'n tweede eerste

Let me share my first. It was July, a night or two before the family was to depart again. We were in Oxford, dazzled by colleges and history and atmosphere. We were looking for fish at the Covered Market, and fish we did find, but it was the scallops that stole the show.


I love the colours.

To be honest, I wasn't quite sure what to do with them. But surely that is half the excitement of firsts? That feeling around, guessing, improvising. Luckily we didn't have a lot to complicate things with.

A hot pan, butter, a rubbing of garlic. Just a few seconds on each cheek There was a fair bit of poking, hoping I could instinctively feel when they're done. This is usually the time my paranoia about over-cooking (shell)fish comes to the fore. My lesson: if you heat something to the point where it protests vehemently, spitting and sizzling at you, and then take it off the heat, to rest for a few minutes, it should be done. My definition of done in any case.

Then served with chives, more of the garlicky butter and some mostly decorative greenery.
They came out well, even if the books would want them a bit more golden. Soft, sweet, scallopy. And suddenly I could understand what the fuss was about.