, the stiff ocean breeze and the smell of the mineral seaweed still fills me with a fluttering chest as I walk outside, full of butterflies of excitement, expecting days on the beach and evenings at the fairground, sticky hands from candy floss and toffee apples.

Now, I hear gulls while waiting for a bus and hear the soft lap of the ocean waves breaking over the shore and am immediately transported back to my childhood memories. In foggy weather we can hear the fog horn while lying in our bed, reminding us that the ocean and all its murky depths is right outside our door. My dreams are full of pirates, wild, weathered fishermen and stormy seas, all adding to the allurement of living close to water.

St. Ives, Cornwall, South West England

Even today, pubs with coloured glass balls in nets always seem so exotic, only existing in those places where people are more charismatic and the locals sometimes bitter and resentful of all the tourists, I know how they feel now.

And the food. I remember fishing for mackerel off a small, rickety boat, the horizon bobbing in and out of view, Mr. Morris, my college lecturer loosing his stomach to the hoards of mackerel that suddenly appeared on the surface, intrigued by his second hand breakfast. They were gutted and barbecued simply with salt, pepper and lemon juice, the skin crisping up and charring in pieces on the grill and the flesh meaty and strong flavoured. They were eaten with a packet of flavoured rice and some crisps , a feast eaten in a B&B's garden with beers and the sun setting over the rooftops.

Cornwall

I ate a piece of monkfish in one cafe, simply pan fried with a little seasoned flour, as firm and toothsome as a steak and John Dory, an elusive fish outside of the coast and one I have not eaten anywhere except at a restaurant overlooking the sea from where it was caught fresh that morning.

And of course, cream teas. A scone piled high with strawberry jam and clotted cream, enough to squish out and smother your nose and mouth, though no one cares. The thick, yellow cream and sweet, tart jam upon a flaky scone holds you transfixed for a moment, savouring every mouthful.

And then there are the afore mentioned seafood 'delicacies'. Small, cooked prawns, the ubiquitous crab sticks, artificial and overly sweet and the briny, salty cockles and mussels. Doused with vinegar, they are eaten with a toothpick while wandering sunny streets browsing at such tat as shell adorned trinket boxes for sale, beach balls and deckchairs, our heads full of contented anticipation of a night at the glass ball pubs with locals singing sea shanties and fisher men's tales.

Recipe: Special Fish Pie

So what makes it special? Is it the two hours it took to cook it or the new topping I discovered? I suspect it is the outpouring of memories that it inspired.

Broccoflower. We created a hybrid from two of nature's most beautiful vegetables: Cauliflower and broccoli.

Some points about the recipe:

A $22 packet of halibut 'bits and pieces' contained many meaty chunks which I combined with prawns. Some oily fish, such as salmon, mackerel or sardines is usually added in a traditional recipe along with a smoked fish like haddock to achieve a good mix and balance of fishy flavours.

I made a vegetable layer with many aromatic vegetables which I combined with a packet of Hollandaise sauce. I added some capers and lots of parsley to balance out the richness and sweetness of the leeks.

This pie contains 3 hard boiled eggs, maybe eggs in pies is a British tradition. It is certainly well appreciated and appears in many varieties from dense pork pie to more refined and delicate pies, like this one.

I had a last minute revelation to include some anchovies in the pie to really rev up the fishy-ness. Unable to locate them in my dark, vast cupboards, I resorted to some anchovy sauce, bought at the local British shop. It adds an element of mineral, briny umami in small quantities.

This pie is a labour of love. Three separate parts have to be made to combine together in layers to create a pie of contrasting textures and tastes. A meaty, dense and sweet bottom sea food layer is topped with a vegetable and sauce layer which is rich, sweet, salty and herbal. This is then finished with a coarse vegetable mash made more unctuous with lots of salty, tangy Caerphilly cheese, though of course you could use anything you want to. Like the places in the memories it evoked, this is a true British institution and beloved by a great many people.

Fish Pie

For the fish layer:

1 lb halibut, or other firm fleshed white fish.

8 large raw prawns, peeled and de-veined.

For the vegetable layer

1 leek, sliced finely

1 shallot, sliced finely

4 spring onions (scallions), sliced finely

1 clove garlic, peeled and sliced finely

1 piece celery, sliced finely

1 cup spinach leaves

1/2 cup finely shredded kale

6 mushrooms, quartered

2 tsp capers

1 large handful parsley, finely chopped

1 tsp oil

1 tbsp butter

salt and pepper

a few dashes of anchovy sauce (optional)

1/2 tsp prawn butter, (optional)

1/2 packet Hollandaise sauce, (I use McCormicks brand) to make about 1 cup thick sauce.

3 eggs, boiled until slightly squidgy in the middle

Vegetable mash layer

1 broccolflower, divided into florets

2 tbsp sour cream

1 tbsp goats cheese (optional)

1 tsp butter

1 cup grated cheese

paprika and salt

First, start the vegetable layer. Melt the oil and butter in a saucepan and add the leeks. Cover and let them cook slowly over low heat for about 30 minutes to get really soft and sweet.

While they are cooking, boil the broccoflower in a large pot of boiling salted water until knife soft and drain. Let it stand for a while to evaporate the water.

When the leeks are soft, add the celery, shallot, scallions and garlic, cover again and cook gently for a further 20 minutes until all is soft. Add the spinach, kale, mushrooms, capers and half the parsley and continue to cook until the mushrooms are soft and the greens wilted, season lightly and add the anchovy sauce and prawn butter if using.

Cook the Hollandaise sauce according to the packet instructions using a little less water to get a thick sauce and add this to the vegetable mix. Cook over medium heat until thick.

Now, place the broccoflower in a bowl and add the sour cream, goats cheese, butter, remaining parsley and half the cheese. Mash into a coarse but well mixed texture and season.