A Cullen Skink

My father has always claimed a Scottish heritage. For some reason, he's always wanted to be a Scotsman - though  without  a shred of evidence. Every Burns Night he'll ramble, teary-eyed, about the fabled 'Alexander clan' tartan - his gaze fixed towards the Pole Star.

One day he did unearth an ancient photograph of our ancestors -  a crowd of besuited, whiskered gentlemen.  Not a single one sported a kilt or toted any bagpipes. In reality, his ancestors were itinerant tradesmen - from where, it could be anywhere.

So my cooking of a 'Cullen Skink', the legendary Scottish smoked haddock soup, had little to do with my heritage, and even less to do with Salmond's current bid for independence. It definitely had nothing to do with Burns Night.

In fact I'd never even heard of the dish until the a couple of weeks ago, when it featured as the answer to a question on University Challenge. Neither team knew the answer, and nor did I.

The soup is a simple, hearty and rather wonderful affair - primarily consisting of mashed potato, the smoked haddock and milk. I decided to create a more modern adaptation. Not because I'm a pompous southern asshole with no genuine Scots blood, but because I had none of the the right ingredients.

So I sweated off some leek and potato, to simmer in a little rich chicken stock. Meanwhile, the fish poached in a little milk, overloaded with flavours - onion, peppercorns, celery, and an excess of parsley.

I'm always suspicious of a puréed soup. Although they may taste fine, they suffer from lack of variety. The only difference between one mouthful and the next is the waning temperature. Eating a puréed is inevitably a race to defeat either boredom, or the cold. The Michelin solution to this problem is to serve soup cold, in espresso cups. Mine solution is to have lumps. To this end, I sweated off some finely diced potato and shredded leek, in butter.

For a final - rather grand and, dare I say it, English - flourish I plumped some rather wonderful oysters in their own juice, then breaded and fried them. The juice I reduced, and added to the stock for that essence of the sea.

The stock was blended along with the poaching liquor and the Oyster juice. Haddock shredded, mixed in along with the sautéed vegetable. All garnished with shredded parsley, those magnificent oysters and a little shaved parmesan (like I said, I'm not a pompous southern asshole).

A delight for anyone, regardless of their heritage.