Welcoming the season of sociability with fuss-free fish

I write as winter is arriving, and in Shetland that means wind, rain and plummeting temperatures. And darkness, of course, as our northerliness provokes only the merest blink of daylight in the shortest of short days. Truthfully, I love this time of year, as autumn gives way and the season of sociability arrives.

Winter is when the concept of foy, peerie (small) or muckle (large, noisy, obstreperous, almost certainly involving fiddles, AC/DC records, dark rum and McEwen’s Export) grips the heart, and the body’s various dancing muscles. From a small social gathering in the house to a major hall party, Shetland does foy like nowhere else.

After two virtually foy-less years, we can only hope that Covid will be kept at bay sufficiently to allow a resumption of socialising. Most, but not all of the Up Helly Aas are now officially cancelled; however reestit mutton soup, bannocks and other such delights will survive and thrive. I can almost taste them as I write.

The seasons in Shetland have traditionally been marked by different varieties of feasting, some of them influenced by Scottish rituals, such as that of the urban, working-class steak and sausage pie (the sausages used to bulk out the expensive beef).

The book I wrote with my son James (Shetland: Cooking on the Edge of the World) contains a from-puff-pastry-up recipe for this delight, very popular in Shetland at New Year, but as we’re currently beefless in our house (normally each winter we buy a quarter cow from a neighbouring crofter, butchered into everything from sassermaet (pungent, spiced saucermeat) to sirloins and fillets, then frozen) I’ll leave you to buy the book and consider the many uses of Jus-Rol frozen pastry. Or perhaps a visit to the butcher.

Instead, I’m going to talk about yesterday’s tea (supper if you prefer) and today’s lunch, both of them fuelled by a visit to a local fishmongers, namely Blydoit in Lerwick.

Blydoit supply various local shops, ours in Hillswick included, but this is the first time in two years I’ve actually been in the Lerwick branch. Such is the enforced localism the pandemic has brought to us. My visit was like being a bairn in a sweetie shop. Or a pescatarian in, well, Blydoit (which means “glad of it”, as I surely was).

I was hypnotised by the sudden availability of everything from crab claws to catfish. But the scallops had me at first glance.

Shetland’s scallop fishery is sustainable, Marine Stewardship Council approved and regarded with some puzzlement by eco-warriors who consider dredging the seabed a very bad thing. But a combination of careful management, licensing and control of access has meant you can eat Shetland scallops until the orcas come home with a clear conscience. Or if you fancy diving for them yourself, wrap up warm.

I’m all in favour of fuss-free, fast food when possible ( sometimes it’s essential) and in Shetland, making that happen while maintaining taste and quality is straightforward, if you know where to shop. I wanted some carbs with my scallops but quick, easy and with a matching and fairly epic smoked fishiness.

From long exposure to their delights, I knew that Island Deli’s fish cakes, made with smoked haddock and local tatties, would do the job. Available widely but in my case from the Brae Garage. Add some French beans and Stornoway black pudding from the Hillswick Community Shop (solidarity with Europe and other Scottish islands, though any of the local butchers’ varieties would have been fine) a bit of garlic and you have a simple, sustaining, sustainable and really very upmarket meal.

We’re not quite at the end of the inshore mackerel season (though you can get them all winter) but Blydoit had fresh-in fillets, and I couldn’t resist them.

We freeze a lot of garden rhubarb for the winter but there was one solitary stalk left lurking in the shelter of a compost bin, and roasted, rhubarb provides the best accompaniment to this meaty, oily fish, a sort of mini-tuna. I coated it in seasoned flour and fried it in butter. Straightforward tatties with (more) butter and ginger fried in said butter. I like butter. And some would say it’s better for you than any of those so-called ‘healthy’ spreads. I certainly hope so.

Please check out Mary Prior’s wonderful book Rhubarbaria for more on this astonishing plant. She had very strong Shetland connections.

Drinks with these actually pretty cardiac-healthy meals? Strong tea with the mackerel for me, as I’m currently on the wagon, though I favour a medium-peaty Islay malt when I’m not, something like a Bowmore or a milder Bruichladdich, with as much water as you feel necessary. The scallops demand either a crisp white wine - Shetland’s links with the country point me often in the direction of New Zealand’s Cloudy Bay Chardonnay, if I can afford it, or a slightly smokier white Rioja from Spain. But, again, non-alcoholic options would include the excellent Leffe Zero Belgian blonde Belgian ale or the comparatively new Guinness Zero stout.

Fresh from the sea, I hope these two meals pay tribute to our fisherfolk who, as the weather closes in, are still going to sea to supply us with such glories. And to my adventurous trip to Lerwick!

That’s it! And then start thinking about that steak and sausage pie...

Shetland: Cooking on the Edge of the World by James and Tom Morton, is published by Quadrille and widely available.

Rhubarbaria: Recipés for Rhubarb by Mary Prior is published by Prospect Books.