Mussel Safari at Lysekil

The West Coast of Sweden Tourist board very kindly took me on a Mussel Safari off the coast of Lysekil along with five of Sweden’s top food bloggers. So not only did I get to see more of the idyllic Swedish coastline, but I also got to eat fantastic shellfish and meet some inspiring people.

The West Coast of Sweden’s defining characteristic is its relationship with the chilly North Sea which creates the insane weather that Gothenburg is blessed with and nourishes the seafood that graces the icy counters of the feskekorka. It’s the reason why Gothenburg has five Michelin starred restaurants and why this rocky coastline is such a rewarding place to indulge in a shellfish safari.

After an overnight stay in the seaside town of Lysekil, our mussel safari started with a mist shrouded chug out to sea guided by mussel-men Lars Marstone and Adriaan van Der Plasse. Because I was the only non-Swede I stood at the back and admired their nautical roll-necks and the handsome shoreline views.

Adriaan explained to me, in English, that the mussels take around two years to grow to maturity and thrive in the nutrient rich waters. They use the tried and tested nylon stocking technique where the mussel seeds are sown in a nylon sheath and then dangled off rafts into the sea. The mussels then grow on the rope itself before their gonads reach maturity. The diagram below from The Fish Site illustrates the process well.

Adriaan has been growing mussels all around the world, from Chile to Holland, for an eternity, so he knows what he’s talking about. The mussels we saw were six-month-old mini mussels that were still doing their GCSEs. His favourite way of eating his catch is to maintain their flavour by simply steaming them and then gorging on their seasoned naked flesh. No fancy sauces. No Thai green curry. No white wine and garlic. And definitely no cream.

Adriaan also farms oysters in the same bay. He proudly explained that because of the ferociously cold winter this year’s natives are some of the finest he’s ever eaten. He lost 80% of his crop, which wasn’t insured, thanks to the two-mete layer of ice that covered the sea. But, as if by following a combination of Pareto and Darwin’s theories, the 20% that survived are stunningly tasty as I found out back on dry land.

Sadly we didn’t get to try any mussels or oysters on board the boat on this particular trip. For paying punters Adriaan will swallow dive into the sea and return like a rugged mermaid clutching a bounty of be-shelled protein before cooking it there and then for you on the deck. In the bastardised words of Greg Wallace, “Cooking doesn’t get much fresher than this”.

Unfortunately, we had to wait till we were back in Lysekil before we could taste the mussels which were served in a creamy soup that was laden with lip smacking garlic. But it was worth the wait. As was the sight of a market dripping with crayfish and the black gold of the sea…

I trundled back down the coast to Gothenburg with my stomach full of mussels and my head jammed full of fishy facts whilst trying to persuade the tourist board to send me on one of their four other Shellfish Safaris.

You can find out more about going on a Lobster, Crayfish, Prawn, Mussel or Oyster Safari here or if you’re keen to book a trip then take a gander here.

And whilst we are on the subject of “Big Fives”, you should check out my “fem” new favourite Swedish food bloggers who I met on this trip…

Linnea’s beautiful blog is soon to become a book about making the most of your pantry, Swedish style!

Kinna is a bit of a social media guru and has an excellent food blog that’s good for when you want to practice your Swedish

Emma’s Kök is full of stunning photographs of food that is designed to be swift and tasty

Kalasgott has quickly become one of my favourites – from the photos to the charming design. It also helps that Jenny is lots of fun. It’s also got a nifty feature that lets your translate the text into English.

I found a kindred spirit in Katja who cooks all her food in a coffee pot – look out for a forthcoming post about an unusual way of cooking mussel soup

Back to Nature at Kolarbyn

After losing to Sweden at football, then England manager, Graham Taylor, famously put the Swedish victory down to the fact that Swedes “tend to be of an outdoor pursuit”. He rightly got ridiculed by the British press and earned the nickname Turnip Taylor as a result! But ever a true word has been said in jest. England lost because Sweden played better, but he was right that Swedes love being outside. And when you get a taste for how stunning the countryside and coastline is, you understand why.

With this in mind, when Cowie arrived for a Swedish weekend with Edwin and Anna, I hatched a slightly insane plan that involved 900km of driving and a weekend of no running water, toilets or electricity! But what we lost in creature comforts we more than made up in tranquility and memories that will last a lifetime thanks to the enchanted forest and mysterious lake at Kolarbyn. It’s a former charcoal making forest that now operates as the “world’s most primitive hotel” where you sleep in log cabins and explore the forest in search of moose, bears, mushrooms, wolves and fairies.

After a 5 hour drive from Gothenburg, towards Stockholm, through biblical rain showers we arrived at Kolarbyn in a spotlight of sunshine and a breath of virginally pure air. The roads leading towards the clearing made me feel like the Stig and would have made Jeremy Clarkson feel like he’d broken down and gone straight to motorists’ heaven.

When Andreas, our super charming host/ranger, showed us around the clearing we were so excited that all we could do was exchange grins and stifled gasps of wonder. It was like a cross between Hansel and Gretel, Narnia and Lord of the Rings, except without the evil monsters lurking behind every tree. Our moss covered, log cabins were as primitive as the website has suggested. But that isn’t to say they weren’t the cosiest hotel rooms I’ve ever seen. Each one was fitted with a log fireplace and two benches to sleep on with a sheepskin for a mattress.

An essay about our weekend won’t do it justice. So I’ll let the photos and a few brief captions do the job instead…

We kicked off by chopping our wood for the night and soon discovered that Anna had been born to be a lumberjack…

she put Edwin’s use of a lady axe to shame.

Meanwhile Cowie got the giggles…

which set Anna off into a fearsome rage!

And I almost took my leg off with an enthusiastic swing!

Our huts were like mini hobbit houses…

with grass, moss, weeds…

and mushrooms growing out of the roof.

After lighting our fires in our cabins we headed to the lake and rowed across to the floating sauna armed with logs, firelighters, matches, swimming costumes and a box of white wine.

Whilst we waited for the sauna to heat up we tucked into ice cold white wine whilst watching the sun set over our lake.

It was one of the most perfect experiences I’ve ever had and only got better and better. After three quarters of an hour we stripped off and hopped in the sauna which was now roasting hot. After half an hour of blissfully relaxing heat we braced ourselves and dived into the chilly lake. I swear at that moment we were the four happiest people in the whole world.

We made our way back to the camp and tucked into a hearty Swedish supper of pickled herring, crisp bread and meatballs.

And then returned to our toasty cabins good night’s sleep.

We had a rustic breakfast of eggs, porridge and coffee gathered around yet another fire before heading off for an excursion in search of a moose.

But all we seemed to find was acres of lychen…

thousands of lingonberries…

and dangerous mushrooms.

But that didn’t matter it the slightest. And I can safely say that the four of us had the best weekend we can all remember for a long time.

Kolarbyn is one of the most enchanting places I’ve ever been to and I can’t recommend it to you enough. If you are staying for longer than one night you might want to treat yourself to a wolf howling tour, a beaver trail or a moose safari. But to be honest, just being at one with nature was good enough for us.

Swedish Mushroom Adventures

Early September in Sweden is an enchanting time of year. The damp air and moist forests feel ripe with autumnal life and even the grassy areas in town are sprouting mushrooms. Even if they have been carved out of tree stumps.

With the sun being slow to make its mind up as it politely debated with the clouds about who should bat first, I went for a run and landed up at the Saluhallen where I almost inevitably was drawn towards a man selling chanterelles (Kantareller) for a pittance. I snaffled a bagful and grinned as I felt their weight almost drop through the bottom of the paper bag and the change jangle in my running shorts’ pocket.

With my golden cargo and a loaf of honey rye sourdough I made my sweaty way home and cooked the most perfect breakfast of sautéed chanterelles on toasted sourdough topped with some creme fraiche and washed down with the best part of a whole pot of percolator coffee. All I needed to make it extra special was Cowie and a copy of the Guardian.

My weekend mushroom adventures continued on Sunday with a trip to the forest. With Alexandra’s mushrooming knowledge and the advice from a day of foraging with John Wright of River Cottage HQ ringing in my ears and memories of playing mushroom roulette in Richmond Park we fearlessly tackled the mozzies and got stuck in. We found a wealth of half nibbled mushrooms snuggling into the light, sandy soil, sheltering beneath the branches of pine and birch trees.

I’m not sure what they all are, but where I’ve got an inkling I’ve included a caption. If you know what they are please let me know in a comment.

No idea what this one is. But it looked mean and evil.

This monster, we think is ideal for eating. It’s either a cep, or another sort of bolete. It was just a shame that the slugs and maggots had got there first.

And we saw these Fly Agaric by the dozen, as they flamboyantly lined the paths.

I returned home with an impressive clutch of well pored mushrooms which all seemed like they had edible potential, with the ominous exception of the black capped, long stemmed, example which resembled a grim reaper.

We were very worried about this one. It looked particularly evil.

These are called Slippery Jacks which are covered in a slimy cap which can cause indigestion. If you clean the cap the mushrooms themselves are rather good apparently. But their name is enough to put anyone off!

This one, I think, is a cep, which is called a Carl Johan in Sweden, and judging from the amount of holes must have been very tasty.

These two smelled good and when I took a small nibble didn’t taste bitter, but instead, rather impressive. And given that friends in the office and a few online experts suggested these would make for very good eating I plucked up the confidence to tuck in.

I decided to follow a recipe from Mark Hix’s new book “Hix Oyster and Chop House” and simply studded the ceps with slithers of garlic, coated them in butter and seasoning and then roasted them for 15 minutes before sprinkling with parsley and nervously tucking in.

They were absolutely delicious. Soft, tender and buttery and without question, the most mushroomy thing I’ve ever eaten. I am sure they tasted even better because there was a chance I’d identified them wrong and there was a vague possibility that this could be my last meal. If I suddenly drop down dead, please come and find me armed with whatever anti-toxins I require!

Further reading:

Funghi Forays – sign up for their excellent newsletters
Carl Johan on Wikipedia
The Good Food Mood Blog on chanterelles on toast
Beginners’ guide to picking chanterelles in Gothenburg Daily newspaper

Restaurang Brygghuset, Fiskebäckskil

After a fantastic lunch at Peterson’s Krug on the idyllic island of Käringön our Midsummer’s extravaganza adventured north to the charming seaside village of Fiskebäckskil. Our odyssey was punctuated by jaw dropping bridges, brief ferry hoppings and avenues of silver birch trees with the ubiquitous backdrop of a sky so blue that a Manchester United fan would have gone red in the face with fury. Fox gloves set the shady woods ablaze with soft pink petals amid the impossibly green grass.

We stayed at the Gullmarsstrand Hotel which looks out across the sea to Lysekil’s towering church spire. We sat back in our sun loungers and basked in the Scandinavian sunshine languidly sucking up gin and tonics and building up our appetite.

Restaurang Brygghuset is a fish restaurant floating in Fiskebäckskil’s picturesque marina that specialises in seafood and warm hospitality. We sunk into our comfortable seats and gorged immediately on a basket of sensational bread.

Dad had a starter that was bizarrely brilliant. The sound of herring cured in pomegranate and rhubarb and a horseradish cheesecake was almost scary. But the flavours worked wonderfully.

Mum’s perfectly cooked scallops with marinated beetroot and a log of goats cheese sprinkled with bacon dust was a sensational. It’s the sort of thing Heston Blumenthal might be tempted to knock up if he was exploring Swedish cuisine. The tangy goats cheese, salty bacon and sweet earthy beetroot combined to become far more than the sum of their parts.

My prawns on rye bread was more simple. But none the worse for it. A smoked prawn and a peripheral ring of caviar helped to elevate this prawn sandwich above the run of the mill.

Mum’s baked cod sat on top of a pond of rich shellfish sauce. The skin was as crisp as ryvita but with the thinness of paper and the flesh flaked perfectly in glorious contrast to my halibut at lunch time.

But the real star was a rich fish stew bejeweled with mammoth mussels, dinky prawns, moist scallops, crispy skinned salmon and cod so good that it might well be the best piece of fish I’ve ever eaten. My fears about the fish being overdone because they all cook at different speeds were swept aside. And the sauce brought it all together with a luxurious injection of lobster and crab based bisque. It’s just a shame I had to share it with Dad! The glossy boiled potatoes it was served with would turn even the most die hard Atkins fan into a greedy carb guzzler.

We thought our lunch at Peterson’s Krug had been good. But our dinner at Brygghuset, overlooking the marina, was flawless and deeply memorable for all the right reasons. We rolled out of the restaurant into the twilight glow of the temporarily shy sun and forceful moon that lit the inlet up like a scene from a spooky film. It’s a moment in time that is now imprinted onto my mind and causes my mouth to twitch into a smile just by thinking about it. All it was missing was John Nettles and a few comically complicated murders.

Peterson’s Krug on Käringön

My parents came over to visit me in Sweden for the Midsummer celebrations. The whole of the country goes crazy for the weekend and dances around maypoles shaped like giant cocks whilst imitating frogs and getting hammered in the depths of the Swedish countryside. I didn’t think this was particularly suitable so we hired a car and explored the West Coast. Armed with some fantastic recommendations from my new friends at work we went in search of seafood, sunshine, stunning scenery and serenity. And I’m pleased to say that we found it.

We drove to Hallevikstrand where we caught the ferry to a tiny island called Käringön which has become a playground for wealthy Norwegians and the yacht-set from Stockholm and Gothenburg. The journey there was idyllic with the blue sky unraveling to infinity. Yyves Klein would have probably tried to sue the sky. You’ll get the vibe from these photos…

Peterson’s Krug is renowned for it’s super fresh seafood and relaxed atmosphere. As we settled down for lunch we found ourselves comparing it to the other seafood restaurants we’d all eaten at. In terms of setting it knocks the socks off anywhere we’d been in the UK with its 270’ views out to sea.

For those of you who can read Swedish (Manne that’s probably just you!!!) here is the menu. For the rest of you, the menu is heavy on fish with oysters (ostron), mussels (musslor), sill (herring), salmon (lax) and halibut (halleflundra) making it hard to resist simply asking for the whole menu.

Dad, being the brave soul that he is, dived in with both feet for the pickled herring platter.

Pickled herring is one of my favourite discoveries since moving to Sweden. Like many people I had a natural prejudice against what I thought were vinegary bottom feeding scum. But how wrong I was. Sill as they are called in Sweden is served in a seemingly endless range of cures. This platter featured from left to right, honey, mustard and dill; soured cream and chive; dill; and a medley of all spice, bay and onions. It’s almost a meal in itself and had Dad purring like a Siamese cat who has just nudged the dog out of the prime spot in front of the fire. As ever the brown bread was stunning.

Mum’s prawns on toast held together with soured cream and anointed with bleak roe and chives was delicious. Nothing fancy. But given the surroundings it was perfect.

My four oysters from the island were some of the best I’ve ever had. They were so rich in minerals I half expected Rio Tinto to turn up after lunch with a permit to mine my stomach. It makes you want to give up eating oysters simply to cherish the memory of them being so special.

Mum and Dad both fell for the fish soup which was large enough to keep us picking at it all week. Packed with mussels, prawns and flakes of cod it was as rich as a Norwegian oil magnate and intriguingly flavoured with all spice and dill. It was a great choice and an interesting diversion from the classic French version.

My halibut was almost brilliant. Sadly it was fractionally overcooked so rather than flaking it tore. Given halibut’s leanness it needs to be cooked with as much care as you’d take putting your contact lenses in for the first time. But leaving this issue to one side the combination of asparagus, golden butter, silky potatoes and a topping of grated horseradish was inspired. It seems this is a classic Swedish combination and I am delighted to have discovered it. I’m going to try it myself soon, so keep your eye out for it.

Dad went a bit Oscar Wilde and gave into temptation, once again, with a trio of raspberry desserts which matched his very seasonal shirt. The sorbet and cheese cake were both exceptionally good.

We lingered over coffee almost horizontally enjoying the view and wondering whether this is the best setting we’d ever encountered for a restaurant. In England this would have been packed, snooty and rushed. Here it was completely the opposite. I think we could have stayed all week if we wanted!

I’m told that when the lobster and crayfish seasons come around, this place turns things up an extra gear and goes crustacean crazy. Like the Pensionat on Styrso, Peterson’s Krug on Käringön is worth the mission. In fact, in many ways the journey is what makes the meal so special. For those of you living in along the North Sea in England, why not hop on your sailing boat and head here for lunch. You won’t be disappointed. Alternatively catch the Ryan Air flight to Gothenburg, hire a car and you can here in time for a stunning dinner.

Heavenly Lunch at Pensionat on Styrsö

Gothenburg as a city is great. But I have learnt recently that it’s real trump card is the string of islands that slip out into the North Sea like a double helix. The Southern Archipelago is reachable by a hop out of the front door, a skip on the number 11 tram to Saltholmen and a jump on the ferry. Seeing as the last time Cowie came over to Sweden the whole place was bound by ice, we thought we’d explore the real DNA of what makes Gothenburg so special.

We headed off to Styrsö, which is the most populated island on the Southern Archipelago where we’d heard we’d find a good restaurant called Pensionat Styrsö Skäret. The journey itself was idyllic. The sea was calm and the sky was marbled with deep blue and fluffy white clouds – just like the opening credits in The Simpsons. We watched impressive yachts tootle around with not the slightest care in the world and supercharged ribs go flying past like Jeremy Clarkson on an trying to show off to a German cop on an Autobahn. We arrived on Styrsö with our appetites whetted by the sea air and in such a good mood that a micro-waved chicken kiev and a lukewarm banoffee pie would have been enough to send us packing with glee.

As we stepped off the boat we were greeted by a couple of “flakmopeds” which buzz around the island instead of cars, transporting luggage and supplies. It was our first glimpse of island life and we fell in love with Styrsö immediately.

We soon found our restaurant sporting the almost mandatory Swedish flag, pale yellow wooden exterior, terrace and red roof.

As you can imagine from the photo above, the White Guide plaque and the fact that this is on a fairly remote island the prices aren’t cheap, so we kept things simple and only had one course each. I also didn’t want to spoil the mood so didn’t take any photos. I’ll let the scenic photos do the job of giving you a flavour and hope that my words can do the meal the justice it deserves.

We were treated to the typical array of Swedish breads. Rich, toffee nosed, soft rye bread should be served with a note from the Surgeon General suggesting you eat it in moderation. It is sooo good you’ll seriously consider giving up all other brads and just eating this one. It was flecked with apricot and walnut and was as close to Soreen as you can get without it becoming a malt loaf! I’d be raving about their crisp bread studded with caraway and white sourdough if the brown stuff hadn’t stolen their thunder.

Our glasses of Australian Riesling arrived with a complimentary shot of glossy potato and mussel soup that was so good that we almost asked for seconds and for them to cancel our main courses. The mussel flavour was subtle, but fishy and the texture could have been weaved by a silk worm.

I’ve had many a good fish soup in my short time in Sweden. But this version is very special indeed. Rather than the dusty brick red version you get in France this one was the colour of richly churned butter melting under an amber sunset. Lemon aioli rather than rouille also distinguished this from its French cousin. If French fish soup is male, this was its virginal bride.

Amongst the saffron flecked creamy fish broth swam mussels, enormous prawns, barely cooked scallops and hunks of cod that flaked like strung out film-stars. Dabs of lemon aioli made me purr and Cowie lost count of the times I decried it as being the best I had tasted.

Cowie’s scallop and tuna salad with vermicelli was like a helium balloon. Super light, attention grabbing and not something that will ever make you appear masculine. The scallops were so well cooked they should be sent off as examples to all the gastro pub chefs across the UK who regularly ruin them and the tuna was immaculately rare.

We retired outside to the garden to drink coffee and play Scrabble whilst overlooking the sea and a croquet lawn and basked in the Swedish sunshine wondering whether life could be any better.

The Pensionat on Styrsö is idyllic. And it was no surprise to find a box as we left the island belonging to God. There can be few more heavenly places to spend a sunny Saturday than Styrsö.