Scallops

Let me tell you about scallops, because everyone gets nervous around them, and that fear makes people ruin a perfectly good piece of seafood.

Drop one in a hot pan and listen. It should hiss and catch almost at once, not weep and sulk. That speed is the whole story. Push heat into a scallop for too long and it goes from silk to rubber fast. That's the only thing you need to remember.

Choose scallops by smell first. Fresh ones smell of the sea, maybe sweet, never sour, never of ammonia. Pick them up. A good scallop feels firm and slightly dry, almost tacky. If it sits in a pool of milky liquid and feels slippery in your hand, walk away.

Some people say scallops need long, gentle cooking. No. They need the opposite — a hot pan, dry surface, and a watchful eye until the sides turn from glassy to white and the centre just loses its shine. Treat them gently and you'll steam them grey, watery, and sad instead of golden with a proper crust. A single scallop, about 30 grams, is gone from pan to plate before you've finished pouring the wine.