Devil’s Advocate
Where Beatmag Defends The Indefensible
Tim Gomersall discovers, against all odds, that true culinary joy is a rollmop
This is a story of discovery; a love story, pivoting on one moment of clarity that would change my life forever; an inspirational happening that could so easily have slipped me by and left a gaping hole in my life… and I would never have known!
Let me start with first impressions. It was about five years ago, while eyeing up the preserves in my local delicatessen; my first fleeting glimpse of those slimy silver tubes, with their pasty white innards ejaculating from either end. I am talking, of course, about gastronomy’s ugliest child, the rollmop. Quite simply the strangest culinary creation after the jellied eel. (In fact, I could have quite easily have picked jellied eels to talk about instead, but there is simply no defending those foul beasts and I have yet to find anyone under the age of 70 who enjoys/understands them. So I’ll stick to what I know best.)
For those who don’t come from Scandinavia, or haven’t had the confusion of coming across a rollmop yet, let me explain. It is simply a slice of raw herring rolled around some chopped onion, to form a tube, then pinned with wooden sticks and preserved in vinegar. We aren’t talking here about a delicacy in the same league as the genius creation of sushi, and the lifetime of training it takes to master the art of making it. Nope…it’s just a lump of raw fish on a stick.
But the thing that made me so intent on never going near a rollmop wasn’t the idea of how it would taste, or the pungent guff it exhales, but the fact that it looks like something out of a horror movie; a severed tentacle freshly sliced from Sinbad’s sword. A slimy tube that would attach itself to your forehead and suck out your brains. In fact, is that onion in there, or has it just finished feeding?
However, enough on my initial feelings towards the rollmop – let us jump forward to last summer. I was out to lunch with my girlfriend and her family for her father’s birthday; a buffet affair at a large seafront hotel. There had been champagne for starters, and feeling a little indulgent, I openly dared my self to try a bit of everything on offer. Having always prided myself on the fact that there is very little I dislike and nearly nothing I wouldn’t try at least once (jellied eels being the ‘nearly nothing’), much to my horror one of the dishes on display was a small mountain of rollmops. Right, I thought, this is my chance to put this one to sleep, and finally chow down my nautical nemesis. The stage was set, and with my audience looking on, I cut a great flubbering lump off the end and, eyes shut, I quickly chomped away.
Freeze frame. Have you ever had a moment of clarity? Where suddenly the fog clears and you see the light for the very first time? The realisation that you’ve been living life without experiencing one of its hidden wonders? How could I have been so wrong about rollmops. Every bite was an absolute pleasure and the blend of flavours was nothing short of sublime. I’m love foods like smoked mackerel and pickled onions, but never would have thought two flavours so strong could possibly work together, but rollmops do it perfectly.
I am now a fully fledged convert and have a new favourite snack. It has become clear why they are so popular across parts of Europe, and there are even countries where a bowl of rollmops forms the centrepiece at Christmas, instead of a Turkey. Also, many believe that the rollmop is the ultimate hangover cure – it is regularly found on German breakfast tables, following a hard night on the schnapps.
My next plan is to find a business mogul and suggest a high street rollmop solution; perhaps available in foil packets, next to the crisps and chocolate bars. I think it would be sad world if everyone didn’t get the chance to experience such a gourmet treat.
