Jane Grigson's Fish Book - Jane Grigson [258]
At the offices of W. G. White Ltd I was shown the most beautiful of gastronomic spectacles: a tray with three of these tins on it, opened, with a little bowl of Osetr caviare and a pot of salmon caviare, often known by its Russian name of keta. The Beluga in one tin was silky in texture, and lightly delicious. The Sevruga in another tin had a more pronounced and sea-like flavour. The Osetr in the bowl had been pasteurized, so it was difficult to judge if it really was the finest of all: again, the taste was different. The salmon eggs were enormous, and a translucent vermilion. They were certainly the visual stars of the tray by comparison with the Quaker-greys and sombre greens of the caviare, but after the others they tasted bitter. The third tin contained a tacky seaweed-coloured substance, in which the form of the eggs could hardly be seen. This was pressed caviare, made from the damaged eggs of the various species of sturgeon, salted and impacted together. I liked the taste very much, and the slightly toffee-ish substance. Considering that the price is less than half the Sevruga, I recommend it as an ideal candidate for a first sampling of caviare. Everyone needs a celebration occasionally and I think it is worth saving up for caviare: the pressed kind is a possible extravagance for people whose incomes do not quite come up to their appreciation of food. Which, I think, means most of us.
Red caviare is so different. It is delicious enough, like a superior smoked cod’s roe, but it is not in the same class as caviare proper. Neither is lumpfish caviare from Iceland or Denmark, which is dyed black like those tenth-century roes from the sturgeon of Lake Tung-t’ing (though not with Gleditschia sinensis seeds). They are not to be despised, but keep them for lesser occasions.
TO SERVE CAVIARE
First of all, the amount – allow 30 g (1 oz) per person as a decent minimum, 45 g (1½ oz) is luxurious. Keep the pot in the refrigerator until required, then place it on a dish and surround with ice. As nothing should impair the delicate flavour of this greatest of all luxuries, avoid wine and vodka. And do not be tempted to mix in some cream cheese to make it go further. All that is required is toast, or water biscuits, or rye bread, or – best of all – the buckwheat Blini below.
So much for the finest quality. With lesser grades or pressed caviare, you could add unsalted butter for the toast or rye bread, or melted butter for Blini. Perhaps some sour cream as well, or lemon juice. Pressed caviare is delicious spread on small split potatoes, baked in their jackets and not larger than duck’s eggs (unless you can afford a great deal of caviare).
When it comes to the ‘caviare’ of other fish, chopped spring onions, hard-boiled eggs, or cream cheese which has not been too processed, can all be added to make a large hors d’oeuvre. And when it is a question of the following recipe for homemade ‘caviare’, you can experiment as much as you like. Personally I like it quite on its own, too. It is very good, but I won’t pretend that it compares with the finest Russian and Iranian product, which has transformed the slightly porridgey quality of hard roe into a most poetic texture.
HOMEMADE ‘CAVIARE’
My first and best experience of homemade ‘caviare’ I owe to a fishmonger in Oxford market, who presented me with the unfamiliar grey-crested body of a lump-sucker (otherwise known, being female in this instance, as a hen-paddle). We found that it was stuffed with a vast quantity of eggs, which I didn’t count after reading that there might be anything between 80 and 136 thousand of them. It was easy to see how Iceland manages to can and export 32 tons of ‘lumpfish caviare’ every year. (The rest