‘He’s obviously been to The Pig & Whisky again,’ Anis had moaned. ‘He’s obsessed. Wasabi and pea purée, pickled sea lettuce. Why doesn’t he just re-create the menuexactly.’
‘I sense some dissatisfaction here,’ I’d joked.
James looked a bit embarrassed at being caught having a moan. ‘It’s just that we have the chance to be really original here, and it’s a bit depressing to be copying the same dishes over and over.’
But he seems to have put that aside now, and is focusing on the different cooking methods to try to add a fresh spin to the dish.
‘One is done in the water bath, and the other is pan-fried to medium rare,’ he says. ‘How do you like yours?’
‘Fishcake?’ I say.
And he laughs – finally! – as he expertly seasons the orange flesh, flips it and then rubs oil into the skin and sprinkles it with sea salt. Then he fries it; sizzling and spitting, it hits the fierce heat of the pan. After a couple of moments he slides it onto a small tray and slips it into the oven.
As he does this, I pull out my phone and remind myself of the recommended wines from the Three Pigs website. The only problem, I realize too late, is that I cannot pronounce them.Gewürztraminer. Grüner Veltliner. Shit!
‘Have you decided on the wines?’ James asks, as if sensing my panic, nodding to the open wine list on my lap.
‘I think so. Can you grab us a glass of these two?’ I ask Roxy as casually as possible, slipping my phone under my thigh and pointing to both names. ‘Oh, and the bottles, please, so I can see the labels.’
‘Ooh, I love the Gewürztraminer,’ she says, before heading down to the cellar.
I’ll never be able to say that word.
‘Now to make the miso caramel glaze,’ James is saying.
‘It might be unoriginal, but it sounds delicious,’ I remark, picking up a nearby plastic bottle with a green oil inside it, tipping a drop outonto my finger and popping it onto my tongue. Peppery, garlicky oil fills my mouth. ‘Mmm. What’s that?’
‘Some of this morning’s wild garlic,’ says Anis, who arrives from out the back with a fillet of cooked salmon in a plastic bag. I presume this is the one that has been in the water bath. ‘We normally use the extra to make an oil for the partridge, but Russell says no one eats partridge any more.’
She shrugs and hands James her salmon bag, which he swiftly slices open and slides onto a plate. He then takes the other fillet from the oven and slides that onto a plate, so the two sit side-by-side. The pan-fried one looks far more appetizing than the one cooked in the water bath, which seems a bit slimy.
‘Now, we bring the mirin, miso and sugar to a boil,’ says James, using what looks like a plastic spatula from my granny’s kitchen (she had eleven). ‘Then we stir until all of the sugar is dissolved.’
His stirring is frenzied, and he suddenly pulls the pan off the heat, slides it along the stainless-steel counter and plunges it into a bowl of ice.
‘Plate up, Anis,’ he commands in a voice that makes me sit up a little straighter. She adds some of the green purée to both dishes, and then some straggly-looking greens that must be the so-called sea lettuce. James puts a pastry brush into the caramel sauce and brushes the top of the salmon, waits a moment and then brushes again.
Roxy returns with two glasses quarter-filled with white wine and two bottles in her hand. For a moment I panic, as I’m not sure which wine goes with which bottle, but she lines them up on the counter next to the salmon, so it’s clear.
James is first to drive a fork into the pan-fried and roasted salmon and shovel a bit into his mouth. Anis follows, and I grab the third fork and do the same.
‘You try too,’ I say to Roxy, who beams with delight and grabs a fourth fork out of the jar on the countertop.
‘Mmm …’ James says, closing his eyes. He looks so sexy as he does so, I honestly have to cross my legs.
It flakes obligingly into perfect fork-sized bites with a crunchy, almost fried edge underneath the sweet, salty glaze. We all try thesecond salmon from the water bath, and it seems firmer, but almost falls apart in my mouth. The pickled sea lettuce is sour and crunchy, and I marvel at the contrast. Good God, it’s divine.
‘Tell us about the wine, Heather,’ says James as he picks up the glass in front of the Gewürztraminer and takes a small sip, swirling it round in his mouth like a professional, but, importantly, not so much that he looks like a dick.
I follow his lead, taking a sip too.Think, Birdy. ‘Um, well, we need something cool and crisp, but with enough guts to stand up to the salmon. I think both do that?’
It’s a dangerously close mash-up of what was on The Pig & Whisky website, but no one even bats an eyelid.
‘I like this one,’ Anis says, spitting her mouthful into the sink.
‘What do you think, Roxy?’ I ask.
‘I’d go with the Gewürztraminer actually,’ she says shyly, as she swallows her mouthful, and I nod approvingly. Really, all this bloody spitting is gross. ‘The sweetness really balances out the miso glaze,’ she says, and I want to give her a secret high-five.
