...and finally a recipe, my ambivalent relationship with pasta meets my love of smoked eel

I groan when I read pasta recipes. And not in a good way.

Pasta is my junk food. It’s the meal of least resistance, code for – I’m tired and I want something to fill me up and in my tummy in 15 minutes.

When I was an accidental vegetarian (I’d stopped eating meat but couldn’t afford fish), too often the unimaginative and nutritionally negligent spaghetti Napoli was the only menu item on offer. I grew resentful of pasta and the arrogant chefs who made it their only vegetarian item.

But I digress. The following dish is neither boring nor vegetarian. It is deliciousness personified and has earned it’s place as one of the few pasta recipes on this blog.


Leek and smoked eel pasta
(Serves 2)

Pasta spirals

Olive oil
1 large leek, sliced in 2-3cm lengths
2 cloves garlic, crushed
1-2 tsp lemon zest
1 tab capers
8 cornichons (that’s mini gherkins to you Bridget Jones), roughly sliced
Large handful parsley, roughly chopped
1/2 a smoked eel, sliced into bite sized chunks
lemon juice
black pepper



In a large pan on low heat, slow cook the leeks in olive oil until soft. Ideally, cover a heavy fry pan and cook on a heat diffuser mat for about 30 minutes. While that gets underway prepare your eel. When the leeks are half cooked, add the garlic. Now put on the pasta (gluten-free of course). In the time it takes to prepare the pasta, turn your attention back to the pan. Add the cornichons, capers, parsley and lemon zest to the leeks. Cook for a couple of minutes and then stir in the eel. Add a squeeze of lemon juice and a few grounds of black pepper, then stir though the cooked pasta.

The leek and eel combination is loose enough to moisten the pasta. Hold your horses with the salt, the smoked eel negates the need to add any. All up, this is a delicious, fragrant pasta dish, that boots the ubiquitous Napoli back into the sea.

smoked eel

When I was a sweet young thing, 18 in fact, I went on a first date with a guy who’d turn out to be significant in my life. There had been other attempts at dates preceding this – to a concert (Madness – now that will give away what decade we are talking about here!), a movie (where he showed up with 8 of his mates) but this was the first going out to dinner type of date. Romantic. One on one.

His choice of restaurant seemed curious - the formal dining room of a modest hotel in the centre of the city. The type of place commercial travellers stayed and ate a steak at a corner table. I’d never gone beyond the tacky student bar or the family “Cobb and Co” restaurant at street level. I didn’t even know there was a dining room.

The place was a bit stiff, proper, without going over the top. White napkins. A traditional menu for the ‘80s. That is all I remember* except one thing – we had smoked eel on buttered brown toast as an entrée. My love for eel began there and then. My love for him would take another month before it began to kick in.

I don’t know what the prejudice is about eels. Sure out in the wild they are slippery slimy creatures, things you wouldn’t want to feel brush your leg while swimming in a lake. On the plate, though, is a different story.

New Zealand was never known for a culture of exotic food. The land of the long sliced, white loaf. Roast lamb with mint sauce. Pavlova with lashings of cream and passionfruit. Mostly imported English stodge. Although Maori cuisine is largely characterised by the hangi, they also has a long tradition of smoking foods – especially muttonbirds, rainbow trout and eels. Here in Australia I can find nothing that tastes remotely like the ambrosial quality of a trout freshly caught from a mountain stream and then hot smoked over manuka branches – but when I am homesick a little bit of smoked eel goes a long way.

There is at least one stall at Vic Market that sells whole, smoked eel. The supplier has changed since I last got one and instead of being assaulted with a strongly salted, smoky flavour – I was met with a delicate taste and decidedly less greasy than others I have eaten. I didn’t miss the jelly like layer of fat, but a little more salt would have lifted the flavour. The flesh however was pale and delicate, not as red tinged when filleted.

In New Zealand, I have found lovely little skinned and boned fillets, vacuum packed in the supermarket refrigerator. There is a particularly nice local brand I found in Greytown, which is worth a drive over the hill for. However here in Melbourne it’s likely you will have to get down and dirty with the beast. Don’t let it put you off. I promise the experience is worth the effort.



The fatty eels are easier to peel. After chopping off the head and the tail the skin comes off like peeling a banana, but you will need to scrape the jellied oil layer off with a spoon or a knife. Next slice out the backbone.

If you were the kind of kid who liked licking the beaters after making a cake or gnawing on a chop bone, you’ll love taking the spine and scraping off the flesh with your teeth. It is one of life’s primal, very satisfying experiences. Because of this it’s best preparing the eel alone, so there are no squabbles over the best bits!

Now you have some fillets of sumptuous smoked eel – what can you do with them?



The easiest is a return to the Dining Room of the St George Hotel (and how I ate it for years after), simply layer it on the best quality grainy, hot, buttered toast. A squeeze of lemon juice and some cracked black pepper completes the dish.

If you want to get fancier, it extends well to make a pasta salad – a good vinaigrette, parsley, cherry tomatoes, spring onions or chives. Play a little with the ingredients.

You can make a mousse. I’ve made a dairy-free version using good quality mayonnaise, finely sliced spring onions or parsley, with some garlic and lemon juice. But remember it is a rich and oily fish. While a little dab on crackers is great, too many and it will get your gallbladder working over time.

But for a simple entrée – on the weekend I put together a little eel salad.

Simple smoked eel salad
Smoked eel fillets, cut into strips or chunks
Avocado
Cucumber
Spring onions (or garlic chives)
Cherry tomatoes (if out of season use some semi dried tomatoes)

Chop your salad vegetables into small to medium sizes. Assemble in small bowls with pieces of smoked eel on top. Dress with either lemon or lime juice, or a vinaigrette. A dollop of good quality mayonnaise is also worth trying. Some finely shaved fennel bulb would have been a great twist, but I was using what I had at hand.



Eel of course is not limited to the smoked variety. There is jellied eel, which for me the mere thought of causes a rather unpleasant shudder. But there is also unagi, the Japanese take on the mighty eel. Usually grilled with a sweet, teriyaki style sauce – I indulge occasionally in unadon (on rice) for lunch, or the delightful “boxed eel” sushi, with shitake mushrooms at my favourite Japanese restaurant.

And as for the man? Well, a bit like my love for smoked eel, my feelings for him have endured over time and space. A morsel now and then can be nostalgic, but not a dish to be dined on every day.

* update: The other side of the collective memory emailed me to let me know an important foodie fact - we drank Gewürztraminer. Now that really places the meal in time and space!