Flesh in the pan
I started reading fishery regulations for this week’s recipe, but I’ll save you the details. Suffice to say we’re getting better scallops now and Rex Hunt was somehow involved.
The scallops we use are hand-dived, which is a relief. They used to be dredged, which is terrible for the environment, and which Hunt campaigned against.
The hand-dived scallops we get are often packed with an elastic band to hold the shell shut and keep everything in. Some fishmongers have live scallops on offer during the season, but sadly most scallops have been frozen first. Sometimes it’s like the old French problem – you buy a tin of snails and a pack of shells and then bring them together. It’s just ridiculous.
What makes the live scallop quite spectacular is not just the sweetness and freshness of the flavour but also the firm texture. When we clean the scallops we release the muscle and remove the lid, leaving the muscle and entrails intact. The muscle is what we know as the scallop – the white parcel in the middle of the shell. We usually then clean the entrails but leave the orange roe and scallop skirt in place. The skirt is a sweet section that spreads across the inside of the shell. When cooked it retracts and becomes firm, but it will be the sweetest part of the scallop. Often, pre-prepared scallops are trimmed of this skirt, as well as the roe. This is a shame. Prepared correctly, what are left when baked are the three textures: the roe, the skirt and the scallop muscle.
The seaweed butter we use here brings a richness and subtle umami flavour. It’s the same recipe I’ve used smothered over whole fish before serving.
When baking the scallops, we either sit them on scrunched-up foil or rock salt, which stabilises the scallop and stops any of the butter and juice being lost. In
• many ways, this is the best bit.