The first time I laid eyes on a box of fresh anchovies I had no idea what I was looking at. A shoal of size-zero sardines perhaps, or over-fed whitebait. But the sleek, silvery mass before me was indeed anchovies that had been caught off the Devon coast. Anchovies don’t normally inhabit the English Channel but when they do, the event makes for a rare treat. They can be eaten fresh, but they are also easy to cure, and buying a large quantity allows a greedy chef like me to do both.
As wonderful as any fish might taste straight from the grill. When I’m feeling nostalgic it is the cured version of anchovies that I long for. From a can or a jar, they are summer holiday food personified: draped over a salad niçoise, or an unfeasibly large and crispy pizza.
Chopped into salsa verde they become the ultimate barbecue accessory. So far, so Mediterranean. And it’s no surprise that we associate the anchovy with that part of the world.
The Romans used cured and fermented anchovies to make garum, a gravy-like sauce used to season most of their cooking. In southern France, Spain and Italy, the sauce gave way to the use of the salted fish itself, although in the Far East, Thai nam pla is made from anchovies and is thought to be a descendent of Roman garum.
What is it that gives anchovies such universal appeal? The answer must lie in the uniquely savoury nature of the cured fish. It has more depth than salt and it isn’t exactly fishy. In many ways it is the aquatic version of bacon. This ‘bacon’ can be shockingly intense or pungent when left whole. The texture and flavour isn’t to everyone’s taste. I think some of my nostalgic memories of anchovies are rose-tinted. I’m sure in reality, as a boy, I must have sat looking at them on the plate, daring myself to tuck in like the grown-ups around me.
Similar to olives and capers, which I associate them with, anchovies are a truly acquired taste. Even though I’m a fan of them any which way these days, I think I like them best when they are chopped up and melted into other ingredients.
A couple of anchovies will spike an egg mayonnaise sandwich perfectly. As much as I love potato dauphinoise, I think I’m quietly crazier about Jansson’s Temptation, a Scandinavian cousin of the French gratin, using fillets of anchovy.
If I’m roasting lamb, I can’t stop at rosemary and garlic these days: a few anchovies will usually find their way into the equation. A lot of people are scarred for life by those monster anchovies that ambushed their childhood pizzas.
I have many friends who swear blind that they don’t like anchovies. Some might be surprised at how often they eat them without knowing. Worcestershire sauce is a classic example of what I call ‘secret anchovies’. It’s that savoury thing again: Worcestershire sauce relies hugely on the deep savoury notes of anchovy essence. Whenever you splash a little into a casserole or use it to anoint cheese on toast, you are echoing a culinary practise as old as time…or at least as old as Latin!
Whether they are blatant or hidden, I’ve always loved anchovies, and these recipes should persuade even the most sceptical to take another look. A couple of them showcase the whole critter, and others are more subtle. Get into the habit of having them as a standby ingredient. I think having a stash of summer holiday-type goodies in the larder is especially important at this time of year: this season is doing its best to arrive, but it often comes in fits and starts. That’s when it’s great to use ingredients that taste like it is gorgeous outside, whatever the weather is doing in real life.