Felicity CLOAKE
As sales of the fish soar in lockdown, Felicity Cloake finds herself delighted by its renewed popularity
Pilchard and cabbage? No wonder we went off them
Ihave been trying to look on the bright side of news that sales of tinned sardines soared 500 per cent at Waitrose during lockdown – oily fish, after all, are credited with a wide range of health benefits, which can only be a good thing in the current climate.
Yet as I stared disbelievingly at the empty shelves this week, I couldn’t help feeling annoyed. Where were all these pilchard fanciers in February?
For years, I shared what chef Rowley Leigh describes as the common British objections to tinned sardines: “Too strong. Too small. Too many bones.” And then a friend’s mother served them for tea one day, and politeness dictated that I swallow at least one sardine sarnie. I ended up eating half the plate – suddenly I could see why they’d been so popular.
Indeed, they were once the height of fashion: the V&A’S collection boasts several silver sardine tongs, which the museum describes as “a Victorian refinement for serving the expensive and popular tinned fish”. Believe it or not, in the 19th century, sardines were a thrilling novelty; the first fish to be commercially canned by the French in the 1820s, they retained a virtual monopoly on the market until the 1880s, when Portuguese, Spanish and American rivals muscled in.
Prior to this, tinned fish had been a luxury, the kind of thing you might purchase for a Polar expedition rather than a pandemic. But as the cost came down, it became an everyday foodstuff, featuring prominently in the picnics packed by the Famous Five (“Sardine! Oooh, Mr Luffy, your sandwiches are much nicer than ours,” enthuses Anne).
But familiarity breeds contempt. The late Terry Wogan had mixed feelings about tinned sardines, complaining that in the post-war years “the little fellows… seemed to be everywhere: on toast, in sandwiches and in your salad, along with the half of boiled egg and a sliced tomato, with a dash of salad cream.” During the war, with the government stockpiling tinned food in secret dumps around the country, official guidance suggested ways to make food go further with tempting recipes such as “pilchard and cabbage spread”. No wonder we went off them.
Wogan and his ilk were rather more keen, however, on the sardine sandwiches traditionally served in the Royal Box at Wimbledon. Note sardines rather than the déclassé pilchard, which Jilly Cooper described as a working-class favourite in Class.
In fact, they’re usually the same fish: the name pilchard simply refers to the larger examples found in both the warm waters of the Mediterranean and cooler waters such as our own.
If lockdown has whet your appetite, there’s now a decent range available online, as well as in good grocers and fishmongers. It’s worth experimenting with a few brands until you find the one that suits your taste – that said, although they are available in water or tomato sauce, olive oil is by far the most delicious choice. I also think these little fish are best treated simply – Jane Grigson, one of the finest food writers of the last century, favoured them “on their own with proper bread, fine butter and some lemon”. Nigel Slater, who decrees that a tin “has saved my life many times” gives no fewer than four recipes for sardine sarnies in his book Real Fast Food.
Personally, I like them mashed, bones and all, on sturdy toast with black pepper; the quickest, most satisfying supper imaginable.
Tinned sardines are also useful for fishcakes, and – don’t tell the Italians – make a decent substitute for fresh fish in the Sicilian classic pasta con le sarde.
Slater reckons sardines are “one of the few foods that actually improve in the can”. Three years is, according to Leigh, the optimum ageing time. So all those tins you bought during lockdown still have some distance to travel. Though frankly, in my house, they’d be lucky to last a week.