Catch of the skrei
IT’S rather extraordinary to be 300km north of the Arctic Circle, in the land of the Northern Lights, eating fresh cod – so fresh it was still swimming the fjords a couple of hours ago – with two-Michelinstarred chef Michel Roux Jr. But this isn’t just any old cod (and it’s certainly not battered).
Roux is a Norway Seafood Council skrei ambassador, and we’re in Tromso (alongside a group of talented UK chefs) for skrei cod season, which runs from January to April.
The fish are muscular, hulking things, with red rimmed eyes and scales the colour of razor clam shells – and they’re a national delicacy.
Fishing for a skrei supper involves patience and thermals
Roux visits Tromso for skrei season year after year, but promises: “It doesn’t lose any of the magic.”
Out on the fjords surrounding Sommaroy Island, an hour north of Tromso airport, and squeezed into thickly padded onesies to ward off great sprays of seawater and the freezing temperatures (it’s minus eight degrees), you can see his point. We’re flanked by ragged, snow-dusted mountains, the sun barely cresting their summits.
Captain Ketil Voll instructs us to reel our lines out – no bait needed – until we can feel the weight hit the sea bed, and then swoop our rods back and forth in big, arcing motions (“You have to work to get the cod’s attention”).
My first catch is a silvery slip of a thing – and sadly not a skrei (“Cat food,” announces one of the crew), but my next two are; heavy on the line and wrestling powerfully until hoisted over the edge.
In previous years, the skrei would be sharing the water with orca, as well as whales feasting on herring, but this year the herring are absent, the water not being cool enough, which means no whales. Sea eagles still roil and whirl overhead though.
Back on dry land we settle down to a meal of skrei molje, a traditional Norwegian dish that uses every available morsel of the cod.
Served with amber glasses of aquavit, we start with corrugated curls of butter on brittle, nutty crackerbreads before being presented with wedges of barely grainy, pale pink skrei roe.
Roux explains that “the pinker the roe, the more shrimp the cod must have eaten – just like flamingos”.
There are also steamed, skinless potatoes and the cod flesh itself, poached, luminous white and flaking succulently at the slightest nudge of a fork – we liberally grind over fresh black pepper and sprinkle on finely chopped raw white onion.
A tray of stuffed cod stomach, gelatinous with a slightly spongy crust has a rubbery wobble to it.
“Go on – be brave,” Roux says, passing the platter. It’s not totally unpleasant, although a little chewy.
A fragrant bowl of skrei liver appears, greyish blobs of it floating lightly in an oily liquor.
I’m sceptical again, but people heave huge dollops of the stuff onto their plates.
“The best way to eat it, if you’re nervous, is to squash a potato, add a bit of pepper, and mix the liver in like butter – it melts,” Roux tells me – and he’s right, it dissolves into a rich, umami dressing that’s not fishy at all.
“It’s so, so simple, and the fish is so clean,” says Roux.
“When it’s this fresh, nothing is so good.”
Here are three of Michel Roux Jnr’s recipes to try at home.
ELLA Walker was a guest of the Norwegian Seafood Council.
Skrei is available during the January-April season from Harrods, Selfridges, Booths, Whole Foods Market, quality fishmongers and top restaurants (season timings according to the migratory progress of the skrei).