So, today, I bought sardines.
Sardines, four of the buggers — whole — for under £1.50, are the kind of thing I buy whenever I see them — irrespective of weather, mood or recent national tragedy. Sardines are the polar opposite of the choice in front of me on yesterday’s ballot paper: you can’t go wrong with sardines.
Today, you want a largely hands-free dinner, don’t you? So you can concentrate on drinking. Sardines are your friend. As is roast cauliflower. This is pretty much my favourite way to eat what can be a somewhat dull vegetable. Rather than boiling it, I break it into chunks (not too small) and leaves (for Christ’s sake, don’t throw away the leaves) and chuck it onto a baking tray. Slosh over plenty of olive oil, season with your characteristic generosity, and whack into an oven at 180 degrees centigrade or so (200 for a conventional oven) for 25 minutes. The leaves crisp up and the florets brown. When it comes out of the oven, squeeze a good quarter of lemon over it and serve.
Meanwhile, the sardines. You wipe them clean of any stray scales, lay them on your grill, season and grill under a high heat. The skin blisters and blackens after a few minutes. Turn them and do the same on the other side. Then you’re done.
I had mine, today, with a glass or four of the Wine Society’s very good White Rioja. Lemony, dry, full.
Still, though, somehow — at the end of it — I still had a bitter taste in my mouth.
