I never used to cook a lot of seafood at home. I didn’t need to; if I wanted a delicious seafood meal, I’d just visit my parents. Throughout my childhood, we often had fish or other ocean delights on Friday nights. On the special occasions when we were taken out for dinner, my brother and I would often order oysters Kilpatrick—oysters topped with Worcestershire sauce and bacon, then grilled for a few minutes.
My father always had a boat, and summers were a mix of messing around on the beach and in the foreshore scrub, tagging along on skin-diving trips out in the bay, or finding some shade to curl up in with a thick book. We were either in, on, or beside the water every day. I can still recall the smell of saltwater drying on my tanned skin, the sand in my scalp, and the sound of waves on a hot, still night.
During my primary school years, we camped. Later, my parents bought a beach house in the same area. The house was always full of comings and goings—extended family, friends, anyone looking for a dose of seaside air. The backyard became an impromptu car park or the setting for a game of tippety-run cricket (if the bat touches the ball, you have to run, no matter how poor the shot).
No one ever turned up empty-handed. An old neighbour became famous for her substantial meatloaf—and woe betide her if she dared bring something else. Meals were cobbled together from what was brought, fished, or bought.
Green-lip abalone would be sliced finely, quickly grilled, then dipped into a little vinegar and scoffed down, while flathead tails were crumbed and fried or put through the mincer for fishcakes. Small leatherjackets or King George whiting were simply grilled and served with a wedge of lemon. Looking back, it feels like half our meals were some kind of seafood.
Enormous pots of mussels met tomato, garlic, and sometimes a little chilli before being plonked down in the middle of the table to be ladled into bowls and sopped up with fluffy white breadsticks. I probably hadn’t yet heard the word baguette, let alone tasted one.
And yet, it took until I was in my forties to really start cooking seafood at home on a regular basis. Pan-frying the odd fillet of Atlantic salmon doesn’t count. (Have you looked into the abomination that is salmon aquaculture in Australia?)
Thankfully, I love all seafood. So, let’s start with mussels. They’re tasty, versatile, economical, and actually a net positive for the marine environment where they’re grown. They’re delicious cooked with tomato, garlic, and chilli, or you can go a little French with cider, shallots, and crème fraîche. For something unexpected, top them with breadcrumbs, butter, and garlic, then grill.
Prawns! Try my bougie butter-poached prawn rolls (like lobster rolls, only more affordable). Sauté them over high heat, finish with a compound butter, and serve over soft polenta à la shrimp and grits. Or poach them with lemon and serve chilled with salad when the days are hot and you can’t be bothered doing much at all.
Oysters. Yes, you can buy them freshly shucked—just be careful transporting them home so they don’t lose their liquor. Or do what I did and get someone to teach you how to open them. A cutting glove is non-negotiable here. Fifteen dollars well spent may save you a trip to the hospital. During Melbourne’s winter COVID lockdowns, we supported local oyster suppliers by getting some delivered and cooking them on our fire pit. They open of their own accord after a minute or two over heat, and with careful handling, make for a fun, interactive meal.
Sardines—possibly one of my favourite fish. Tinned are great, but grilled fresh sardines are another thing altogether. A generous squeeze of lemon on hot fish is a thing of beauty. I like mine butterflied open, spine removed, and laid skin-side down on the heat. A favourite now-closed deli used to sell sardines escabeche (cooked, soused with vinegar and more, then left to marinate) during summer for a quick dinner.
Scallops. When I see local scallops from Port Phillip Bay at the market, I rarely resist. They’re much smaller than the defrosted imported ones from Canada. That was probably the first lesson I learned about seafood—buy local. Freshness is paramount, as anyone who’s ever eaten dodgy seafood will attest. I’m not saying you shouldn’t ever buy frozen or non-local seafood, but why wouldn’t you want to support a local industry, especially if you want it to survive?
Ultimately, seafood isn’t as hard to prepare as you might think, and YouTube can always help with step-by-step guides. It cooks quickly, and we all know we should be eating more of it for our health. Check out the Good Fish Guide to learn more about what’s available—whether it’s farmed or wild-caught—because it’s easy to switch off when an issue seems too complicated.
I never used to cook a lot of seafood at home. I didn’t need to; if I wanted a delicious seafood meal, I’d just visit my parents. It took until I was in my forties to really start cooking seafood at home on a regular basis. Pan-frying the odd fillet…
Here’s to apéro hour — not a meal, not an afterthought, but a celebration of the small things done well. A drink that feels earned. A snack that sparks conversation. A reminder that joy often lives in the in-between.
If I had to name one habit that makes the biggest difference in how I cook, it wouldn’t be knife skills, fancy equipment, or even the quality of the ingredients. It would be this: tasting as I go.