Now that I have a small boat for potting and fishing, I try to make more time to get out to sea. And I find it incredible that from such a vast expanse of sameness – water, water, water, with a large dose of salt – comes such an astonishing variety of edible creatures, including most of my favourite foods. I'd probably shoot the messenger who came to tell me I had to choose, once and for all, between fish and meat. But having done so, I'd definitely go for fish – provided, of course, that crustacea, bivalves, molluscs and cephalopods were all included in the deal.
Despite my passion for fishing, I still buy a lot more fish than I catch. If I didn't, I simply wouldn't get to eat fish that often. But for me, the pleasure of fish shopping is not so far removed from the pleasure of trying to catch fish. In both cases, I rarely have any idea what I'm going to end up with. But when I take my wallet instead of my rod, the likelihood of returning home with something for supper is increased dramatically.
Buying off the boat
If you live near a fishing port, I would urge you to take advantage of it. I buy most of my fish in the harbour at West Bay – and almost always directly off the boats belonging to the fishermen who work there. With a few grumpy exceptions, I have found that most of them are delighted to sell their fish direct from the boat to harbour-hangers like me. The middlemen who trade their fish for them tend to drive a hard bargain, so fishermen can improve their profit margins considerably by selling direct, and still offer the likes of us a very generous discount on retail prices. I often pick up a large spider crab, which feeds two very nicely, for just a couple of quid. Once in a while I buy an enormous whole cod, for which I have developed a ritual: the head is poached (or roasted) and served with a mound of buttery mash, while the resulting stock is saved for soup or risotto, and the fillets are salted and/or smoked. Having this ready supply of just-caught fish is a great privilege.
Fishmongers
Buying fish from a fishmonger is a very different experience from buying direct but it can be thrilling nonetheless. When you buy fish in the city a long way from the gulls and the salt air, you are still, in a sense, going fishing. The hunt is on – but try to avoid going for something prescribed in advance by a shopping list for a particular recipe. Instead look for nothing less than the freshest fish in the shop (see Clues to Freshness below). One hopes to be spoilt for choice, and in a really good establishment one is. It's a pleasure to do business with someone who knows and cares about their fish. If you are lucky enough to have such a character in business near you, then get to know them, honour them with your regular custom, and ask them anything you want to know about the fish they sell: where and how it was caught and even, when you feel confident, how long it has been on the slab. If something disappoints you, let them know – gently. Find out what's due in when – and be there to pick it up when it is really fresh. And if you want something special – a large sea trout, a wild salmon or a line-caught sea bass of a certain size – order it in advance. Make it your aim to become their most treasured customer, and savour the special treatment you receive. You will have earned it.
Supermarkets
If, despite your best efforts, you find that your local fishmonger simply doesn't deliver on quality, you may even be better off in the supermarket. Buying good fish in the supermarket is less of a thrill and more of a skill, but it can be done. Many of the larger superstores now have their own wet-fish slabs. Most of these are no better and no worse than an indifferent fishmonger's – a lot of the fish they sell has been previously frozen (they are obliged to label this but the labels tend to be a little on the small side). Like any fishmonger's, at any given time, they will have some good fish. The problem is that you will probably not be allowed – and certainly not encouraged to prod and poke until you find it.
However, be aware of one thing a supermarket offers you that the fishmonger doesn't: a 'use-by' or 'best before' date. You won't find this with the fish on the slab. But there is often a chill cabinet for packaged fresh fish. The best of this is the stuff presented in cling-wrapped polystyrene trays, ready cleaned and perhaps filleted. Contrary to what you might assume, experience has taught me that these are sometimes the freshest fish to be found in the whole supermarket. And the use-by date is a pretty reliable guide to freshness. The reason is that the whole business of packaging fresh fish really puts supermarkets on their mettle. In order to give their packaged fish a four-day shelf life, which is what they favour, they simply have to be dealing with really fresh fish to start with, otherwise the health inspectors would be down on them fast and hard. Chilling procedures have to be scrupulous, and distribution speedy and efficient. If you, the shopper, can lay your hands on a pack of fresh fish that has arrived in the chill cabinet within the last twenty-four hours, there is a very real chance that it will be good and fresh – in better nick, more than likely, than much of what is sold, fishmonger style, on the wet slab.
With this in mind, my policy is to work backwards from the date on the pack: I would never hand over money for fish on the same day as the use-by date, and would be reluctant to do so the day before. A two-day leeway is probably worth thinking about, a three-day margin a very good bet, and four days the best you are likely to find. In fairness to supermarkets I should say that when I have found packaged fish well within the use-by date I have often been impressed by its condition. I have bought sushi-worthy mackerel fillets in this way, lovely fresh herrings, excellent cod steaks and fine tiger prawns. Consequently, I now tend to favour the fresh fish in the chill cabinet over fish on the slab.
However, do be aware of another form of supermarket packaging, where the fish is not as fresh as it might appear. 'Modified-atmosphere' packaging is used to prolong the shelf life of a number of 'fresh' foods – especially fish and meat. You can spot the packs by the way the transparent top is sealed on to the tray below (which is also usually stamped-out transparent plastic). It has to be peeled off from a little flap in the corner. These packs contain a special mix of harmless gases that impair the ability of bacteria to do nasty things to the fish inside. As far as I'm concerned, the jury is still out on whether this is good, bad or irrelevant but it does call into question the real meaning of the word 'fresh'. What is particularly irritating is that it is happening without us even being told.
There is one further supermarket tip, which I would hesitate to cast in stone but which may prove useful. The old tradition of eating fish on a Friday has a residual but dependable following in this country. Most supermarkets will expect to sell significantly more fish on a Friday than on any other weekday. They will also expect to sell a fair bit on a Saturday, simply because it is such a busy shopping day. Most supermarkets therefore take their largest delivery on a Friday morning – probably of enough fish to last for Saturday as well. Buy your fish on a Friday and the chances are you will have a wider choice of fresher fish.
Clues to freshness
Wherever you buy your fish, if you want value and quality you must become a confident judge of freshness. Handling a fish will quickly tell you whether it is in good condition, and a good fishmonger should not begrudge you the right to have a little prod. Look for a bright, clear eye, as opposed to a sunken, cloudy one. Look behind the gill covers at the gills; in most species these should be pink, wet and possibly (in a very fresh fish) bloody. As the fish loses condition, the gills become dull, grey-brown and gummed up with slimy mucus. Sniff behind the gills, too. Any whiff of tainted freshness and you should look for another specimen.
Press your finger gently but firmly into the thickest part of the fish. It should be firm and resistant to pressure, and not leave a soggy indentation. This is a particularly good test for flat fish: plaice can look quite decent even when they are rather past it; soles and dabs, on the other hand, often appear drab and unhappy even when they are still quite fresh. Incidentally, freshness, as in 'how long dead', is not the only issue. Badly treated fish will rapidly lose condition, whereas a well-packed, carefully transported, firm-fleshed white fish, such as turbot or even cod, will still be worthwhile after four or five days. The press test is a good indication of pot-worthiness, not just age.
A dry skin is no indication that a fish is past its prime, just as 'the wet look' does not guarantee freshness. Fishmongers are adept at cosmeticising their slabs with a regular splash of water; this is why it is important to examine the fish closely. Once you have inspected a good few fish, including some that are less than fresh, you will soon become proficient at discarding doubtful specimens and returning home with a catch to be proud of.
Buying shellfish
As with other fish, I like to buy shellfish direct from the boats: it's fresher (usually alive, in fact) and cheaper. Lobsters and scallops in particular are now fiendishly expensive. If you can intercept them before the retailer has a chance to whack on their mark-up, you will save a considerable amount of money. This is, of course, difficult for anyone who is not within striking distance of a port where shellfish are regularly landed, but there is another tactic for those who are prepared to do a little detective work. Good restaurants take frequent deliveries of fresh fish and shellfish, and will of course be paying wholesale prices for them. If you are a regular of some nearby establishment, you might discreetly enquire where they get their fish. Perhaps the wholesalers might be able to include you in their rounds. Or perhaps the chef in the restaurant might be prepared, once in a while, to add something for you on to his or her order. If you manage to work out such an arrangement, make sure you don't abuse it. Be loyal and regular in your orders, and try not to mess around with piffling quantities that mean it is barely worthwhile for these busy professionals to help you out.
If you are purchasing shellfish in the fishmonger's or supermarket, buy it alive if you possibly can. And if you want something special, such as a lobster or a few dozen oysters, order it in advance to make sure it is as fresh as possible (if it turns out not to be, you are certainly under no obligation to take it).
Lobsters and crabs are best bought live and intact, preferably still waving their claws defiantly at you. You can buy them ready boiled but, in my experience, a lot of fishmongers tend to overboil them. Never buy an uncooked dead crab or lobster. The flesh deteriorates within hours, and they are likely to be tainted in flavour, if not a positive health hazard.
Prawns are now imported from all over the world and various types turn up on the fishmonger's slab. Most of the 'shell-on' cooked prawns you see have been bought frozen in large catering packs and dished out, a few handfuls at a time, on to the slab. Cooked prawns freeze well, so this isn't the end of the world. But these defrosted prawns may sit around for a while, losing condition, before you buy them. And some of our less scrupulous fishmongers have a naughty habit of popping any unsold prawns back in the freezer at the end of the day and bringing them out again the next. They end up mushy and stale. The obvious answer is to buy your own catering pack of frozen shell-on prawns and dispense and defrost them as and when you need. They will be as good as, or better than, anything you can buy in the fishmonger's, and you will be master of their quality.
Molluscs tend to be more affordable than crustaceans. Clams, though, are very popular with the restaurant trade and are therefore becoming increasingly expensive (if you want to buy them in any quantity, try to go direct to a wholesaler). Razor clams are still good value, while the less fashionable cockles and whelks are plentiful and cheap. Most mussels available these days are farmed, and some are a lot better than others, so be prepared to shop around. Increasingly popular are those giant greenlip mussels imported from New Zealand and elsewhere. Compared to the best of farmed British mussels, I think they are quite uninteresting.
Oysters and scallops are increasingly being cultivated, which means they are usually clean and free from grit. Dredging for scallops, however, is still widespread. It is an ecologically disastrous practice that should be banned – I have seen with my own eyes, while diving, that dredging has rendered whole areas of sea floor into near deserts. Diving for scallops is the sound alternative, and although diver-caught scallops can be expensive they taste exquisite. Avoid waterlogged, previously frozen scallops. I always like to buy my scallops and oysters alive and in the shell, as a guarantee of freshness. When touched or prodded, a live scallop should snap shut. When you open an oyster, a sure sign of it being alive, and therefore fresh, is that when you touch the dark frill that runs around the edge of the shell, it should retract slightly. It usually does the same if you squeeze a drop of lemon on it.