If you grew up anywhere near the sea (or even just close to a family that argues over braai technique like it’s rugby finals), you’ve probably encountered snoek. Long, lean, and unapologetically fishy, snoek is the salty cousin who turns up uninvited to your Saturday and somehow steals the show. But don’t worry, my love — pulling off a proper West Coast-style snoek braai is less about perfection and more about vibe, patience, and knowing when to say “Ag, it’s fine, just pass the apricot jam.”
Let’s get you from “um, which side do I braai first?” to “sheesh, that was a lekker snoek.”
Step 1: Choose your fish like you choose your friends
You want a snook that’s fresh, firm, and smells like the sea, not the fridge from last month’s Tupperware trauma. If it’s already butterflied, you’re ahead. If not, ask nicely for it to be split and cleaned. Skin on, bones in — this is not a deboned fillet situation. A little bit of character (read: bones) goes a long way to keeping the fish juicy. And yes, bigger snook feeds more people, but don’t get overexcited — a fish around your forearm length is much easier to handle on the grid.
Step 2: Sort your braai vibes
Snoek likes gentle, even heat — not an inferno worthy of a biltong apocalypse. You want medium coals: glowing, with a thin layer of white ash on top. If you wave your hand over the grill and can keep it there for a slow five-count, you’re in the sweet spot. Wood adds romance (and that smoky West Coast nostalgia), but good quality charcoal is excellent. This isn’t a technical exam. It’s a Saturday.
Step 3: The flavour love affair
Here’s where the debates start. West Coast style emphasises salt, acidity, fat, and a hint of sweetness. You’ve got two classic routes: the marinade or the basting. Both are correct. Both will get you approving nods. The real trick? Don’t let your fish dry out.
Option A: Buttery, garlicky basting
- Melted butter (a generous half cup, don’t be shy)
- A big squeeze of lemon or a glug of white vinegar
- Crushed garlic (two cloves, or three if you’re living your truth)
- A teaspoon of Dijon or wholegrain mustard
- Salt and black pepper
- Fresh parsley if you feel fancy
Option B: The apricot-and-vinegar legend
- Two heaped tablespoons of apricot jam
- A splash of apple cider or white vinegar
- A little melted butter or neutral oil
- Pinch of chilli flakes (if you like a wink of heat)
- Salt and pepper
No one is stopping you from making both and alternating because you are a complex woman with layers, like a lasagne, but fishier.
Step 4: Prep the grid like a pro
A fish grid is essential — those clever wire clamp things that hold your fish together like a reassuring hug. Brush the grid with oil to prevent sticking. Place the snoek skin-side down on the grid and pat it dry with a paper towel—season with salt and pepper. If you’re in marinade mode, brush it on now; if you’re in basting mode, have your basting brush and a little pot ready at the fire like a surgeon at the operating table.
Step 5: The fish flip philosophy
Pop the snoek on the braai, skin-side down first. Let it settle and sizzle gently. Don’t pester it. If you grip the grid and it resists flipping, it’s not ready. Give it a minute, sip your drink, and tell that one cousin to stop poking things. You want that skin to crisp slightly so it releases.
Snoek cooks quickly — 10 to 15 minutes in total, depending on the thickness. The rule of thumb: cook 70% skin-side down, then flip for the last little stretch to set the flesh and caramelise the top with your basting. Keep the heat moderate and the lid off, unless the wind is trying to steal your eyebrows.
Step 6: Baste like you mean it
Once the fish is almost cooked through (the flakes should separate easily, but still look juicy), flip and start basting. Ladle on your buttery mixture or apricot glaze with enthusiasm but not chaos. We’re aiming for a glistening top, a little char around the edges, and that perfect combination of sweet, sour, and salty that makes your mouth go, “yes, chef.” If flames lick up, shift the grid or mist with a bit of water. Drama belongs in reality TV, not on your fish.
Step 7: Don’t overcook, please, I’m begging you
Snoek turns from heavenly to heartache if you push it too far. As soon as the thickest part flakes easily and no longer appears translucent, remove it. Let it rest in the grid for a minute. Resting relaxes the flesh and gives you time to shout “Come and dish!” in your best commanding voice.
Step 8: Sides that understand the assignment
- Farm-style potato salad with a bit of onion and parsley — creamy enough to kiss the saltiness
- Warm roosterkoek or just thick-cut bread for sopping up saucy bits
- A crunchy slaw with cabbage, apple, and a tiny splash of the same vinegar you used in the basting
- Lemon wedges, because you’re a responsible adult
- A simple green salad if you’re feeding the yoga crowd
If you want to go extra West Coast, add a quick tomato-and-onion smoor on the side, or some herbed butter corn on the braai. Keep it casual and generous. People should feel like they can help themselves without needing a seating plan.
Step 9: The table talk
Snoek tastes better when there’s laughter, a little breeze, and at least one auntie telling you how her mother did it “properly.” Lean in. Top up everyone’s drinks. Share the story about your first braai disaster — we’ve all cremated something and lived to tell the tale. The magic of a snook braai is that coastal nostalgia: the smell of smoke in your hair and the satisfaction of eating with your fingers.
Bonus tricks for big bragging rights
- Brush the skin lightly with oil and salt before braaiing to help crisp it up. Some folks don’t eat the skin — that’s fine. But it protects the flesh and tastes divine when done right.
- Pop a couple of lemon slices onto the fish after the first flip for that pretty, glossy magazine effect. Yes, you’re THAT girl.
- If you’re nervous about sticking, slide a sheet of foil under the fish skin for the first few minutes, then pull it away once the skin has firmed up.
- No fish grid? Place the snook skin-side down on a foil tray with holes punched in it. It’s not textbook, but it works when the aunties are watching.
Leftovers, if they exist
Flake into a warm potato hash with spring onions for brunch. Stir into pasta with cream, lemon, and dill for a lazy Monday. Or mix with mayo, a squeeze of lemon, and capers for a fancy sandwich filling that makes you feel like you’ve got your life together.
Finally, the golden rule
A West Coast snoek braai isn’t about culinary school technique. It’s about respect for the fish, a good fire, and feeding your people with love and a little swagger. Keep the heat gentle, the basting tasty, and the banter lively. And if anyone asks for your recipe, smile mysteriously and say, “Ag, it’s just a little bit of this and that.”
Now light the fire, put on your sunnies, and let the seaside spirit come to you — no road trip required.
LotsOfLove
SL
