The whiff of deception

WE’RE told, by those who understand such things, that we live in a free society. However, I sometimes question whether we’re worthy of such freedom or, more to the point, whether we actually want it because if some people were given real freedom, there’s a good chance they’d be scared half to death.

To me, a fundamental element of freedom is, within certain parameters, the ability to experience life the way we want. So, this evening, you have the right to stay in and watch the TV. Nobody can stop you because it’s a free society and you reserve the right to sit in front of the box and be brainwashed by someone else’s idea of what life’s really like.

Isn’t that what you meant by freedom? Doesn’t it turn out that a free society really contains the freedom to allow others the freedom to manipulate our lives for us? It certainly seems to me that we allow our lives to be managed on our behalf with very little input from ourselves.

So if TV’s a remote experience (in more ways than one), what about assaults on other sensory receptors such as our nose? This morning, standing in the shower, I picked up a bottle of shampoo that had a label, with large loud letters, proclaiming it smelled of limes. Now, despite being doubtful about the benefits of my hair smelling of fruit, the truth is the stuff didn’t smell of limes. I know that because, trailing water all around the house and getting funny looks from my wife, I went and got a fresh lime and cut it in half just to prove it. The shampoo had a smell that one could say reminded one of limes but in reality had a smell that some boffin thought was like what we would think limes smelt like – only stronger, sweeter and not lime.

Then, secretly going through the contents of the bathroom cupboard I found various bars of soap purportedly smelling of strawberry, lemon and banana and – please be prepared to be horrified – avocado body rub. I thought that before writing this I may go to the local supermarket to survey their shelves for other sensory-assailing products but bottled out when I realised I’d have to do battle with the artificial bread-baking smell pumped into the foyer.

It’s one of the reasons why, at Oldfields some years ago, we started something called the campaign for real food. We got fed up with being given rubbish that we were told was real. At first when we floated the idea it met with some resistance due to misunderstanding. The comments included things like, “People buy it so they must want it” and so on. But I’m not convinced. If we don’t know any better, how can we make informed choices?

Real food has real smells. Anyone who’s grown their own food or bought straight from the farm gate or market will know what real carrots, tomatoes and, when available, limes smell like. Go around a French or Italian market and watch the customers putting the fruit to their nose and smelling it. They know what they’re doing.

So, until some enlightened olfactory engineer comes up with a real, useable smell based on food, let’s source real food and relearn what real food smells are like rather than being sold what some other person thinks it smells like.

And maybe I’m odd but I will continue to defend my freedom to apply scents to my person that smell of their function such as a shampoo that smells of soap. The rest can spend their time smelling like a scientist’s imagination.

North Sea lemon sole with dill butter and samphire

I find that one of the most evocative of smells is that of the sea and I don’t think anyone’s managed to bottle it yet. But samphire’s a herb or vegetable with an aroma that when fresh, instantly teleports me to the seaside.

Sometimes referred to as sea asparagus but more accurately called glasswort, samphire is found on coastlines and is mainly harvested, in the UK, from the mud flats of East Anglia between the months of June to September. It can be used as a simple starter – just blanch for a minute and dress with olive oil and lemon – or as here, as a natural complement to lemon soul.

Obviously, it’s not always that easy to get hold of but now’s the time to see if you can buy it. We get it from our delicatessen suppliers – so it is in the region – and it can occasionally be seen in supermarkets and wet fish shops. Don’t be tempted to use pickled samphire in this dish as it would overwhelm the delicate flavour of the soul. An alternative is to use some lightly steamed spinach or chard or, of course, asparagus. But it’s worth noting that samphire’s quite salty so there’s no added salt in the recipe. You might need a little if using the alternatives.

Serves two

50g unsalted butter

A good double pinch of dill (or other soft herb such as parsley or chervil) – finely chopped

One shallot – peeled and finely diced

Two lemon sole – skinned and trimmed

Olive oil for sealing the fish

The juice of one lemon

150ml white wine

100g samphire

Flour for dusting

Make the herb butter at least an hour or so in advance by softening the butter, mixing in the chopped herbs, wrapping in cling film and chilling.

Pre-heat the oven to 200°C (gas mark 6).

Pre-heat a large oven-proof frying pan. Dust the fish with a little flour, add a little olive oil to the pan and seal both sides of the fish for around twenty seconds.

Add the shallot, lemon juice and white wine to the pan and place in the oven for ten minutes.

When cooked, remove the fish from the pan and keep warm. Heat the juices in the pan and drop in the butter cut into cubes, constantly shaking the pan until all the butter has melted and the sauce is shiny. Drop in the samphire to warm through, remove and place onto warmed serving plates with the fish on top and the sauce poured over and around.

In the restaurants we serve this dish with mashed potato and it would also go well with a wild leaf and herb salad.