
Chef Thomas
A British BLT
Back bacon crisped in a hot pan, a ripe tomato that actually tastes of something, crisp lettuce and real butter on proper toast. A sandwich that earns its place in the notebook.
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Smoky kipper pounded with butter and lemon, spread thick on proper toast, the kind of supper that takes fifteen minutes and tastes like you've been thinking about it all day.
The kitchen smells of woodsmoke and the sea. Two kippers in a bowl of hot water, the steam carrying that deep, savoury scent that belongs to cold evenings and drawn curtains. This is October food. November food. The kind of thing you make when the clocks have gone back and supper needs to be on the table before you've had time to think about it.
Kipper pâté is one of those recipes that barely qualifies as cooking, and is all the better for it. You soften the fish, flake it, pound it with butter and lemon and a scrape of nutmeg, and that's more or less the whole story. It takes fifteen minutes. It keeps in the fridge for days. On a Tuesday night when the cupboard feels bare and you can't face anything ambitious, a pot of kipper pâté and some good toast is the right food for the right evening.
I've kept a pot of this in the fridge most weeks since I can remember. I wrote it down in the notebook years ago, just a line: kippers, butter, lemon, toast. It didn't need more than that. The smell of the fish in hot water is enough to bring back every cold evening I've eaten it, standing at the kitchen counter with the radio on, spreading it onto toast that's almost too hot to hold. There are few better feelings than something this simple being exactly enough.
Quantity
2 large (about 250g)
Quantity
75g
softened
Quantity
half
juiced
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
a scrape, freshly grated
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
4 thick slices
Quantity
a few sprigs
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| kipper fillets | 2 large (about 250g) |
| unsalted buttersoftened | 75g |
| lemonjuiced | half |
| crème fraîche | 1 tablespoon |
| nutmeg | a scrape, freshly grated |
| black pepper | to taste |
| cayenne pepper (optional) | pinch |
| sourdough or crusty white bread | 4 thick slices |
| watercress (optional) | a few sprigs |
Put the kipper fillets in a deep dish or shallow bowl and pour a kettleful of boiling water over them. Leave them for five minutes. That's all they need. The water loosens the flesh and softens the salt. Lift them out, let them drain on a clean tea towel, then peel away the skin. It comes off easily when they're warm. Run your fingers over the flesh and pick out any stray bones. You won't get them all, and that's fine. A kipper bone never hurt anyone.
Flake the warm kipper flesh into a bowl. Add the softened butter, the lemon juice, the crème fraîche, a good grating of nutmeg, and a grind of black pepper. No salt yet. Kippers carry plenty of their own. Mash it all together with a fork, pressing and turning until you have something rough and spreadable. Some people use a blender, and that's their business, but I like the texture uneven: partly smooth, partly flaked, so you know what you're eating. Taste it. More lemon if it needs brightness. A pinch of cayenne if you want a quiet warmth at the back of your throat.
Spoon the pâté into a small dish or ramekin, pressing it down gently with the back of the spoon. Smooth the top, cover with cling film, and put it in the fridge for at least an hour. It firms as it chills and the flavours settle into each other. It improves overnight. This is a recipe that rewards patience, though it won't punish impatience either.
Take the pâté out of the fridge ten minutes before you want to eat. It spreads better when it has lost its chill. Toast the bread properly: not pale and limp, but golden and crisp enough to hold the weight of what's going on top. Spread the pâté thickly. A few sprigs of watercress alongside if you have them, for the peppery bite against the smoke. A wedge of lemon on the plate. That's supper.
1 serving (about 150g)
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