Were I a fish, I’d want to live in Jersey’s seas. Think of the fun! Volcanic seabeds, sandy coves and rocky hollows with millions of secret places to race and hide. Great big tides to ride. Waters, impeccably clean, tonic and fresh, washed by the great Atlantic and subtly warmed by the Gulf Stream. I’d have plenty of piscine company, and therefore endless fishy friends to feed upon. Sure, I’d have to contend with the attentions of expert fishermen, but who could blame them? Jersey’s waters teem with delicious seafood, and provide some of the world’s finest fishing. Perhaps this explains why the island has attracted so many invaders.
Britons Ancient and Modern, Romans and Vikings, various Dukes of Normandy, the might of the Third Reich – all have come and left their marks. But I’m convinced that what they wanted to possess was less the island’s strategic location or her emerald-lush fertile fields, but the right to feast madly on an never-ending banquet of regal lobsters and fat crabs; briny oysters, sweet scallops and meaty bass; small-eyed rays and tiny wrasse; pearly black bream; turquoise gurnard; rainbow mackerel; scary conger and thick-lipped mullet, all sea-smackingly fresh, all changing with the island’s mild seasons.
It’s July, and the sun shines kindly on St Helier. In the past few days, I’ve walked, sipped and eaten my way around the island, leaving from the colourful harbour at St Aubin where the local plaice at the Old Court House was anointed with golden rich Jersey butter and served with impossibly sweet Jersey Royals strewn with fresh applemint. A few miles away at St Brelade’s Bay there were charming country pubs to slake my thirst, and pied de perche parcelled and walled potato fields with stark views over German gun emplacements.
I’ve supped real ale at the Smuggler’s Inn at Portelet, and devoured world-class tapas like salt-and-pepper squid, scallops à la plancha and goats cheese-stuffed courgette flowers (drizzled with rosemary honey – amazing) washed down with chilled Muscadet on the decking at The Beach House overlooking Ouaisne Bay. I’ve ambled past great circular Napoleonic watchtowers, above hidden coves sunbathing in the glittery seaside light, through stately forests and tiny villages, and paused at charming, family-owned cafés for crab sandwiches and cappuccino.
St Helier’s markets are a cook’s dream. Their spruce Victorian arcades offer the freshest fruits and vegetables, ripe, ready French cheeses and gloriously pink charcuterie. Best of all was the Fish Market, where I bought a dressed lobster and a naked crab, half-a-dozen oysters and a pint of prawns for less than a tenner. But wherever I’ve been on Jersey, the sea has always been there, a strong alluring presence, tempting me to a paddle or an enlivening swim, and making me long to be afloat upon its winking waves.
Hooray! Today I’m off on a fishing trip with two of Jersey’s best chefs, but first decide to duck into the Maritime Museum on the quay. The museum sings the siren song of island life and tells amazing stories of her sea-going history through barques and brigs, schooners and jibs, cutters, destroyers and dinghies, square-jawed deep-sea divers and extravagantly bearded captains. Further along the quay, shooting the sea breeze next to a crate of crabs the size of silver salvers, are Andrew Baird and his protégé, Daniel Ward.
Andrew looks different out of his chef’s whites. He is one of Jersey’s most celebrated chefs, and for the last 20 years has been feeding grateful guests at Longueville Manor with his deft, delicate, award-winning gastronomic creations. Last night he cooked me a mature masterpiece of impeccably roasted sea bass with cauliflower and crab gratin, and local girolle mushrooms; today he’s like a big kid, over-excited about getting onto the water with a fishing rod.
Andrew enticed Daniel to Jersey eight years ago from his native Sheffield, and Dan’s revelling in seaside living. ‘The quality, variety and freshness of fish and shellfish here never cease to astonish and inspire me,’ he enthuses. Daniel is both fun to be with and super-serious about his work. At only 30, he’s already head chef at Suma’s in Gorey, Longueville Manor’s ‘baby sister’ restaurant, where he promises to cook the best of whatever we catch for my dinner tonight. His sea legs aren’t what they might be, he admits: ‘But it’s essential for a chef to respect his ingredients, and what better way than to catch them yourself?’
We catch the sound of laughter from the jetty below. Our boat today is Theseus II and its skipper is David Nuth of Tarka Sea Trips, whose wide-open features, muttonchop sideburns and barrel chest are straight out of central casting; as is his salty humour, which this morning involves ribbing Daniel about the hairy shins poking out of his board shorts.
Rods loaded, we’re soon underway, with Theseus II nimbly riding the swell past Elizabeth Castle. Behind his mariner’s bonhomie, it’s shiningly obvious that Dave has a deep love for and knowledge of the shallows and reefs that surround and protect Jersey. ‘I often fish SW Corbières, or La Deroute, Le Ruall, Drouilles…’ he explains, his voice tender as if talking about dear friends. ‘But today,’ says Dave, looking at the weather, sea-state and Daniel’s ashen face, ‘we’ll head east.’ Daniel would look relieved were he not concentrating on standing stock still in the middle of the boat, staring hard at the swinging horizon.
East takes us past St Catherine’s Bay to the Banque de Château, where we catch the tide’s drift and Andrew, Daniel and I cast spinners into the beautifully clean, clear water. Clear as your hand, France is just 14 miles away. The sea air smells of pure health and Dan even manages a grin. All of a tiff, it’s raining mackerel. Our lines have been in the depths only moments, and here they bite, rainbow-shiny, green-glittery fat sleek mackerel, some of which we fillet immediately and serve with the secret soy dipping sauce that Cap’n Dave has prepared.
Imagine, if you will, the pleasure that day of catching bream, bass and mackerel whilst eating just-caught sashimi and drinking cold beers. Andrew has thought to prepare sandwiches with his own-baked walnut bread: bliss. We even manage to swop some fish for a pair of splendid lobsters with a lone fisherman called Mark Green, whom we meet working his pots off Les Ecrehous rocks.
All too soon it’s time to be heading back to port, the hold full of fresh fish and our heads full of sea sunshine, pure ozone and silly hilarious jokes. Daniel can’t wait to get off the boat and into Suma’s kitchen, whilst I sip a G+T at Longueville Manor, then swing along later for dinner. Gorey’s pastel-pretty harbour is bedecked with geraniums and petunias and dominated by Mont Orgueil Castle, but my mind is dominated by dinner.
What Longueville Manor is to sublime style, Suma’s is to subtle simplicity. This is the harbourfront, everyday-special eating we all crave, where super fresh ingredients are served with respect, but without pomp. Organic oysters from the Royal Bay at Grouville, plump crab just pulled from the pot, monkfish cheeks with pork belly and langoustine… Daniel Ward’s menu recites the modern mantra of fresh, local, seasonal. And what a pleasure to eat where the kitchen is so obviously on song, where the service is so quietly efficient, and where the wine list runs to 84 bottles ranging from fresh-faced, well-priced good-timers to proper grown-up grand crus.
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Here comes the mackerel that was swimming only a couple of hours ago. It is seared, moist and beautifully tender, and perched on a pile of bitey samphire, baby broad beans and tiny, tiny fresh peas, with some glossy red tomato to please the eye. My lobster is presented as the most perfectly luxurious salad, flanked by a pair of crab claws, a golden heap of fresh mayonnaise and a bowl of buttery Jersey Royals. |
The evening light catches the pleasure craft in Gorey Harbour. The castle, magnificent and majestic, looks down on Suma’s balcony. The clean, fish-filled sea scintillates, and the happy hubbub of families and friends having fun rises a notch. I take a long sip of cool white wine and decide that – oh, yes – this is the life for me.