Black capelin roe, aka masago (まさご）

ot just the only credible clean-up of the financial crisis aftermath comes from Iceland, but also Lidl's own take on faux caviar at a humble £1.49 a jar. Despite this review by The Daily Mail's own McDonald's sampling guru India Sturgis, capelin roe, known in Japan as masago, could be a good introduction to the world of fishy delicacies for the uninitiated. 

It could be, because, probably in a bid to "posh it up", Norprawn, the manufacturer, decided to "upgrade" the natural yellowish-pink colour to blueish black with the help of no less than four chemical additives: E141 (chlorophyllin), E150d (sulfite ammonia caramel), E151 (Billiant Black BN, banned in many countires) and E163 (anthocyanin). With the accompanying stabilisers E422 (glycerol, previously use as automotive antifreeze) and E412 (guar gum) and preservatives E202 (potassium sorbate) and E211 (sodium benzoate), this product contains a whole constellation of industrial  ingredients to make this "luxury-on-the-budget" offering a veritable chav fodder.

Lidl is truly a mixed bag of tricks. On the one hand, they offer solid cooking basics of very consistent quality for half the ongoing price. On the other hand, half of what they carry is plain vile and fit to make sure consumers won't live until retirement. Caveat emptor.

Dutch sushi: broodje haring

s I never cease to lament, Northern people have a deep-seated mistrust of fish and seafood. Perhaps, because it comes from a deep, murky and hostile place, there is a perceived need to kill it as thoroughly as possible. Various ritualised ways of exorcising the sea flavour out of fish are thus employed: deep-frying, marinating in vinegar, devilling, turning into fish fingers, etc.

However, once a year the Dutch revel in an apparent fit of defying this ichthyophobia (fear of fish): the Hollandse Nieuwe harvest. Freshly caught herring gets fileted, deboned and eaten raw on white bread with finely chopped onions (uitjes) or pickles (zuur). The harvest falls on the season when the herring is at its fattest and tastiest and hence tastewise is somewhat like a cross between saba and toro.

By the way, some scientists attribute the world's tallest average height of the population in Holland and Norway (185cm for Dutch males) to the high level of habitual herring consumption in those countries. Norwegians are also apparently the hungest nation in the below-the-belt department, so go figure yourself if herring has anything to do with that.

Simplicity revisited: grilled portobello mushrooms with crème fraîche and oyster sauce on a bed of caramelised onions

ive me simplicity any time. Even more so when it comes to food. This is one of my fave lunch sandwiches: portobello mushrooms grilled with crème fraîche and oyster sauce served on a bed of caramelised onions and ciabatta. Haha, I gotcha there! Well, in fact, it is way easier than it sounds, does not cost much and is a cinch to prepare.

Here how it goes:

1. Slice finely two onions. Fry slowly with some olive oil, coarsely ground black pepper, sea salt and dry herbs of your choice until golden brown. This process caramelises the natural sugars in onions bringing out their natural sweetness. If you have fish sauce, use it instead of salt.
2. Mix well crème fraîche with a hearty glug of dry white wine and, how can you do without it, coarsely ground black pepper. Season with fish sauce.
3. Remove the stems from portobello mushrooms, put the caps upside down and fill them with the crème fraîche mix. Put them on an well oiled oven tray.

Bake the mushrooms in the oven at 180 degrees until the crème fraîche looks nice and brown (about 12-15 min).

Cut a ciabatta or a baguette in two, top it with the fried onions, grilled portobellos and chopped parsley or ruccola.

This recipe was inspired by the traditional Russian way of stir-frying wild mushrooms with onions and serving them with sour cream. Fish sauce is a harkback to my Asian days and ciabatta is a tribute to my love affair with all things Mediterranean.

Solid Guinness: Russian Borodinsky rye bread (бородинский хлеб)

here are only two countries in the world that use live yeast for commercial bread-baking: Austria and Russia. This kind of bread can cause minor stomach problems for first-time visitors but luckily there are also more regular kinds of bread on offer.

However, I was brought up on the old-fashioned kind. In my childhood, sweet-tasting Borodinsky rye-bread with coriander-seed-encrusted ears was a favourite treat. Its earthy aroma and heavy dark brown are like nothing else in the world. If anything at all, it is very much like solid Guinness.

These days friends occasionally bring a loaf from Moscow. It's much lighter on rye now, perhaps, to appeal to modern tastes and I can't feel but cheated in a way. It goes well with a slice of Cheddar or with smoked capelin roe and cucumbers. Last time I fixed it with slices of pheasant-and-pear sausage, French black pepper mustard and what can you do without cucumbers!

Russian salmon roe sandwich (бутерброд с красной икрой)

ussians who have a very good (affluent) life are said to have "enough money to put butter and ikra on your bread". Ikra can means both salmon roe or caviar. I can't have caviar too often, but thanks to visiting friends and family I have a steady source of salmon roe. It used to be one of the most sought-after delicacies in the USSR's product deficit economy. Along with black "Volga" sedans and smoked salami, it was a status symbol of the Soviet nomenklatura. My parents did not belong to the number, so my Dad had to go to great lengths to make sure we would have some on the table at least for the New Year's. I still remember how wonderful these fishy drops of goodness tasted, a rare, very special treat.

These days ikra is a frequent guest on the tables of the Russian middle class. It is not cheap but if you want some you can just buy it in the supermarket. Mom and Dad are retired now and their cat Musya is very fond of it. We like to laugh now that in the olden days the Communists must have eaten it all up so that nobody else would have it.

I upgraded the traditonal Russian salmon roe sandwich by halving the butter amount and using it to grill the bread. I find the contrast of the crunchy crust and unctuous roe is highly delectable.

My nostalgic grub: ham and cucumber sandwich

hen I was growing up, sandwich was a piece of bread with butter and a slice of sausage. While my peers gleefully munched on theirs, I was always appalled at such lowliness and lack of finesse. I always knew there is more to sandwiches than slabs of unadulterated cholesterol and meat of dubious provenance stuffed in pig's intestines. But I seemed to be the only one around with that opinion.

Paper-thin salty ham and fresh-smelling cucumber slices on earthy rye bread (sumuštinis su kumpiu ir agurku) washed down with powerfully aromatic espresso in a café at the Vilnius Railway Station - this is my strongest memory of my first parents-free vacation at 15. These days I know more far-fetched ways to fancify a peace of bread but I still keep trying to recreate that feeling of a newly found freedom in a vaguely foreign city. I just use better ingredients.

Swedish knäckerbröd bread with sesame seeds, smoked Schwartzwälder ham, French mustard with unripe black peppers and - it's never the same without them - slices of cucumber and three umlauts!