Anchovies are lovely fish – small, silvery and slender with green and blue reflections. They are related to herrings and sardines, and their flavour is reminiscent of both – more fragrant but with slight bitterness too. Anchovies are loved in Rome, and being plentiful in the warm Mediterranean, you will always find them on local fish stalls. My wily pescivendolo at Testaccio market gets his daily catch from a nearby coastal town called Anzio, their silver sides shining like newly minted coins against their bright white polystyrene packaging. There are usually some prepared anchovies on the counter too: headless, boneless fillets, opened up and looking a bit like fleshy butterflies ready to take home to be marinated, baked or fried.
I was taught by my Sicilian family to coat the fillets in breadcrumbs before frying. Augusto at the trattoria La Torricella plunges them in cold water, then flour, then water again before dropping them in hot fat. Either way, they seize into crisp curls which need only a spritz of lemon and to be eaten as quickly as possible. I often meet Augusto at Mauro’s fish stall, negotiating that day’s fish for the trattoria until the vein in his throat throbs. If we go for lunch at La Torricella, there is a pretty good chance Mauro will be there eating lunch, which I imagine is all part of the throbbing deal.
Then there are preserved anchovies. On a Saturday not far from the fish stalls, a woman stands in front of a trolley just large enough to support an enormous, round tin of salted anchovies. Using tongs she picks out the number you want and wraps them in waxed paper for you to take home, rinse and debone. I like these salted ones, and hear the opinions about them being better, but I generally buy the olive oil-packed ones, the best I can afford, which is far from the most expensive as I depend on them so much as both an ingredient and essential seasoning.
I think anchovies with bread and butter is hard to beat. In Rome, this is called pane, burro e alici and is well-loved. In one place I like, they serve them with toast, which means the butter melts and the anchovies are slightly warm. They also put tiny triangles of lemon on top. At another osteria you are given curls of butter – which taps a nostalgia funny-bone for me – with a few fillets fanned out and a pile of bread and you’re left to get on with it. Both ways are good, but there is something about sinking your teeth into a layer of cold butter that I find irresistible. At home, I often mash slightly softened butter with anchovy fillets to spread on bread or toast (which can be cut into soldiers and dipped in a soft boiled egg) or to toss with vegetables, especially sprouting broccoli, or spring greens. Butter and anchovy greens of all sorts are brilliant stirred into pasta.
As a seasoning, anchovies can steal the show in dressings and sauces, or they can play a more discreet role – anchovies used at the foundation of a dish disappear like an obedient manservant. Used carefully though, at the base of a soup or a stew, the aggressive fishiness is tempered into deep savouriness.
This is well illustrated with roast lamb, where a few fillets stuffed into incisions in the lamb melt and season it deeply and beautifully. Alongside the anchovy, stuff a sliver of garlic and a tuft of rosemary. A shoulder on the bone is ideal for this, which is almost impossible to find in Rome, as the lambs sold are so small. Fortunately, I have just spent the weekend in Dorset, where rain and sun played tag, and my mum had brought a shoulder of local lamb. It is important to stuff the trio deep inside, also to rub the joint with olive oil (some would say butter) and a little salt. Beside the tender lamb, we had a dish of potatoes and onions cooked in milk and a pile of something else I miss: bright green, peppery English watercress. It was a good, seasoned and celebratory meal before coming home to Rome.
Roast shoulder of lamb with anchovies, garlic and rosemary
Serves 4
1.5kg lamb shoulder
4 anchovy fillets in olive oil, drained
A couple of sprigs of rosemary (choose softer younger needles, if possible)
1 garlic clove
250ml dry white wine
Salt and black pepper
1 Set the oven to 220C/425F/gas mark 7. Peel and slice the garlic, then chop the anchovies in half. Use a small, sharp knife to trim away any excess fat and make 10 or so deep incisions in the lamb. Widen the incisions just enough to stuff half an anchovy, a slice of garlic and a small sprig of rosemary inside. Sprinkle with salt and plenty of pepper. Place the joint in a smallish roasting tin and roast for 30 minutes.
2 Turn the oven down to 160C/325F/gas mark 3, pour the wine in the bottom of the tin and roast for a further 90 minutes. Once cooked, cover with foil and rest for 20 minutes.
3 Lift the meat on to a board to carve. Use a wooden spoon to scrape any sticky bits into the gravy, then pour into a small pan. Put the gravy on a high heat to reduce slightly, then pour a little over each serving of lamb.
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Rachel Roddy is a food blogger based in Rome and the author of Five Quarters: Recipes and Notes from a Kitchen in Rome (Saltyard, 2015) and winner of the 2015 André Simon food book award
