Grab a rod, board a boat and you’re squids in
Our inshore fisheries are rich, diverse and under-valued, with these ink slingers among the tastiest of Britain’s marine treats
Squid are an undervalued treat, as Nick Fisher explains
One of the most Pavlovian of smells is that of fresh calamari sizzling on a barbecue. As the picturesque harbours around France, Italy, Portugal and Spain are infused with the aroma of gently charring calamari and box-fresh sardines, a favourite evening’s stroll of mine is to pad around the Port of Nice in shorts and sandals, scoffing at the bling of the superyachts, while my nose leads me towards a tiny harbourside restaurant where the whiff of fresh grilled fish promises to make my toes curl with joy.
I am a fisherman. I own boats and have licences and ocean-going qualifications, so I wear my Anorak of Fish Knowledge with pride. I am that annoying twonk who, when ordering, always asks if fish are fresh, frozen, farmed or wild. I care. I also like to know exactly where the fish I eat come from. Let’s face it, we’re all aware that the Mediterranean is famously fished-out; the seabed scraped to within an inch of its marine life cycle. Which begs the question, where do all these delicious calamari come from? So, as I order my Nice harbourside dinner, I ask the restaurant’s patron. He smiles helpfully and holds-up a “one-minute-please” finger, returning, seconds later, proffering a label from a fish delivery box.
”Breeks-haarm,” he says, handing me the white waterproofed card fished-out from a fish box. Turns out, the calamari we eat in
Nice is actually “squid” landed in Brixham; the sardines are pilchards – from Torbay.
The calamari and sardines that have become a symbol of national pride and prejudice among the fish-eating countries of southern Europe are mostly caught by UK fishing boats along the south coast of England. Hundreds of tonnes of squid are landed in Brixham every year – and then, almost 100% of the catch is exported. Which, frankly, sucks.
As a nation, we are ignorant and ungrateful with regards to the richness and diversity of our inshore fisheries. We export 80% of our amazing home catch of squid, sardines, anchovies, lobsters, brown crab, spider crab, blue velvet crab, langoustines, whelks, oysters, palourde clams, razor clams, brown shrimps and so on. In turn, we import 70% of the fish that we actually eat – basically just prawns, tuna and cod.
It is insanity, you must agree, that we should be blessed with such a wonderfully varied inshore fishery – full of the most succulent fruits de mer – and yet eat only fried cod, prawn or tuna sandwiches and flabby old farmed salmon. However, I haven’t always been quite so knowledgeable about British squid as I am today. My introduction to squid in UK waters occurred about 20 years ago, while I was sea-bass fishing on a Weymouth charter boat. The best way to catch sea-bass is using a live sandeel, suspended a few feet above the rocky sea bed.
On reeling in my bait, I discovered that it had developed a neat, half-inch hole drilled right through its head. It looked like some weird underwater trepanning cult had abducted my eel, drilled into its cranium then chomped-out a huge dollop of its brain. I looked quizzically at Pat, the gnarly, charter skipper. “Squid,” he spat, before sucking on his roll-up and scowling. “Bastards.”
I’d had no idea squid occurred so far inshore in British waters. I thought they were a warm water sort of thing. Or, indeed, that squid possessed the equipment to so spectacularly assassinate a sandeel.
Once I knew we had squid lurking within a rod’s cast of our shore, the next thing I needed to know was if these squid could be caught. And, of course, cooked and eaten.
Twenty years later I now dedicate much of my autumn and winter afternoons to hunting what is arguably one of the most deliciously edible seafoods in our sea.
The most successful way to catch squid in the UK is using a squid jig, either from a boat or pier. Squid jigs are designed to imitate baitfish, prawns or small squid. Squid are voracious and cannibalistic predators that hunt their prey with the benefit of massive, bottle-top-sized eyes that are huge in comparison to their body. This enables them to spot dinner in situations of low light where most other predators would struggle.
The best way to fish with a squid jig is not to “jig” it but to let it sink to the seabed and then retrieve it slowly and methodically up through the water-column for about 20 turns of the reel. A squid hunts by seeing its prey and then shooting out its two extended leading tentacles, which are encrusted with suckers. They sucker-grab the fish and then drag it towards the squid’s razor-sharp, parrot beak-like mouth.
So what you’ll feel as a squid grabs your lure jig is a tug. Sometimes it’s a soft, tantalising, twitchy nibbly sensation, like you’ve just snagged a frond of seaweed. Other times it’s an unmistakable full-on “bite”, with the rod tip bending to the weight of a fighting squid that can use its water jet-propelled swimming gear to thrust itself backwards. Squid fishing is a surprisingly sensitive and
Squid are, arguably, one of the most deliciously edible seafoods in our sea
heart-thumping business, which involves just enough skill and luck to make for a thrilling couple of hours’ sport. And, best of all, what you get to take home is the most delicious, nutritious and easy-to-prepare fish meal that any angler could ever wish for.
Catching your own squid is exciting and rewarding both on the boat and in the kitchen; it also makes extremely good economic sense. At the time of writing, fresh Cornish squid costs £19.99 per kilo. On many autumn afternoons I’ve caught three or four kilos of squid in a couple of hours with one rod, one jig, no bait, minimum fuss and maximum pay-dirt.
squid Jigs
Jigs work because they’re ringed with lots of small, barbless hooks that snag into the squid’s two leading tentacles as the squid wraps its suckers around them. There are three types of squid jig: a pepperpotshaped jig with a skirt of hooks around the base, which imitates a baby squid; a jumbo shrimp-shaped squid jig that has a coloured Lycra netting “skin” striped like a tiger prawn and an inbuilt lead weight; and my favourite kind, which is a hard, shiny, plastic jig about the size of a regular prawn and shaped like the crazy lovechild of some weird shrimpsardine breeding experiment.
In my opinion, shiny and small works best and last season red out-fished every other colour in my tackle box. Squid jigs can be bought from most seaside tackle shops or online. Some Chinese jigs come with inbuilt, battery-powered flashing LED lights that, in my opinion, add about as much extra value as a verruca at a swimming-pool party.
south coast season
Down on the south coast, where I fish, squid can start to show up in the height of summer. The year before last, we had some good, if rather sporadic, catches on jigs in August. The prime, inshore squid-catching season, though, is from late summer right through until Christmas – or even just a bit after. In these months, the squid move inshore because this is when there are plenty of shoals of immature fish around reefs, wrecks, piers and harbours.
The best time to catch squid is early in the morning or in the evening as the light fades. The squid’s big, bottle-top-sized eye means it’s able to hunt right into the darkness, which gives it the edge over any other inshore predator.
in the ink
Squid are ruthless, homicidal, seabed bandits that like nothing better than to peck the living flesh off their various victims. They
like fingers, too, so if you’re lucky enough to catch a squid do not stick your digit in the centre of its sheriff’s badge-like business end. It’s likely to get chomped. And a peck from a big squid’s beak is an injury you’re not likely to forget in a hurry.
Ink is another issue with squid. Squid ink is unearthly stuff. It’s dense, opaque and practically impossible to remove from clothing. So do not wear anything you love dearly when going on a serious squid session, unless you want to explain to everyone you meet for the rest of time what the huge black splodge across your chest is.
In the autumn, you can tell easily which of the local boats are regularly squidding because their decks and the outside of their hulls will be slathered in jet-black ink.
Squid ink is amazing stuff. It’s delicious when cooked into a risotto or used to colour pasta but it’s also an important part of a squid’s defensive armoury. If a squid is being hunted (and believe me, we’re not the only creatures to find squid irresistible – just about everything loves to eat squid, from sharks and whales to cod and bass), the ink is used as a smokescreen, fired into the face of a predator to hide exactly where the squid went as it jet-propelled itself out of range of hungry jaws.
This propensity to ejaculate a cloud of satanically black ink when a squid is feeling threatened has a downside for the squid angler. Just when you slip a net under a hooked squid or swing it onto the boat on the end of your line, it is likely to squirt its tarry load all over you, the boat, your friends, children, dog – whatever. But, in my opinion, running the risk of a beak bite and not being able to wear cricket whites while squidding is more than compensated for by the unfettered joy of taking home a kilo or two of the most delicious protein known to man.
The only other squid-fishing danger is that if you’re successful on your squid trip, you might well get mugged for your mouthwatering catch on the way home.
Cooking Squid
When Hugh Fearnley-whittingstall and I co-wrote The River Cottage Fish Book we researched and devised an array of tasty squid recipes, from braised stuffed squid with chorizo and rice to squid sashimi, squid and tomato risotto and squid with chilli. But I have a confession to make: if I want to bring ear-nudging grins to my children’s faces, I cook fried squid rings served with a garlic mayo, homemade tartare sauce or a sweet chilli dip – or nothing. Just plain fried squid.
Personally, I like to use cornflour to keep the flour dusting light. Lots of black pepper and very, very hot vegetable oil. The best way to coat squid rings is to put them in a plastic Ziploc bag with the cornflour, pepper and a good, hefty pinch of salt and shake the bag like a psycho Jack Russell with a bath mat. Saves a whole lot of faff and mess.
different types
The two most common types of UK squid are the veined squid ( Loligo forbesi) and the common or European squid ( Loligo vulgaris). They have a blunt tail with “wings” on either side (these are tasty) and the “mantle” (cone-shaped body) can grow up to two feet long. I’ve caught squid regularly over a foot long. And, believe me, holding your own foot-long squid is a happy place to be.
Squid are fast growing, reaching sexual maturity in a year and they only live for a maximum of two to three years. This contrasts with, say, sea-bass, which don’t even reach sexual maturity until they’re five years old. Squid live fast, eat like trenchermen and die young. Current thinking is that squid are an underused marine resource and vastly more sustainable than many of the species we favour currently, such as cod or haddock.
Squid flesh is 78% water, 19% protein and 1.3% fat. It freezes well and can be kept frozen for six months or more. In The River Cottage Fish Book I have described at great length how to prepare squid. But, to be perfectly honest, look up cleaning squid on Youtube and you can become an expert within four minutes.
Uk-landed squid are mostly caught as a by-catch by trawlers fishing for other fin-fish species. And there are a few small commercial boats around the south coast targeting them with jigs. Some good local fishmongers (and, sadly, these are few and far between) may stock fresh UK squid. If they do, buy it. Cook it. Freeze it. Worship it. Tell your friends.
We need to keep our squid here. We need to enjoy it, savour it and most of all value it. I want to be seduced by the aroma of freshly barbecued squid in the harbours of Lyme, Bognor Regis, Newhaven, Brighton, Cleethorpes and Whitstable – not just Nice.
Booking a Squid trip
Charter fishing boats around my part of Dorset rarely run squid-only trips. These are normally tacked onto the end of a day’s charter, which, in the autumn months, might include some bass and black bream fishing. But there are a few skippers who can be tempted to run squid trips if approached, such as Matt Toms on Dawn Mist in West Bay (07967 944781). This winter, I will run a few special hosted squid trips myself in Weymouth Bay. For details and dates of these, contact me on Nick@nickfisher.net
Nick Fisher was the creator and presenter of both Screaming Reels on Channel 4 and the award-winning fishing radio series Dirty Tackle on BBC Radio 5 Live. He wrote The River Cottage Handbook No. 6: Sea Fishing as well as co-authoring the multi-award-winning River Cottage
Fish Book.