The essence of the sea
by - 21:53 on 19 March 2007
If you go as far north-east in Scotland as you can go, you’ll arrive at a fairly bleak town. It’s called Fraserburgh. No dramatic scenery lies around it, no matter how you approach, but only the neat, well-drilled fields of the Buchan farmers. They seem to take it as a personal affront if gorse or broom rises at the road edge to more than a metre or so. It’s bare and bleak, grim and austere. Now, obviously, this is not brochure-speak – which would describe the place as ‘rolling, rich farmlands with a rich heritage’ - but it happens to be the way the land appears on this windy knuckle of Scotland at the turning point for the Moray Firth.
There is one other characteristic. The intensively-farmed landscape suddenly stops, usually a pace or two from cliff or dune and gives way to some kind of more natural landscape at the very edge of the sea. Two themes only, then: land and sea. And, back in Fraserburgh, it’s the sea which pervades the town – there is a busy harbour, there are ostentatious houses built by folk who have made their profits from the fishing. And, for anyone who cares to sample it, there is the finest fish to be bought from real fish-shops. Do not confuse the wares which these shops sell with the laughable, apologetic, wrinkled, neglected-looking stuff which your local mega-store displays.
We forgave this shop the fact that its name just had to use the inevitable pun involving ‘plaice’. (You know what I mean – it’s the way that hairdressers just can’t resist ‘Kurl up and Dye’ or ‘A cut above’ and so on. If I ever run a cheap trinket shop in the Highlands I’m definitely going to call it ‘Bonny Price Charlie’ after my own favourite mis-typing.)
Anyway, there we were gazing at this array of finely prepared fish. We played it safe with lemon sole – big chunky fillets, gleaming white, skin off already. Dipped in flour, then egg, coated in freshly-prepared breadcrumbs, fried for a few minutes – nothing easier for the evening meal. The essence of the sea. A new meaning to the phrase ‘fresh fish’. (I’ll lapse into brochure-speak if I don’t stop now.)
Yeah, sure, the whitefish fleet has taken a hammering in recent years – and the north-east ports can seem a long way from the Scottish Parliament, let alone Brussels – but that simple meal was a reminder of the sheer quality that’s out there if you can track it down.
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