Thai fish cakes
When I was seventeen I went out with about the most inappropriate guy I could find. Really, all my friends thought I was mad, we had nothing in common, he wasn’t even attractive. Truly, from the beginning, I knew it was a mistake; the next two months were just a plod-along until I worked out how to dump him.
Looking back, I’m grateful to be able to blame my age and rebellious, self-destructive tendencies. I was very happy being miserable back then. Now, with the benefit of hindsight and no small amount of Growing The Hell Up, I occasionally look back and wonder just what it was I saw in him. He had no redeeming qualities, no saving graces. He didn’t introduce me to new thoughts, new music, new books. He didn’t speak passionately about anything, apart from his football team. But, in some small way, he had a life-changing effect on me; he took me to the Thai bar. When we broke up, I intelligently kept custody of the bar and all his friends down there. This was the bar where I met Bear, so you could say that fateful teen relationship is directly responsible for my marriage and baby.
The Thai bar was a local institution. I walked past it for years before I found it. You can find it underneath a Thai restaurant in the centre of town, marked only by a big old gas light and some poorly maintained stairs; I walked past it for six years without knowing it was there, before he took me down there for a quick drink one evening. Downstairs, the air used to be thick with the smell of sensational Thai food, happy conversation and cigarette smoke. Eventually, when I cut the guy loose, I would continue to go down there, sampling the menu and getting to know the staff and regulars. Eventually, I got a job down there and the rest is history.
I worked in the Thai bar in the evenings and did an office job during the day, which was just around the corner. So, for three years, I would eat most of my evening meals there and also go there for the poor mans lunch (at the time, £3.50 for soup and chicken fried rice). It’s where I learnt how to eat spicy food: during my time there I went from sweating my way through a yellow curry (what a wuss!) to hoovering up a jungle curry. It turned me into the chilli fiend I am today! I ate my way through the entire menu in the three years I worked there, and then set about sampling the home-cooking the staff would make for themselves. On the evenings I wasn’t working I would go there for drinks or cook Thai food at home. And, on Sunday evenings, I would go to my manager’s home, where she would kindly and patiently teach me how to cook Thai food – the basics of stir-fries and curries, salads and soups. Eventually, I got enough of a feel for it to use my own initiative at home.
This was one of my favourite things to order in the Thai bar, but I never learnt how to cook it. So it meant so small amount of trying and testing in my little kitchen, trying to get the balance right. But I’m confident in presenting this recipe to you, because this tastes as moreish and authentic as anything I ever ate in that little basement bar. And I’ve also created my own sweet chilli jam, which I will post next and which finishes this dish perfectly. At the bar they would deep-fry these little fishcakes and serve them with a little raw cabbage and a carved carrot, and a little dish of sweet chilli sauce sprinkled with peanuts. Here, I shallow-fry them (deep-frying has a place in my heart, but I really don’t find it necessary here) and I forego the carrot carving (they didn’t teach me how to do that!) and also the peanuts, as I don’t think they’re 100% necessary. Sometimes I serve them on their own as a starter, sometimes with noodles as a main course. Sometimes Bear and I just eat as many as will make us full. Whichever way, I urge you to make them – they taste of everything that is good about Thai food: fresh, healthy ingredients and clean, vibrant flavours. They’re easy to make and very impressive – the perfect introduction to Thai cooking.
Serves 4, with chilli jam, as a starter or 4, with noodles and chilli jam, as a main course
- 300g salmon, skinned and pin-boned
- 200g raw prawns, peeled and de-veined
- 1tbsp red curry paste
- 1tbsp fish sauce (nam pla)
- 1tsp soft dark brown sugar
- 1 lime, zest only
- 1 egg
- 2 spring onions, white and green, finely sliced
- 2tbsp fresh coriander, finely chopped
- 150ml groundnut oil
I normally use rapeseed oil for all our cooking, but groundnut oil works well for shallow-frying these fishcakes
- Chop the salmon into chunks and put in a food processor with the prawns. Pulse blitz until well combined but not mushy.
- Add the curry paste, fish sauce, sugar, lime zest and egg and blitz again until a smooth paste. Season with salt.
- Transfer to a bowl and fold through the spring onions and the coriander. Clingfilm and leave in the fridge for 1-2 hours.
- Using two dessertspoons, shape the fish mix into quenelles – there is enough for 16 fishcakes.
It seems a little poncey to make these fishcakes into quenelles but it is the easiest way to shape these fishcakes. The mix is quite wet, which makes the moistest fishcakes, but does make it difficult to form into patties using your hands! - Heat the oil in a large frying pan. Gently add half the fishcakes and cook for 2-3 minutes until golden brown. Turn and cook for another 2-3 minutes until well coloured and cooked through. Transfer to a piece of kitchen roll on a plate and repeat with the rest of the fishcakes.
- Serve with the chilli jam, and noodles if using, and enjoy this traditional Thai treat.
