A seafood safari: oysters and lobster in darkest East Anglia

From the oyster bed to the smokehouse, Jake Wallis Simons rediscovers our seafood traditions on a seafood safari. 

I am heading out on safari. This may conjure up images of mosquito nets, giraffe and pith helmets. But let’s not get carried away. I am in Suffolk.

Since 2009, a former Londoner called Polly Robinson has been organising “food safaris” along the East Anglian coast. These are safaris in the loosest sense: clients are not seeking wildlife, but farmers and fishermen in their natural habitats.

“People have lost the connection with their food,” Polly tells me as we board our boat, a traditional wooden clinker, at Orford Quay. “Food has become heavily sanitised and packaged. I’m bringing people back in touch with proper food, made by artisan producers, the way it has been done for centuries.”

East Suffolk is particularly rich in independent producers and retailers. The 40-mile triangle that encompasses Lowestoft, Martlesham and Stowmarket has not a single big supermarket. This, according to Polly, has enabled small-scale operators to thrive in the area.

The engines groan into life and we strike out on to the waves. Under a vivid blue sky, a lobster fisherman grabs a succession of briny buoys and hauls them into the boat. On the end of each rope is a lobster pot. The first few contain nothing but crabs, which are tossed nonchalantly into a box. Finally, in the last one, there they are: two black, writhing lobsters with vivid cobalt markings.

The fisherman, Dave Rolfe, imparts some wisdom. “If you’re going to buy a live lobster like this,” he says, “make sure the shell is old-looking, covered in barnacles and crust. They grow to fill the shell, then shed it and develop a new one with room for growth. So the older the shell, the fuller it will be of meat.” 

In this part of the world, it is not uncommon to catch one’s own lobsters, although you do need to obtain a licence. The people around this part of the county eat loads: the taxi driver who picked me up at the station confessed 

to having a lobster “pretty much every week”. He ate them, he said, “as is”: no fancy sauces, just a little butter and seasoning, a dressing of which I heartily approved. 

Lunch is at the Butley Orford Oysterage. We start with angels on horseback, made with oysters that are too large to be eaten alone, washed down with a good, appley, medium dry white from Staverton Vineyard near Ipswich. 

This is followed by a big platter of smoked mackerel with sweet mustard sauce, smoked trout with horseradish, smoked salmon, smoked cod roe, smoked fish pâté and smoked prawns. You guessed it: the safari is about to visit a smokery. 

Pinney’s smokehouse, near Orford, was founded in the Fifties by Richard and Matilda Pinney. They pioneered whole oak log smoking, a method now known around the world as “the Pinney technique”. These days, the business is run by their son, Bill, who shows us around. 

“Traditionally, fish loses a third of its weight through smoking,” he says, throwing open the wooden doors to reveal fragrant rows of trout, mackerel, salmon and eel. “Many mass producers, however, smoke it only very briefly to keep the moisture in, because they sell by weight. Some even inject it with fluid, which ruins the taste.” 

It is time for a tour of the oyster beds. Oysters, I learn, come in two types: native and rock. Natives, Bill says, are more expensive and sought after, taking five years to grow and being edible only “in a month with an ‘r’ ”. Rock oysters, by far the more common variety, are hardier, cheaper, and can be eaten throughout the year. Their taste, however, varies with the season. 

“As they accumulate eggs, they get creamier,” Bill continues. “But once these are released – usually around July – they become thinner and more translucent.” 

Back at Butley Oysterage, food production manager Irene Lockwood demonstrates how to shuck oysters. Holding the oyster cup-down, you carefully push the shucking knife into the “heel” – that’s the pointed end – and twist. Then you sever the muscle connecting to the shell. This kills the oyster, and it is ready to eat. 

Trimming and slicing a side of smoked salmon, Irene explains, is a more intricate job. The ribs are skimmed out, then the “pin bones” are removed with tweezers. Lastly, the hard layer of flesh, which was in direct contact with the smoke, is removed, and the soft flesh beneath it is sliced thinly. 

The trip comes to an end, and I head home. H Rider Haggard, the great adventure writer, might be spinning in his grave, but this has been a safari with a difference.