Fish and chips for a Friday night. Well, sort of. A big, shiny brill baked with thyme, lemon and butter and some roasted wedges of spud alongside. The kind of fish and chips that takes very little effort when you lack either a deep fat fryer or the concentration to be trusted with hot oil on the hob.
The brill from Mr Moxon's was a superb fish, almost as good as a turbot. Which, as Jane Grigson writes in her seminal Fish Book, is the curse of the brill; always being compared to one of the sea's most aristocratic meals. But such a comparison is really unfair. We should forget the T-fish and let brill be as brilliant as it can be. Last night's was soft, meaty and flavourful with big, juicy flakes of flesh and herby buttery juices. A bubbles of a bottle of Bruno Paillard's Rose Champagne made a happy partner as we watched Bruno's countrymen throw away the World Cup on the telly.
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