Ortiguillas Fritas de Cádiz

Ortiguillas fritas de Cádiz are the taste of the Atlantic in one dangerous-looking little bite: sea anemones, cleaned, drained, dusted in flour, and dropped into very hot oil until the outside is crisp and the middle turns to warm sea. Esto es de Cádiz, no de "España" a secas. The dish is not dressed up. No batter, no salt, no sauce trying to talk over the thing you came for.

The method that decides it is dryness before heat. Ortiguillas carry seawater in their folds, and if you flour them wet or crowd the pan, the coating turns pasty and the oil drops. Drain them longer than feels necessary, flour them only at the last second, shake off every excess bit, then fry at 190°C. Hot oil crisps the flour before the centre has time to toughen. That's the trick, and it's enough.

If you are far from Cádiz, buy only food-grade ortiguillas from a fishmonger, fresh or frozen, and don't gather them yourself from rocks unless you truly know the water. If you can't get them, a kitchen in Cádiz would sooner fry puntillitas, tiny squid, or small pieces of choco, cuttlefish, in the same flour than pretend they are the same. You gain chew and lose that soft briny centre. Fresh shucked oysters are the closest in texture, but that is another dish and needs a pinch of salt.

Serve them plain, straight from the paper, while the ridges are still crisp and the inside is almost creamy. Lemon can sit on the side, but taste one before you drown it. My Margin for this recipe says only: no salt. The sea already did that work. Siempre sale, si lo sigues.