Lockdown Edition Week 2: Crunch Lunch Cod and Mash

The book: Ainsley Harriott's Meals In Minutes

The recipe: p85, "Crunch Lunch Cod and Mash"

Obviously it's Ainsley. Who else could come up with a recipe name that's equal parts ludicrous and irritating? I've actually put on some Chopin, courtesy of the Berliner Philharmoniker's own lockdown edition, in the hope that a dose of high culture might offset some of the lows I'm having to endure here.

The random selections from Ainsley's repertoire were a mixed bag last time out, from some vegetable burgers that were pretty brilliant to a tarte tatin that definitely bloody wasn't. Looking beyond the titular tweeness, it turns out that the slightly unprepossessing "cod and mash" hides a more interesting prospect - the accompanying photo is colourful and attractive, while the blurb provides some useful lockdown wiggle room with its opening statement that "you can buy all manner of smoked fish". Why yes, yes I can! So let's hotfoot it over to Asda (while keeping a safe distance) and see what we can rustle up.

I'm still a bit sceptical about the "crunch" part though. If your fish is crunchy, doesn't that just mean you've forgotten to debone it?

The prep: Not many of the ingredients are already in the house (just potatoes, milk and breadcrumbs), but there's nothing in here that appears too problematic, and so it proves. Black olives are hidden away in an unlikely corner of the shop, while basil is only available in a pot, but that's fine - what else are kitchen windowsills for? Meanwhile, the free choice of smoked fish ends up with me picking up two fillets of basa, that recent(-ish) supermarket staple for the undiscerning consumer who can't really tell the difference between types of bland white fish anyway. Hey, that's me!

The making: "Serves 4", the recipe says. Normally this is where I laugh and make the full quantity in the knowledge that it'll just about be enough for the two of us. In this case, though, two basa fillets each would be a bit OTT, so I'm halving everything. Well, everything except the potatoes, which are staying more or less as is. My excuse is that this "lunch" is actually going to be our dinner, but let's be honest, it's also because potatoes are lush.

I grease an ovenproof dish then whack the fish in there. The white parts of several spring onions are chopped and scattered over the cod, the green parts being reserved for later. Sliced tomatoes are then arranged on top (one tomato per fillet, folks), ditto a handful of sliced olives. I then drizzle on some olive oil and sprinkle on some torn basil leaves, thereby defacing the only plant (of sorts) we're allowed in this hay fever-cursèd household.

Next, I'm asked to take more basil leaves and toss them with some breadcrumbs. Well, okay, but basil isn't exactly moist and sticky, so I don't really see how this will achieve anything. Indeed:

Sigh.

Anyway, this "mixture" is scattered over the fish, and then there's another drizzling of oil. This recipe does involve a great deal of scattering and arranging and layering for something that's - I quote - "snappy and ready to serve in a flash". Still, the outcome isn't unpromising:

...and into the oven it goes "for 15 minutes until the fish is cooked". (More of an either/or statement than Ainsley makes it sound, but I'll allow it.)

Meanwhile... ah. It's time a return for one of my biggest recipe bugbears! Meanwhile, you see, I'm supposed to be boiling some chopped potatoes (the recipe never asks me to peel them first, but I'll let common sense prevail) for 10-15 minutes, draining them, putting them back into the pan, adding some milk, mashing them, pushing the mash to the side of the pan, adding some butter, melting the butter, chopping the green parts of those spring onions I mentioned earlier, adding them to the pan, frying them, then stirring them into the mash. All of this needs to happen in the 15 minutes the fish will be in the oven, even though the potato-boiling part alone might take up to 15 minutes. Can anyone spot the problem here?

Having read ahead, I start the potatoes off five minutes before the fish goes into the oven, and it all turns out fine as a result - but seriously, cookbook authors, could you please stop springing surprises on us and expecting us to warp the laws of physics in order to achieve the desired outcome? "Meanwhile", my arse.

Anyway. Once I've got everything ready more or less simultaneously, I divide the mash between two plates - adding a side of some roasted asparagus, since it happened to be in this week's veg box and I thought a bit more substance wouldn't hurt. The mass o' mash is already less elegant than it looks in the book, partly because I've made a bit more than I should and partly because I completely forgot to cut down on the number of spring onions when I was tweaking my numbers earlier. (And they weren't exactly small ones, either.) Ah well, it's all good.

What's green and lumpy? (Write your own punchline.)

All that remains is to carefully remove the fish from the dish and slide it on top of that indoor ski slope of mash, then "spoon around the fish juices". Um. What fish juices? Maybe I cooked it for a few minutes longer than I ought to have - not that there's any sign of that in the eating (spoiler alert) - but even with fish, tomatoes and olive oil in the equation, there's basically nothing left to add to the finished dish other than some rogue spring onions (yes, more of the bastards).

Between them and the mash that's spilling out from underneath due to my portioning decisions, the end result is a wee bit more rustic and, well, tall than in the book, but it's reasonably pleasing on the eye all the same.

 
Even if it does look faintly reminiscent of one of those legendary 70s dinner party cards. You know the kind of thing I mean.

The eating: Hey! This isn't bad, you know? It's a little bit confusing - the tomatoes, basil and olives give the top half of the assembled dish a bright, Mediterranean flavour, while the mash (which would have a lumpy consistency even with the right quantity of spring onions) is reminiscent of colcannon, rumbledethumps or one of those other winter staples from these fair isles. It could also be a little more decadent - I'd add more butter to the mash next time. Still, the flavours go together pretty well, the fish is lovely and juicy (told you), and every bite has plenty going on to keep you interested. It's a good dish, Brent.

What it isn't, despite Ainsley's "charming" title, is crunchy. I suppose the crunch is supposed to come from the spring onions (which do still have a bite to them) and the breadcrumbs (which have been drizzled in oil so are hardly going to crisp up much given a mere 15 minutes in the oven). I'd consider just whacking on a whole load more breadcrumbs next time, or maybe even tossing the tomato slices in oil and breadcrumbs so that they form a proper top layer.

What it also isn't is a "meal in minutes", frankly. I'm no slouch in the kitchen - I peel potatoes for speed, and if some perfectly usable bits of spud get sacrificed along the way, so be it - but even I need 30 minutes of preparation time here (the recipe confidently claims 15), and we've already talked about the whole cooking time issue. I suppose you could prepare pretty much everything in advance and just whack it all in the oven as lunchtime approaches - even the mash could be made ahead and reheated that way, at a pinch - but it hardly satisfies the "lightning-fast food" criterion of the book series. Just call it a dinner and be done with it.

It's a very decent dinner though. Two weeks into this lockdown project, and things have turned out pretty well so far. To the extent that Sam utters the immortal words: "I hope we get something really shit soon!" Careful what you wish for...

Two-word verdict: Decidedly un-shit.