Stocco alla Messinese

Stockfish reached Messina through its port. From around the fifteenth century, cod dried in the icy winds of Norway's Lofoten islands travelled south with the ships of the north, which carried great stores of it because, unlike fresh fish, it kept without trouble; the surplus was traded in the harbour for fresh Sicilian food. In a city ringed by fresh fish that the poor could not always afford, the cheap, keepable cod became a staple, and Messinese cooks turned it into the rich a ghiotta stew, ghiotta meaning abundant and good in the local dialect. The tradition gathered its own folklore around the innkeeper known as Don Fanu, Francesco Arena, whose putia was long the city's temple of pesce stocco, both cooked to order and sold to take home.

Deep and savoury, the soft flakes of cod carrying a concentrated, almost meaty sea flavour that only drying gives. The sauce is bright with tomato and salty-sharp with olives and capers, the potatoes soft and full of it, celery keeping everything fresh. Homely, warming and generous, a whole meal in one pan.

Air-drying is the whole secret. Hung in the cold, dry wind of the Lofoten, the cod loses most of its water and, as enzymes slowly break its proteins down, builds up free amino acids, above all glutamate, that give dried cod a far deeper savour than fresh; the low temperature and falling moisture keep it from spoiling while this concentration happens. Days of soaking in frequently changed water rehydrate the flesh and draw off excess salt and any bitterness. The long, gentle braise then does two things at once: it softens the reconstituted fish and its collagen to a tender flake, and it lets that stored glutamate seep out to meet the glutamate of the tomatoes, so sauce and fish amplify each other. The potatoes' starch thickens the sauce and carries the flavour, which is why the leftover ghiotta is prized for pasta.