AMAZING ANCHOVIES
Diana Henry shares her favourite ways to use them
There are certain ingredients that all food writers get into trouble over. They’re ones that betray their passions and they use constantly – even where other cooks wouldn’t – and they’re often ones that not everyone likes. Mine are dill (I’m amazed by how little love there is for those fresh, aniseed-flavoured fronds), feta, capers and cured anchovies. Occasionally, the editors of every magazine for which I write ban me from using these, because I reach for them on a daily basis. Apart from the dill, they’re all salty, and that’s my thing. I love finding little sparks of saltiness among sweet things – not necessarily sugar-sweet, but the sweetness of prawns or melting beef – or the gentle umami saltiness that’s infused a whole dish. Anchovies melt and are transformed with heat, which is why you can use them to stu a leg of lamb without it tasting fishy. Despite their saltiness, as anchovies cook they become milder, intensifying the flavour of both meat and fish while making them mysteriously sweeter. Uncooked, anchovies are bold. What anchovy lovers adore is exactly what anchovy haters detest. When packed in salt (Sicilian anchovies come in round tins, with the fish laid out like the spokes of a wheel and the salt crusted around their bodies) they are lengths of intense fishiness, and need to be rinsed and patted dry. I prefer anchovies in oil, as they’ve already been rinsed before being packed in the oil, which softens the fish. The anchovies also flavour the oil, so you get a perfect package that can transform even the most basic ingredients.
Not everyone likes anchovies in this state; they prefer to cook with them, but I keep tins in the cupboard just for making lunch with them. They need to rub up against something creamy like mozzarella, burrata or – and I know it seems counterintuitive to mix butter and olive oil – thick, cold butter that’s been spread over good bread (a Roman snack that I only discovered a few years ago). It’s the contrast between the fresh creaminess and tongue-tingling saltiness that’s so good. But anchovies play well o so many foods, from tomatoes and roast peppers to caramelised onions, hard-boiled eggs, black olives and lentils. Plus, they’re indispensable in Sicilian cooking, where they play a vital role in the characteristic sweet-savoury dishes that mark the Arab influence on the island. There, chopped anchovies are mixed with currants or raisins, garlic and olive oil (and often capers as well) and stu ed inside fish or used for dressing vegetables and pasta. So, where do you find the best anchovies? Because I use them so often, I keep stashes of supermarket own-label tins, but for a treat – when I’m going to eat them in the very simplest way – it has to be Ortiz anchovies from the north of Spain. Buy some and do a comparative tasting, feeling the texture of those soft, mink-coloured little fish, too. They provide the purest anchovy pleasure.