Gin and Tonic Smoked Salmon Might Be the Most Festive Seafood Dish Ever

"Look, you can't age fish. It makes me laugh when I read marketing blurb on some smoked salmon products and it'll say something like, 'After we smoke the salmon, we leave it for three days before we carve it.' Fish doesn't mature, it's not like cheese or wine. It just goes off."

Lance Forman wants you to know one thing: the smoked salmon you're eating isn't what you think it is.

Forman is the boss and owner of H Forman & Son in London's East End—the UK's oldest salmon smokers—so it's fair to say he knows his fish. After all, he tells me, he's been eating it every day for the past 50 years. But Forman has recently become concerned with what's being churned out at less reputable fish houses—and even worse, that the general public have begun to think that they don't like the pink fish any more.

"When we do taste tests for the smoked salmon, a lot of the public turn down a little taster," he says. "They say, 'No, I don't like it—it's too slimy or too smoky.' But real smoked salmon is actually neither."

Really? I mean … isn't that the point of smoked salmon?

"No!" Forman says, suddenly getting very animated. "If you've got a beautiful fresh fish, why would you want it to taste like an ashtray? Smoked salmon is a process, not a flavour, and that's what's key."

The chances are you'll get to chew on this explanation, perhaps curled up on a little blini, at some point over the next month. Salmon has long been associated with festive, decadent feasting and is often wheeled out for a showpiece at soirees from Christmas right through to the New Year. So, how can you be sure you're getting actual smoked salmon, rather than being jibbed off with smoked-flavoured salmon?

Buying from an actual honest-to-God fish smoker, rather a bag of cheap offcuts at a supermarket is a start.

"The problem is smoked salmon has completely lost its way in the past 20 years—the onset of salmon farming and the introduction of mass-produced smoked salmon into supermarkets and the pressure is to make it cheaper and cheaper," says Forman. "Then they completely bastardise the way it's made and it's a very different product from traditional smoked salmon."

You should also check to see where the fish has come from. If it's from Scotland—reputably, like the best smoked salmon should be—it will be the fresh catch of the day for London-based smokers, unlike Norwegian fish, which will already be a few days the wrong side of fresh by the time it hits the UK.

"If your fish isn't fresh to start with, then people use the smoke flavour to mask the smell and the poor quality of the fish," Forman explains.

While we're lucky in London to have several artisan fish smokers, like Hansen & Lydersen or Secret Smokehouse, H Forman & Son lays the claim to being the oldest smokers in not only the town, but the whole country. They've been smoking salmon in East London for 111 years now, after Forman's great grandfather, Aaron "Harry" Forman emigrated from Odessa, Russia, back in 1905.

He was part of the vibrant Jewish East End around Whitechapel and Stepney, where expats' traditional cuisines became the heart of a tight-knit community. At the time, Forman was importing brined salmon from Russia, then smoking it when it touched down a few months later in London. Then he discovered fresh salmon from Scotland just down the road in Billingsgate Market and started the "London Cure": Scottish salmon, cured and smoked in London.

Back then, salmon was just another staple food for the East End's Jewish migrants, enjoyed with a bagel and alongside other traditional dishes from the motherland like schmaltz herring and potato latkes. But, like oysters, this daily dish for the working class became elevated to fine dining just after the First World War.

"My great grandfather was initially just smoking fish for his friends and family, but soon the smokers started to think that people outside of their communities might be interested in it too—and they were," says Forman. "People and chefs loved it because we'd found a way to preserve the king of fish. It became the most popular choice for things like royal banquets, as the London Cure became Britain's first home-grown gourmet food."

He continues: "And in the festive season, everyone trades up and wants a bit of luxury for the family, that's when they treat themselves to the best of the best. It would be served simply, a plate of smoked salmon with a bit of brown bread and butter and possibly with a glass of Champagne."

This year though, it's Forman's "gin and tonic" smoked salmon that's firmly on the menu. Initially created for the London Olympics back in 2012, it's become a seasonal favourite because it marries two of the East End's most loved products, fish and gin.

Forman takes some of the three tonnes of salmon delivered to their factory in Hackney Wick each day and begins the process—all performed by hand—of smoking the fish. First, it's filleted, then salted for 24 hours to draw out 10 percent of the weight in moisture. Then the fish is popped into the monster kilns at about 30 degrees Celsius for another 24 hours to absorb the oak smoke. Normally, this is when the standard smoked salmon is good to go, but the gin and tonic fish gets slathered in a body mask of botanicals to infuse for half a day. The marinade is a dark paste made with juniper berries, lemon, orange, lime zest, and a little touch of wine.

"There's actually no gin in the gin and tonic salmon," says Forman.

Oh. I put the ice and a slice away.

"Well, it would evaporate. We use the botanicals that make the gin instead, so it's more intense," he explains. "All the flavours are balanced beautifully. It's like the other infused salmons in our range—whatever we do we want people to taste the quality of the salmon, it shouldn't overpower it."

I try a little selection of the H Forman & Son smoked salmon—and it's true, the difference of the London Cure to supermarket salmon is incredible. The salmon is almost buttery, a little firm without any threat of disappointing wetness. And again, the smoke is more a suggestion, rather than a Bonfire Night of the sea.

And the gin and tonic-inspired fish? It's fragrant, with a slight citrus tang—definitely worth raising a glass of mother's ruin to.