Behind The Galleries:
Tales of the Unconnected
Blog Post #18
21 January 2022
#18: Brian's kippers
My friend Brian adores kippers. They are his number one choice of breakfast food. Sadly, there is a family embargo on cooking them at home because the whole house hums with the smell for days afterwards. Hence he rarely has the opportunity to indulge his passion.
So imagine how delighted he was by the prospect of a few days away with friends in Northumberland, staying in a rented cottage in the heart of Bamburgh. For just half an hour’s drive away is the small fishing village of Craster, the veritable home of the kipper.
We drove to Craster to buy some when our friend Johnny had arrived. He is another devotee of this oak-smoked, split herring. I have to confess I was still a “kipper virgin” and looking towards breakfast time with some trepidation.
(Image of Craster Harbour Copyright © All Rights Reserved. Simon Cousins 2022)
Brian bought six giant kippers for our party of three couples from the last remaining smokehouse in the village: L.Robson & Sons, a fourth generation family business.
James William Robson bought the herring yard, built in 1856 by the Craster family, and started his business here in 1906. It is now run by his great grandson Neil.
In years gone by the herring were landed in the small harbour and taken directly to the curing sheds. Here the herring were sorted, some to be salted down in barrels for export to Germany, Poland and Russia. The remainder were ‘kippered’.
The actual process of changing these “silver darlings” to the renowned kipper involves a relatively simple method.
First, the herring are split on a machine capable of working through 500kg per hour. This is a job once done by the “herring girls”, who used to split the herring by hand.
Then the herring are soaked in a brine solution of plain salt and water before being hung on ‘tenter hooks’ (see photo) and placed in the smokehouses. Fires made of whitewood shavings and oak sawdust are lit under the rows of herring and these smoulder away for up to 16 hours before the kippers are ready.
To earn their enviable reputation, Robson’s have always chosen the plumpest herring with a very high oil content. Plump they certainly were that morning: bronze, fearsome and enormous as they emerged from their voluminous greaseproof paper parcel.
Brian once again came up against a pocket of resistance from those reluctant to share living space with a fiery grill full of kippers, but, undaunted, he and Johnny wrapped the kippers in foil and cooked them outside in fair weather on a disposable barbecue.
Never one to be fainthearted when preparing a meal, Brian produced poached eggs, a landscape of toast and a hill of butter for us all to enjoy with the fish.
The six of us settled down to a largely silent encounter with the biggest kippers any of us had ever seen. There was barely room for anything else on the plate. Sighs of pleasure and contentment rose up from the lifelong fans.
More muted responses came those who didn’t quite know to how tackle the bruising, smoky flesh and the plethora of tiny bones. I was more in awe of my breakfast than in love with it (though the poached eggs were a masterstroke.)
I fancy I will have to return to Bamburgh and give kippers another go. Judging by the rave reviews, it seems to be well worth acquiring the taste.
And it will take little effort to persuade any of us to return to this remote, untamed, exhilarating part of England.
The Kipper Crew, Bamburgh, 2021.
(from left) Simon, Johnny, Jane, Clare, Maria and Brian.