The prawn identity: Tom Parker Bowles on his love of the classic prawn cocktail

'You shouldn’t muck about too much with a prawn cocktail,’ warn Simon Hopkinson and Lindsey Bareham in their introduction to their retro classic The Prawn Cocktail Years. They’re not wrong. Because this is one great British dish that even the most piscine-averse can embrace with relish.

Sure, the vast majority are sorry shadows of the real thing: mean, tasteless prawn commas, drenched in a lurid slick of ketchup and mayonnaise (shop bought, of course), with a meagre dribble of Tabasco and a dusting of cayenne pepper long past its prime. All dumped atop a tangle of cheap, shredded lettuce and served in a smudged cocktail glass. Flanked, of course, by a meagre wedge of lemon and a few triangles of lustily buttered bread (yum). But, for me, the cheap prawn cocktail is a taste of childhood, seasoned with nostalgia, and a dish that was once as exotic as an entire troop of Nubian dancing girls.

Prawn and cocktail, as I used to think it was called, was, of course, restaurant food, both thrillingly sophisticated and coolly unthreatening. And I ate it wherever it could be found, from the dining room at Claridge’s (where I’m sure it emerged from under a silver cloche) to within the red velvet-lined walls of La Fontana in Pimlico. There was the sweetly sharp comfort of the Marie Rose sauce, pink as a new bride’s negligee, and that satisfying squidge of prawn and lettuce, made all the better by the feeling that you were eating something very grown-up indeed.

I still adore a cheap prawn cocktail, although they are increasingly difficult to find. Thank the Lord, then, for the supermarkets, whose ready-mixed versions I devour straight from the tub.

As was pointed out at the start, it’s best not to mess about with the basics. Or, worse still, ‘reinvent’ the damned thing. There is no place for tiny cubes of tomato in my cocktail sauce, nor raw peppers (urgh!), dill, coriander, cream or, God forbid, tiny slivers of grapefruit. And, as Mr Hopkinson so rightly points out, the ketchup must be Heinz. Nothing else will do.

His recipe also includes cucumber and spring onion, which is reasonable, but a touch too Baroque for my liking. Avocado, on the other hand, is entirely acceptable, as long as it plays a supporting role.

Homemade mayonnaise is always best — and it’s not exactly difficult to make — but Hellmann’s will do just fine. A teaspoon of cognac, or even sherry, is a welcome, if inessential, flourish. Do not, however, overdo the booze. The lettuce should be Cos or Little Gem, using only the tightly furled heart for that all-important crunch. Lime can be substituted for lemon in the sauce, as below, but a dusting of cayenne pepper is always non-negotiable.

The best prawns are those whole, ready-cooked ones you find at the fishmonger. They have a sweetness and texture that is lacking in the peeled, bog-standard frozen versions. Tiger prawns, on the other hand, have no place here: too big and brash and showy. Save them for the classic American shrimp cocktail, where they’re served on crushed ice, naked save the tail, to be dipped into a tomato sauce that is heavy on the horseradish. If you can’t cross the Atlantic, London’s The Park and The Dover both do very fine versions indeed.

And our prawn cocktail is probably a direct descendant of its American cousin. That is certainly a more likely origin story than its being born in some 1960s Berni Inn — or, even less credibly still, being invented by the quite frankly demented Fanny Cradock. Nope, all we did was soften any rough edges by removing the horseradish and adding mayonnaise. Our final flourish was to serve it with a plate of sliced, buttered, brown bread. You can’t get more British than that.

Delia's prawn cocktail

When you’re looking for a classic recipe for a classic English dish, I always turn to Delia Smith. ‘This recipe is part of my 1960s revival menu,’ she writes in Delia’s Winter Collection. ‘In those days it used to be something simple, but really luscious, yet over the years it has suffered from some very poor adaptations, not least watery prawns and inferior sauces.’ As I’ve explained above, I rather love a poor adaptation, the true taste of my youth — but I wouldn’t dare share that with Delia. Hers is an altogether more grown-up affair.

Ingredients:

Serves 6

• 900g large prawns in their shell
• 1 crisp-hearted lettuce, such as Cos or Little Gem
• 1 ripe, but firm, avocado
• Cayenne pepper
• 1 whole lime, in 6 wedges

For the sauce:

• 5tbspn mayonnaise (preferably homemade)
• A few drops Tabasco
• 2tbspn tomato ketchup
• 2tspn fresh lime juice

Method:

1. The very best version of this recipe is made with prawns that you have cooked yourself. Failing that, buy the large cooked prawns in their shells. Or, if you can only get shelled prawns, cut the amount used to 1lb (450g).
2. To make the cocktail sauce, prepare the mayonnaise and add it to the rest of the sauce ingredients. Stir and taste to check the seasoning, then keep the sauce covered with clingfilm in the fridge until needed. When you are ready to serve, shred the lettuce and rocket fairly finely and divide them between six stemmed glasses, then peel and chop the avocado into small dice and scatter this in each glass among the lettuce.
3. Top with the prawns and the sauce, sprinkle a dusting of cayenne pepper on top and garnish with one section of lime and one unpeeled prawn per glass. Serve with brown bread and butter.

This feature originally appeared in the May 14, 2025 issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.