Says Alan Jones – a Brit producing Caviar – in France

Now imagine this. You are sitting in the psychiatrist’s chair. The exercise is that old Freudian classic of random association in which you simply say the first thing that comes into your mind. ‘Caviar’, the shrink cries out. ‘Russia’, you reply. ‘The Caspian, Iran, posh, pricey…’ Not that these exercises are marked, mind you, but you would most certainly be right. For the Volga-Caspian basin continues to supply some 90% of the world’s caviar – sometimes referred to as Russian gold – with Iran and a number of the former Soviet Republics, newly independent, also contributing significantly to global output. Would you have put France on your list as you rattle your way through the key words? Probably not. In which case you won’t be able to come away with an entirely clean bill of mental health – because the truth is that France has a long and distinguished history not just of caviar consumption - but production too.

Caviar first became fashionable in a country more usually associated with Camembert and Basque berets with the arrival of White Russians fleeing the Bolshevik revolution some 85 years ago. At the stalls of Gironde fishmongers in the south-west of France, great-dukes and babushkas in exile soon learned to pick out the representative of a family of fish to which they were particularly attached – the sturgeon. A sizeable carnivore with no bones or scales and which, given the chance, can live up to 50 years. The story goes that a Russian princess on holiday was strolling through the picturesque port of St. Suerin d’Uzet when first with keen interest and then growing horror, she observed French fishermen cutting up their daily catch and throwing away the roe – fine, pearly caviar! Quel horreur! She explained that sturgeon’s roe was a prized delicacy and promptly arranged for an expert to teach the locals how to make caviar. The princess accidently left her umbrella behind before proceeding on her way, her stylish brolly now housed in the town’s tiny museum.

We are all familiar with the story of the goose that laid the golden eggs. The same thing happened, alas, to the sturgeon’s much sought after roe as the French, famed for taking their grub seriously, developed a huge appetite for their new, home-grown luxury product. For whereas in the immediate aftermath of the war years ‘Aquitaine caviar’ production soared to over 5 tons, within thirty years it had all but disappeared. What on earth would the good princess have made of that? Overfishing, pollution, damn building and the construction of nuclear power plants had all taken their toll. The Gironde, Garonne and Dordogne rivers, once rich in sturgeon, seemed set to follow the fate of the Thames in London and the Seine in Paris – rivers in which the fish had long since disappeared. In fact back in the Middle Ages our own King Edward V1 had decreed that the sturgeon was so rare that it should be deemed a royal fish. But not even a Royal Charter and an enviable reputation as the Fish of Kings could save the sturgeon from extinction. And that same sorry pattern might well have continued in France, with the progressive disappearance of the fish from European waters, were it not for the efforts of an energetic 57 year old Englishman by the name of Alan Jones.

It might not have been the most memorable chat up line. But the title of Alan Jones’s doctoral thesis, written while working at the MAFF’s laboratories at Lowestoft and when enrolled as a student at the University of East Anglia, was ‘The Biology of Turbot and Brill’.

"I reared these two seafood fishes in captivity, so that I could more accurately describe them in my PhD", he says, "and that got me involved in aqua-culture. Then I left government research and went to work for BOC – the British Oxygen Company - as their marine fish farming expert. Their interest was simply that intensive fish farming was synonymous with the intensive consumption of oxygen. They sent me off to France back in 1980 to look for a site to set up a commercial turbot farm. I found a place in the Charente-Maritimes and where we set up a hatchery. Some twelve years down the line the company wanted me to relocate to Spain to head up a new project. To which I said ‘non merci’ – because by this time I had grown to love France and the French way of life."

There then followed what the French refer to as a ‘concours de circonstances’ – a combination of circumstances. Jones met a Frenchman by the name of Jean Boucher – now the major shareholder in the company they jointly run. With Boucher’s financial clout and Jones’s technical expertise the two formed a latter-day entente cordiale and promptly acquired a hatchery that had been raising sturgeon for several years - but only for their meat. Jones and Boucher – with the active participation of Boucher’s German wife Claudia too (‘this is very much a European undertaking’, Jones is at pains to point out) knew that given time the female sturgeon would produce eggs. Eggs meant caviar. And caviar meant money. Which was not eggsactly how the local banks saw the project.

"I was 52 years old at the time", Jones recalls, "I had given up a well-paid job with a multinational company and was heading off into unknown waters. Literally, you might even say. It was more than a little nerve-wracking and people thought that we were crazy. But we were convinced that it could be done. And that the production of caviar could be rekindled in France – by fish-farming if need be."

And it’s just as well, perhaps, that Jones had the courage of his convictions. Because what had happened in France in terms of decline in the post-war years is now happening in the Caspian too. In the Volga-Caspian basin, one of the most productive sturgeon areas in the world, the official catch has dropped from 17,000 tonnes in 1981 to just 2,000 tonnes today. Overall world production has likewise plummeted by 40% and to record lows. Why? Because of overfishing (legal and illegal) pollution, poaching, the threat of plans for oil extraction – to the extent that some experts are predicting that if nothing is done to protect the industry out it will collapse within a decade.

Jones might well have spotted a gap in the market. But do not be lulled into thinking that the production of caviar is – well – a piece of cake. True, the process itself is easy enough. Once the roe is removed it is rubbed and pressed through a screen to separate the eggs from the sac that holds them. The eggs are then rinsed, a little salt is added, plus borax as a preservative before canning. That’s the good news. From any potential investor’s point of view, however, the bad news is that in the wild female sturgeon it can take from anything between 15 to 20 years to mature and produce eggs. This has been reduced to between 7 and 9 years in captivity – but its clear that we are at the opposite end of the scale from the apparent overnight successes of the dot.com starts up and internet millionaires.

"All I can say about that", Jones comments, "is that you would have to eat good quantities for it to have an effect – to be rich and randy if you will. Not that I would have any objection to that, mind you, it would be extremely good for business. What else can I tell you? Well – that my wife Annabelle is crazy about caviar!"

There are a thousand and one ways to serve it as a dish. Often it is ladled but as an entrée it can be served on small toasts or crackers with a thin layer of butter or crème fraîche. If it can be presented with a small iced glass of vodka or a goblet of champagne – then so much the better. But undeniably the freshest caviar is the most creamy and melting. But caviar can also be served with different courses, or on a bed of thinly sliced smoked sturgeon – or even with boiled potatoes. Some gourmets recommend it be served with lukewarm oysters accompanied with a slice of lemon peel. It is also possible to serve caviar with onions, lemon or with small cubes of cheese. Others plump for servings accompanied with minced beef or banana slices over it.

If you are lucky enough to be invited to dine with the Jones – you might well have some difficulty in keeping up with them. For not only do they live at Château Launay, just north of the handsome port city of Bordeaux (‘we’re not that posh, you know’, Jones protests, ‘we live in an outbuilding which we rent – but it’s a good address, I must admit’) the chances are that you will be served a gourmet treat to remember: fresh caviar on blinis – followed by sautéed sturgeon with hollandaise sauce and sliced, steamed potatoes with dabs of fresh caviar elegantly set out on them.

Jones now bears the look of a contented man on his face. Caviar production is back up to five tonnes in France – precisely where it was in its heyday. 70% of that production is generated by Jones’s firm whose products are famed for their freshness and long-lingering taste.

"That’ll show those bankers who gave us the thumbs down! "Oh yes", he concludes, patting his stomach after another fine meal and making one final reference to the life and times of the Virgin Sturgeon: "That's why caviar is my dish".

For more information:

Sturgeon Ltd

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