Home-Cured Gravlax

There's always seemed to me that there are two camps of food: those worth endeavoring to make at home, and those better left to the pros. Don't get me wrong, there are certainly times I've delved into from-scratch territory and slaved over items, excellent versions of which could've easily (and, admittedly, more efficiently) been procured. I mean, there's certainly no dearth of excellent ice cream that can be bought in stores, but there are times when only homemade will do, when knowing you've made something yourself makes it taste that much better because you know what went into it, both ingredient- and labor-wise. But, come on, am I really going to sit around and make croissants when I know for certain I can get excellent ones made mercifully by somebody else? (I would have said the same of bagels a few months ago, but that was before I moved back to Chicago, and, you know, desperate times...)  Anyway, sometimes it's just not worth the hassle of procuring ingredients and toiling away for hours for something, particularly when it's just two of you to feed.

I always kind of assumed that gravlax was one of those other-people-should-take-care-of-this sort of things. I mean, silky, cured, delicious salmon had to be the sort of thing that required a ton of expertise and special equipment and shit, right? I figured gravlax was something found in great appetizing shops and fancy brunch places and couldn't possibly be something worth the effort to make at home.  But you know, I was wrong. Really fucking wrong. Gravlax turns out to be incredibly simple to make at home; there's about ten minutes of prep time and raw fish handling and some awkward fumbling with a side of salmon and plastic wrap at the outset, then then about 15-20 seconds of work twice a day for two or three days afterwards. That's. It. All that's needed afterwards is a very sharp knife and some people that really like to eat delicious things.

I found this process on Saveur. I hesitate to call it a recipe since there's so much that can be tweaked and tailored, but it truly is fast and easy and yields results that belie the simplicity in its preparation. Just don't throw it in the fridge before you head out of town for a long weekend or anything, since you do have to flip it twice a day, but otherwise, as long as you've got salmon, salt, sugar, some herbs and some saran wrap (and a bit of empty fridge real estate), you can have gravlax at the ready in three days.  And then you can have a super rad dinner or brunch party like an adult and be like, here's some home-cured gravlax and not be fucking lying because you actually really did cure that shit yourself.  So go on, be a badass; get curing.

 

 

Home-Cured Gravlax

Adapted from Saveur (original recipe here)

 

2 tbsp. peppercorns (white is preferable but any will do)
1 tbsp. fennel seeds
4 tsp. caraway seeds
2⁄3 cup kosher salt
1⁄3 cup sugar
2-lb. center-cut, skin-on salmon filet
1 - 1.5 cups dill sprigs, plus 1/2 cup chopped dill
1⁄4 cup vodka (optional)

Grind together the seeds and pepper until coarsely ground. Mix them in a medium-sized bowl with the sugar and salt until well-combined. Prepare a baking sheet by lining it with plastic wrap. Sprinkle half of the salt and sugar mixture over the plastic wrap. Place the salmon on top of the salt and sugar mixture on the plastic wrap, skin side down. Cover the fish with the rest of the salt mixture and the dill sprigs. Sprinkle the vodka evenly on top.

Fold the ends of the plastic wrap around the salmon and wrap the salmon tightly with additional plastic wrap. Use your fingers to make sure the salt and sugar mixture is pretty evenly covering both sides of the fish. Place the whole plastic-wrapped mess in the fridge on the baking sheet and refrigerate for 48-72 hours, flipping the package and using your fingers to redistribute the brine that accumulates in the package as the salt continues to pull water from the salmon.  When fully cured, the gravlax should be firm to the touch at its thickest part.

When cured, remove from the fridge and unwrap the package. Discard the spices, dill and brine that has accumulated.  Rinse the filet (well, that shit's salty) under cold running water; pat dry with paper towels.  You can cover a large place with the half cup of chopped dill and press the flesh side of the fish into it so that it is coated evenly; I forgot to do this but the gravlax was awesome nonetheless.

Cutting the fish takes a bit of practice and the sharpest, narrow long-bladed knife you've got, slice the fish against the grain on the diagonal into super thin pieces. Serve however you'd like; we ate it mostly on bagels with some cream cheese and other traditional accompaniments, but it would also be excellent with potato pancakes or blinis and some sour cream, or some dark bread and mustard, or simply straight from knife to mouth. However you go about eating it, I'm pretty sure you'll be happy with your decision to cure some yourself.
 

Makes a lot

Sardine and Avocado Sandwich

                            

So, where did we leave off, oh…three months ago? That’s right – that kind-of-sort-of-vegan thing. Well, suffice it to say that my efforts for healthfulness in that journey were not met with success, and for a variety of reasons I have chosen to depart from a mostly-vegan diet. Though many of my meals are still vegan, and I think that it is a truly admirable and healthful way of life, it’s just not right for me, right now. Though I’ve reverted back to my fish and cheese and egg-eating ways (oh runny yolks, how I missed you), I haven’t been as quick to jump back on the totally-omnivorous track, though perhaps that will come. Phew, now that that’s off my chest, we can proceed.

This little meal here I think serves as a wonderful bridge between my last post and what I imagine for those in the future. While fishing practices for certain species have vastly degraded the environment and left certain fish on the verge of extinction, sardines are an exception and a great sustainable choice, as they’re abundant and have high reproductive rates. Not only that, but those little buggers are healthy as hell, boasting awesome amounts of omega-3s and essential proteins, and since sardines are low in the food chain, the mercury levels in sardines are much, much lower than their big-eye tuna brethren. Eat your sardines from a can and you’ll receive an added bonus: the teeny little bones, which can barely be detected, are a great source of calcium. Oh yea, they're cheap too.

Now I realize what I’m proposing may be a bit of a hard sell. But before you balk at the mere idea of sardines, hear me out. Canned tuna is eaten with vim across this country – and I maintain that canned sardines should be too. Though they’ve gotten a bit of a bad rap from their former status as a recession-friendly food (and, fine, their stink), there are many who take great joy in eating them straight from the can with some mustard and crackers. There’s even an entire blog devoted to them. If the idea of straight tin-to-cracker sardine consumption sounds a bit intense for you, let me propose something a bit more dressed-up, which should calm some fears about the fishiness and “ick factor” of sardines. I can find little fault in a meal of sardines, dressed in a mixture of sherry vinegar, lemon and parsley. Add some avocado and delicious bread, and you have an open-faced sandwich that’s pretty damn good all around.

This sandwich idea comes from Alton Brown, who hailed it as his diet savior – and that makes total sense – this is a meal that is balanced, healthy and totally satisfying. And because sardines are oily fish, the sandwich has a certain richness while still feeling virtuous. So go on, embrace the sardine.

Sardine and Avocado Sandwich

Makes 2 open-faced sandwiches
Adapted from Alton Brown

I usually use one tin per two open-faced sandwiches, though bigger appetites may want to use the whole tin; the leftover sardine mix stays well in the fridge and makes the second sandwich a breeze to prepare. I have used both oil- and water-packed sardines with success. If you use water-packed sardines, be sure to add some oil to the mix, about a tablespoon or so will do, though do note that the oil from the tin lends great flavor to the sandwich. I like to add a little bit of Dijon mustard and onion, but both are entirely optional. Alton recommends brushing the bread with the sardine oil before toasting – I think this is unnecessary.

1 tin sardines
1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley, additional for garnish
1.5 – 2 teaspoons sherry vinegar (if you don’t have sherry vinegar, substitute lemon juice, but the sherry really does add a very nice touch)
1/8 teaspoon lemon zest
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard, or to taste (optional)
1 tablespoon onion
2 slices of bread (I like using a whole wheat sourdough; try to pick a bread with a good bite, as opposed to sandwich bread)
½ ripe avocado
salt and pepper to taste

If using oil-packed sardines, drain the oil from the tin into a bowl. If using water-packed, drain off and discard the water and add one tablespoon of olive oil to a bowl. Add the parsley, sherry, lemon zest, and, if using, the mustard and onion to the bowl. Add the sardines and mix to combine, mashing a bit if desired. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Set aside for a few minutes to allow the flavors to combine (in the refrigerator if not using for more than an hour).

When you’re ready to assemble, toast the bread. Mash the avocado half in its skin and divide between the two slices of bread, spreading the avocado evenly to cover the bread. Divide the sardine mixture evenly between the two slices of bread, spreading it out over the avocado. Sprinkle sandwiches with additional parsley and finish with a squeeze a lemon. Then, enjoy.

Sake Fish en Papillote

I cook real food, too, you know. It’s not all ice cream and frozen yogurt and rugelach and brownies. I even cook and eat things without butter or cheese or any dairy products whatsoever in them sometimes – food that some might even consider “healthy”. Of course, it helps when such things are also delicious.

The intersection of healthy and delicious is an ideal, and one that oftentimes seems unattainable. We all know that definitely need not be so. Certain methods of cooking tend to produce healthier results. Steaming is one such method, but one that has gotten a rather bad rap. Thinking back to the steaming of our childhoods often conjures up images of sadly steamed broccoli releasing its sulfuric compounds, an unfortunate byproduct of overcooking cruciferous vegetables (that's whymost of us probably never liked Brussels sprouts much growing up, though we know how great those can be). When we dwell on comfort foods, odds are we're not hankering for anything steamed - it just doesn't carry with it delicious connotations. But that needn't be so.

But steaming, like Brussels sprouts, shouldn't be feared. Baking in parchment paper essentially allows the contents nestled within the package to steam, since the heat created during the cooking process is trapped within the package. Baking in parchment is a great little trick to have in your arsenal - it is incredibly simple - just throw a few things on a parchment (aluminum foil often works if you don't have parchment on hand), throw it in the oven for a few minutes, and just like that - like magic, really - what lies within emerges perfectly cooked. And yes, what you're eating is, in fact, steamed - but you needn't say so.



Fish en papillote, which literally means "in parchment" is the french term for baking things within a little package - and doesn't it just sound so much nicer than "steamed fish"? It's a phenomenally easy thing to prepare for a dinner party as well, you could plate it unopened, so as to require audience participation. It's always exciting to open a present, and that is no less true when there are delicious scents emanating from the package.

Sake Steamed Fish en Papillote
Adapted from Gourmet, June 2009

This recipe couldn't be easier - you throw some things in parchment, tie it up, with scallions if you want to be fancy about it, with string if not, throw it in the oven and forget about it for a few minutes. It sounds so much more complicated than that though, but who's to know? Regardless of how you advertise it, what you're left with when you open that package is something fragrant, delicate, delicious and blessedly healthy. I served it with some sauteed baby bok choy and brown rice for a round, wholesome meal.

1/3 cup sake
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 clove garlic, minced
1 teaspoon grated peeled ginger
1/2 teaspoon sugar
2 (6-ounce) pieces skinless fillet of any firm, white fish (about 1 inch thick), bones removed
1/3 cup sliced scallions

Note: You'll also need two 12ish-inch squares of parchment paper and, to tie up your parcels, some string or a couple of scallions.

Preheat oven to 400°F with a baking sheet on bottom rack.

In a bowl, stir together sake, soy sauce, garlic, ginger, and sugar.

If fish fillets are more than 4 inches long, fold ends under. Put a fish fillet in the center of each piece of parchment paper and sprinkle with salt. Divide scallions evenly, sprinkling them on top of each fillet. Holding up two corners of the parchment paper to prevent liquid from running off everywhere, spoon one half of the sake mixture over the top of one one the portions. Gather the sides of the aprchment paper together to form a pouch encasing the fish, make sure there are no openings through which the steam can escape, and tie tightly with string or a scallion. (If using a scallion to tie the pouch, quickly steam it so that it softens, which will prevent them from snapping when you try to form a knot.)

Bake on hot baking sheet until fish is just cooked through, 10 to 12 minutes.

Serves 2.

Butter Poached Fish

There are days when I get home from work, usually after I've put in some decent work scouring the internet for some dinner time inspiration, totally psyched to get my hands dirty cooking a labor-intensive meal. Then there are days where I want nothing more than to sit down to a cheese plate with some good bread and butter (which is why I usually find myself with no less than four different cheeses on hand…) and, lately, piles upon piles of radishes.

But then there are those in-between days, when I want something warm, but something that's not going to suck those last few precious drops of energy from my body. Sometimes those days end in eggs, gently poached and piled atop something or other - sometimes green, sometimes grain. But sometimes that just won't do - sometimes I want something that most normal people would consider a proper meal - and for those days, I turn to butter poached fish.

I don't cook a lot of meat at home - not for any particular reason, really. I don't frequently crave it as is, and it seems almost silly to prepare meat when it's just myself I'm feeding. Chicken is easy enough I guess, but chicken is also boring. Since it's easily portioned and any uncooked portions can be frozen and quickly defrosted at a later date, fish is a pretty good choice to prepare for one. It also cooks in a snap. But because of this latter feature, fish is sometimes tricky to prepare properly, since you have to pay such close attention to it as it overcooks so quickly. And if there's one thing that suffers after a day at work, it's my attention span. Poaching the fish in a shallow pool of fat, however, is so forgiving that even my post-work brain can handle it.



This butter poached fish is something I first read about in the Times a little over a year ago. It seemed so simple - too simple, really, so I gave it a try. Not only was it just as easy as advertised, its deliciousness belied its simple roots.

Since pretty much every ingredient can be swapped out for another or changed at your whim, this dish is more concept than recipe, more guidance than anything. Every element can be varied, from the herbs or spices, to the fat in which you're cooking, even the fish itself - none of it's safe from your tinkering. The important thing to remember is to select a firm-fleshed fish, or else you risk having it crumble and disintegrate. It'll still taste good (not that I know from experience or anything), but you won't have the satisfaction of stabbing your fork into those bigger hunks of fish.

Poaching the fish in fat, as opposed to water, not only imparts so much flavor, but ensures that your finished product is going to be moist and, well, buttery. Both fresh herbs and dried work equally well. I've made this with both the dried mint recommended by the Times article and with fresh parsley and dill, both to great effect. And the fat in which you've done the poaching makes an excellent sauce - whether you choose to use it is up to you and your diet. The fish and sauce are wonderful over egg noodles in the winter; for a lighter summer meal, lift the fish out of the pot with a slotted spoon and serve along side some barely cooked vegetables or a barely-dressed salad. So do as you please, and rest easy that you'll enjoy.



Butter Poached Fish
Adapted from Melissa Clark, original recipe here.
Serves 2 well.

Again, this is more guidance than rule, so go crazy. The general idea is about a pound of firm-fleshed fish, about four tablespoons of fat, be they butter or olive oil, salt, pepper, garlic and herbs of your choosing.

One pound firm-fleshed fish, such as halibut, mahi mahi, basa or even salmon. Cod is a bit delicate for this, but if you're careful, it can definitely work.
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, or to taste
1/4 teaspoon pepper, or to taste
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons olive oil*
3-4 tablespoons fresh dill, chopped
4-5 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, minced

1. Season the fish generously all over with salt and pepper. In a medium-size skillet just large enough to fit the fish in a single layer, heat the butter and oil over low heat. Add the fish, dill and 3-4 tablespoons of the parsley, and let cook slowly until the fish begins to turn opaque, about 3 minutes.

2. Stir in garlic and 1/4 teaspoon each of salt and pepper, and cook until the garlic is fragrant and the fish is just cooked through, another 3 minutes or so (the heat should be low enough so as not to brown the garlic or fish but high enough to gently cook everything; the cooking time will vary widely with your stove).

3. Taste and add more salt and pepper and a few drops of lemon juice if desired. Stir in the remaining fresh parsley and serve (using a slotted spoon to leave the cooking liquid in the pan if desired).

*I use a mix of butter and olive oil, since I like the taste of butter, but I don't like having to worry if it's going to burn. Even though that's unlikely since we're cooking over such low heat, the olive oil allows me to rest easy that it won't burn, which is a good thing given my aforementioned attention span.

Gefilte Fish with Horseradish Cream

At the Passover Seder table growing up, I always had to watch with envious eyes as my brother took supreme pleasure in eating piece (glob?) after piece of gefilte fish. I just had to sit there and watch, I wasn't able to eat it because I was still allergic to pretty much every little seemingly harmless thing in the vast ocean.

Jealousy is really the only explanation I can come up with as to why I always coveted gefilte fish. It was not its visual appeal - that's for sure.

It's really quite an unseemly thing - a grey, pallid mass of congealed fish. It emerges from its jar coated in a gelatinous goo. This jar also contains little carrot discs, as if to assure you that the goo can indeed provide a welcoming home to things that were once real, living things. And don't think that I'm doing gefilte fish a disservice by describing it as such - there's no denying it's instantaneous ick factor.

Once plated gefilte fish is not nearly as off-putting, but if you've seen where it comes from, it's a tougher pill to swallow. The jar, from whence it was fished in all its gooey glory, is a bit hard to get past. Yet, in spite of all of this, likely more than enough to scare off most any right-minded kid, I wanted nothing more than to be able to enjoy gefilte fish - or at least to be able to try it, and hate it, and then make fun of my brother for liking it with the ammunition to back it up.

But no, I just had to sit there - eating my hard-boiled eggs covered in heaping scoops of horseradish, as if it were some sort of substitute, lest my entire face swell up - lest I turn into a living reminder of the plague of boils set forth on the Egyptians. And that's not what Passover's about! It's about relaxing, and celebrating our freedom and drinking until you can't stand up from your oh-so-reclined position (not to mention eating tons and tons of chocolate-covered matzoh), not relishing the ills that were cast upon our adversaries - Jews aren't into that kind of schadenfreude.

As I've discussed before, I've outgrown this fish allergy (though less so the salmon, though I trudge on anyway, trying to will it out of my system), and when I finally had the chance to taste gefilte fish, I actually really liked it. Why, precisely, I couldn't tell you - probably the fact that it's pleasantly fishy, soft and salty, and a perfect vehicle for tongue-numbing quantities of Gold's horseradish. I was finally able to take joy in what my brother had been able to enjoy his entire life, though to his chagrin, there was now another mouth at the table with whom he'd have to share.

When I set out to prepare my first Seder last year, I wanted to go all-out. I tend to go all-out with most things cooking, especially when I'm cooking for others, and I wanted my first Seder to be a smash-hit. I suspect that it was - I think the text messages I get from my blond-haired and blue-eyed friend telling me that she's having a hankering for the brisket I made is a pretty good indicator of success, if I do say so myself.

With a couple of non-Jews in attendance at the Seder, I wanted to make sure that all the dishes were executed in order to maximize their potential, lest my fear that they'd forever be turned off from Jewish food be realized. I saw gefilte fish as the biggest hurdle - as you can imagine it's not really the easiest thing to sell: Fish cakes! Fish dumplings! Fish blobs - from a jar! A jar full of gelatinous goo!

Since I was a third-year law student (read: I had a significant amount of time on my hands), I figured I'd try my hand at homemade gefilte fish, since steamed fresh fish dumplings seems a bit (though just a bit) of an easier sell than their goo-laden brethren.

And though the gefilte fish stunk up my house something serious, it was an undeniable success. I'm still counting my lucky stars that I had a roommate easy-going and understanding enough to deal with the smell of steaming fish for days (let me tell you - steamed fish smell is the gift that keeps on giving), without so much of a peep of complaint (and a shiksa, no less!!).

The gefilte fish was so much fresher, the texture undeniably better than anything I'd had in the past - there was much more than the hint of fishiness present to make you wise to that fact that what you were eating had once swam in the sea. The horseradish cream lends a sophisticated air to the dish; its flavor, at once spicy and tangy, really heightens the flavors of the fish, serving as a lovely contrast to the smokiness of the salmon and cutting through the richness characteristic of many Passover dishes, in all of their egg-laden glory. The gefilte fish itself had better depth of flavor than the jarred variety, owing to the fresh carrots, onions, scallions and two types of fish, and the fact that it was steamed just the day before, and with no goo of which to speak.



Homemade Gefilte Fish with Horseradish Cream
Adapted from Bon Appétit April 2002

This is an undeniably laborious recipe - albeit one that yields results that kick jarred gefilte fish's ass. However, I didn't have a food processor and decided not to buy one for the gefilte-fish-making occasion, so I found myself chopping...and chopping...and chopping fish until it was in a consistency akin to what would've been realized in the food processor. I'd imagine that this greatly reduces the time commitment of this endeavor. Whether this recipe is worth it is completely up to you, but one thing I think is certain is that this recipe will not leave you reaching for the jar.

And yes, this recipe and the next couple I'll be sharing are from last year, but I never got around to sharing them then, and they became less and less timely as the year progressed, and they dropped by the wayside. But now, with Passover creeping up on us, I again have an opportunity to share them!

Gefilte Fish

3/4 cup peeled carrots, thinly sliced
1/4 cup matzo meal
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 cup chopped onion
1 cup chopped green onions
4 large eggs
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

1 1/2 pounds mild white fish fillets (such as sole or flounder), cut into small pieces
2 cups chopped smoked salmon
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper

1 large cabbage, separated into leaves

Cook carrots in pan of boiling salted water until very tender, about 8 minutes. Drain, reserving 1/2 cup cooking water in small bowl. Stir matzoh meal into water; let stand 10 minutes to allow maximum saturation. Place carrots in food processor. Heat olive oil in heavy medium skillet over medium-low heat. Add onion and sauté until soft, about 5 minutes. Add green onions and stir 1 minute. Add onion mixture to carrots in food processor. Add the matzo meal mixture and blend until mixture is pureed and smooth. Using electric mixer, beat 3 eggs and lemon juice in large bowl until foamy and slightly thickened, about 4 minutes. Stir in mixture from processor to the egg-lemon bowl; do not bother cleaning the processor bowl.

Blend fish fillets, smoked fish, salt, and pepper in same processor bowl until fish is finely chopped. Add remaining egg and blend to coarse paste. Add fish mixture to matzo meal mixture and mix thoroughly. Cover and refrigerate until very cold, about 2 hours.

Line large baking sheet with waxed or parchment paper. Using wet hands, shape 1/4 cup fish mixture for each dumpling into an egg-shaped oval. Place on prepared sheet. Cover with waxed paper and chill while preparing cabbage and steamer.

Set vegetable steamer rack in large pot. Fill pot with enough water to meet, but not cover, the bottom of the rack. Line rack with cabbage leaves. Arrange 8 fish dumplings on leaves; cover with additional cabbage. Bring water to boil. Cover pot and steam dumplings until cooked through and firm to touch, about 25 minutes. Transfer upper cabbage leaves to platter. Top with cooked dumplings. Cover with bottom cabbage leaves. Steam remaining dumplings in additional cabbage leaves in 2 more batches. Cover and refrigerate gefilte fish until cold, at least 6 hours. (Can be prepared 2 days ahead. Keep refrigerated.)

Horseradish Cream

This sauce is fantastic - I found myself slicking it on anything and everything I could validate being a good vehicle for the days following my Seder, and I have a feeling you will as well. Even if you don't make the gefilte fish yourself, give the sauce a whirl - it's a great change of pace from the jarred stuff.

2 garlic cloves
1/4 cup prepared white horseradish (or more, depending on your taste - I love horseradish and used, if I recall correctly, a bit more)
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 cup mayonnaise

Mince garlic and place in a bowl. Mix in the lemon juice and horseradish until combined. Gradually add in the mayonnaise, whisking to combine. Season with salt and pepper to taste, cover, chill and refrigerate until ready to serve. (Can be made one day ahead. Keep refrigerated.)

Serve horseradish cream alongside gefilte fish, toss aside the jar, and enjoy!

Testing the Waters

I spent the last few Saturdays taking a cooking class at the Institute of Culinary Education. It was a five-week course meant to introduce us to the "Elements of Fine Cooking," which I couldn't see being a bad idea. The course was a great time, an air of camaraderie between the instructor, my classmates and myself was immediately evident and good times were had by all. I'm now far more proficient in the arts of roasting and hollandaise-making than I was before, though it would seem that I could use a bit more practice in the souffle-making arena.

I'm not sure whether it was confidence in my cooking gained from this class or a desire to test my culinary limits that inspired me to attempt a recipe from Eric Ripert. I'd have to say it's more likely the latter, considering this throwdown occurred a mere two weeks into my course. His cooking at Le Bernardin is unmatched - nowhere else in New York will one receive plate after flawless plate of impeccably prepared seafood, as refined and clean as any I've had. I dined there for lunch a couple of years ago, and it remains one of my most memorable meals ever - everything was just so perfect, from my himachi appetizer to my pineapply trio of desserts.

Dishes in fine dining restaurants, even those that appear to be straightforward and simplistic rarely are. Each layer of flavor has often been prepared in some complex fashion. The preparation time and ingredient lists are enough to turn most home cooks off, which is part of the appeal of eating in these establishments in the first place.

However, when a special occasion arises, and one that you have no desire to spend in a restaurant because everyone else in the world is spending that same special occasion in every restaurant, everywhere, the preparation and ingredient lists become less of an obstacle. Why not celebrate with a meal courtesy of the best seafood chef in New York City? And why not enjoy it in your own home, without the pretense of "fine dining?" Not to mention that on top of the fact that you're enjoying an excellent meal, in the comfort of your own home, to be enjoyed at your own pace, without the interruption of servers asking if you're finished

Though this recipe wasn't effortless, it wasn't quite as burdensome as you'd imagine; the most difficult aspect ended up being the timing, since I made all of the components right before we were to eat. And the end result exceeded my expectations (though admittedly, of my performance, not of the dish) - the snapper was cooked perfectly; crispy, delicately spiced skin blanketing perfectly cooked, flaky fish. The mushrooms were earthy, yet vibrant, and the whole dish was brought together by the sauce, which provided a wonderful tang with immense depth of flavor, at once brightening the mild fish and the mountain of mushrooms on top of which it sat.

So we sat down to a wonderful, sophisticated (not to mention rather nice to look at) meal, I gave myself a little pat on the back, and dug right in, immensely proud of creating an experience that would put most restaurants to shame.

Red Snapper and Shiitakes in Port Reduction
adapted from the Le Bernardin Cookbook recipe available on epicurious.com

Ingredients
For the sauce:
1 cups high quality port (the recipe suggests 10-year old, I'm not sure how old the port I used was)
1 cups high quality sherry vinegar
For the mushrooms:
2 1/4 teaspoons corn oil (I used canola oil - the high smoke point is what's important here)
1 pound fresh shiitake mushrooms, stems cut lengthwise into 1/4-inch-thick slices, caps halved if small or cut into 3 or 4 slices if large
2 branches fresh thyme
1 clove garlic, peeled and halved
1 large shallot, peeled and finely diced
5 tablespoons unsalted butter
Fine sea salt, to taste
Freshly ground white pepper, to taste
For the fish:
2 1/4 teaspoons corn oil
2 (6-ounce) red snapper fillets
1/8 teaspoon Chinese five-spice powder
2 teaspoons minced fresh chives

Preparation

For the sauce:
1. Bring the port to a boil in a medium-size heavy saucepan over medium-high heat. Lower the heat slightly and simmer until reduced to 1/2 cup (if using a gas stove, never let the flames extend above the bottom edge of the pan). Add the vinegar and simmer until reduced almost to a syrup consistency, lowering the heat as necessary to keep the sauce from burning around the edges—you 'll have around 3 1/2 tablespoons (10 1/2 teaspoons). (Note: The sauce can be made to this point up to 1 week ahead; cover and refrigerate.)

2. Heat 1 1/2 teaspoons of corn oil in a skillet and place over high heat until the oil is just smoking. Place the mushrooms, thyme, and garlic in the skillet and lower the heat to medium. Sauté until browned, about 4 minutes. Turn the heat to low and add the shallot and 1 tablespoons of butter to the skillets. Season with salt and pepper. Cook until the shallot is softened and the mushrooms are tender, about 6 minutes more. Discard the garlic and thyme. (Note: The mushrooms can be made to this point up to 1 day ahead; cover and refrigerate).

3. Season both sides of the snapper with salt and pepper. Sprinkle the five-spice powder over the skin and rub it into the fish. Clean the skillet and add the remaining tablespoon of corn oil. Place over high heat until the oil is just smoking. Add the snapper to the skillet, skin side down, and briefly hold the fillets down with a spatula to prevent the skin from shrinking. Sauté until the bottom of the fillets are dark and crusted, about 5 minutes. Turn and cook for about 5 minutes longer, until a metal skewer inserted into the fish for 5 seconds is met with medium resistance and feels warm when touched to your lip. Keep the fillets warm until you're ready to plate.

4. Meanwhile, if mushrooms had been prepared ahead of time, set them in a skillet to reheat. Bring the sauce to a boil over high heat. Cut the remaining 1 1/2 tablespoons of butter in to 1/2-inch pieces. Lift the saucepan a few inches above the heat and add the butter. Shake the pan back and forth until the butter is melted and incorporated into the sauce; this will take about 3 minutes. Do not stir or whisk the butter into the sauce. The sauce will be very shiny and clear.*

5. To serve, stir the chives into the mushrooms. Divide the mushrooms evenly among the two large plates, arranging them in the center of each plate. Top the mushroom mountain with the snapper. Drizzle the sauce around the mushrooms and serve immediately.

* Seriously, don't stir it - I grew impatient at this point, didn't read the instructions closely enough and stirred the butter in; this caused a bit of separation that I think would have been avoided had I just been patient - regardless, it tasted divine.

Pasta Tragedy; Horseradish Hero

From time to time I come across a recipe that advertises itself as being time consuming. That’s not always a turn-off for me, though. For instance, I came across another Jacques Pépin recipe the other day and immediately went to the stove and spent what would end up being over two and a half hours composing a chicken and peanut stew (about which I will tell you all just a little bit later). Was it worth it? I think so – because I knew how long it was going to take going into it, the ingredients were relatively few, and the time it took was largely inactive, playing dominoes and watching television while the stew practically cooked itself. Yes I had to cut a few things here and there, but I find this chopping rather soothing.

Sometimes, however, there are recipes that take a lot longer than they taste like they should have taken. I stumbled upon one such recipe not too long ago. I was searching the epicurious database when I stumbled upon a recipe misleadingly entitled “salmon with orecchiette, caramelized onions and horseradish cream sauce.” The salmon was not tossed with the pasta, but served alongside it. But I love literally every component of this dish, so I figured I could not go wrong. I went to three different grocery stores in search of broccoli rabe (a vegetable that could very well be my single favorite food on planet earth), but my searches proved futile. It was not to be - I found none. I had read in the comments to the recipe on epicurious that a few people had replaced the broccoli rabe with broccoli with excellent results, and while I was skeptical, I followed suit. I was thisclose to plucking a bunch of arugula from the produce aisle, but I followed the road that was tried and - or so I thought - true.

So I began cooking – chopping, cooking, caramelizing onions. Yes, it smelled great, and yes, caramelized onions are awesome, but the end result was not really worth the process.



The pasta lacked depth - though it had the sweetness of the onions, it lacked the bitterness of the broccoli rabe, the very trait of the vegetable that enamours me so. It was totally divorced from the flavors of the salmon, since the bitter spiciness of the horseradish would have given reason for the broccoli rabe sitting next to it. The broccoli brought nothing to the dish. Even if I made the pasta on its own again, I would never dream of making it with anything but broccoli rabe (I guess I could give in to arugula since it has a spice to it as well). It was quite sad, all of it - a pasta with so much promise, falling so far short of its potential.

But the horseradish saved the day. Because of it, the salmon tale had a much happier ending. Cooked to perfection and drizzled with a deceptively simple horseradish sauce, its flavors were accentuated, rather than muted. While the pile of pasta sitting next to it had no place being there, the horseradish sauce was perfect. I mean, the combination is classic for a reason.



Salmon with Horseradish Cream Sauce
Bon Appetit, June 2003

This sauce is really great, and can be put to a plethora of uses. Try it over some roast beef or on a sandwich; or served with smoked salmon or trout; even as a dipping sauce for potato chips or french fries.

The sauce can be refrigerated, but when reheating make sure to heat it in a saucepan over low-moderate heat until it’s simmering. I would advise against heating it in the microwave, since it will likely separate.

2 cups whipping cream
1 8-ounce bottle clam juice
3 tablespoons prepared white horseradish

2 tablespoons olive oil
4 skin-on salmon filets

Boil cream and clam juice in heavy large saucepan until reduced to 1 cup, about 15 minutes. Remove from heat. Whisk in horseradish and season sauce to taste with salt and pepper.

In a skillet over high heat, heat the olive oil. Season the salmon with salt and pepper. Add salmon to skillet, skin side up and cook until fish is browned – about 3 minutes. Turn the salmon over and cook until nicely browned and just opaque, about 3 more minutes.

Remove salmon from heat and drizzle with horseradish sauce to taste.

Enjoy!

Have a very happy Valentine’s Day!

In Praise of Salt

I've never really been one for sweets. Savory was always more my bag. I don't know what it is about salt that just calls out to me. It could be because I'm Jewish, but I'm not going to start getting stereotypical here. I'm often singing the praises of sodium, and when I mentioned to my roommate, Emily, that I was thinking of writing an ode to salt for my next entry, she went ahead and wrote the following:

there once was a shaker of salt
i saw it and couldn't find fault
it made things delish
especially fish
i would not put it in a malt

I couldn't have said it better myself.



I first tasted the salty wonder of anchovies over the summer. They just get a really bad rap, much like Brussels sprouts, which I think, sadly is what took me so long to first give them a chance. I never fell for this with Brussels sprouts, but it was probably a combination of their reputation and my history with fish that kept me away. Their mere existence on a pizzeria menu is puzzling to every child; it's just beyond comprehension to a ten year old to put tiny fish fillets on an otherwise perfect piece of pizza. They're a true grown-up taste. I've grown to really, really like anchovies recently - they have a fantastic salty taste without being briny like clams and oysters. The can impart the perfect amount of salt to a dish without overpowering the rest of the ingredients with their fishiness.

I read a tragic tale not that long ago about a culinary jaunt gone horribly awry. A pot of boiling water was dropped on a foot, a painful burn the result. But the pasta Adam made just looked so good, and the ingredients were so simple and straightforward that I could almost taste it. I felt that his enjoyment was slightly (read: probably fully) compromised by the fact that he had been severely injured by the very pasta he was then supposed to enjoy. Adam himself recognized this bias. You wouldn't ask a woman who had been beaten to be on the very jury that was supposed to decide her attacker's guilt, nor would you want a food critic to review a restaurant whose chef he knew was having an affair with his wife. I think you know what I'm getting at here. So I figured I'd give it a go. The bottom line is that the simplicity of the ingredients in this dish seemed that they would impart the perfect amount of saltiness to balance with the heartiness of the pasta and the chickpeas.

Penne with Anchovies and Chickpeas (adapted from the Amateur Gourmet)



The recipe is incredibly easy, and I took Adam's suggestion to add garlic to the sauce. I just took twelve anchovies, mashed them with some salt and two medium-sized cloves of garlic with a fork. Then I added two small stalks of diced celery and the liquid from the can of chickpeas and the sauce was done. It was easy enough. Once the penne was done cooking, I drained it and put it back in the pot with the sauce, the chickpeas, a decent amount of coarsely ground pepper and some parmigianno regianno cheese. The sauce was a bit too liquidy for my taste though, so I turned the heat back on low and let the sauce cook down and thicken up, stirring pretty often. By the time the sauce was to my liking, the anchovies had disintegrated, as anchovies are wont to do, so I finely chopped another one and sprinkled it with some more grated parmigianno on top of the pasta once it was in my bowl.

When all was said and done, I really enjoyed the dish. Cooking the sauce with the pasta was definitely necessary, since it allowed the sauce to adhere to the pasta. If I hadn't done that, the sauce would have all sat idly at the bottom of the bowl - this way it gave flavor to the pasta. I'm not really sure the celery was necessary, but it didn't offend my palate in any way. The anchovies made their presence known with their salty pop, even though they were no longer visible in the sauce. The chickpeas gave the meal substance and are what ultimately made the small bowl I made for myself incredibly filling. The pasta was hearty without being complex. I would make this again in a heartbeat; it's healthy, fast and incredibly cheap to make. It's also delicious, which doesn't really hurt its case. The ingredients are so straightforward and the dish is seasoned with only salt and pepper, so you know exactly what you're getting. And if you're in the mood for something salty, this should hit the spot.

As the Leaves are Changing

One of the benefits of my blogging endeavor is that I now have a reason to buy magazines like Gourmet and Bon Appétit, publications I have coveted for so long on grocery store lines but on which I have never had the will to spend those few dollars. I am just a poor student, after all. My blog is my new baby, my cause, and it places upon me the affirmative duty to broaden my horizons and learn more about the culinary world I have entered. This is one of the main reasons I started this endeavor - I really want to learn. I want to be inspired to try new things. And last week I learned that not all new, exciting things are difficult.

I turned to this month's Bon Appétit for dinner this week, to a simple-sounding yet intriguing dish perfect for an unseasonably warm fall evening. The green of the chutney popped off of the page, serving as a reminder of a summer recently lost. Every once in a while I have a tendency to get a little bit stressed out while cooking, but this dish was amazingly simple - I was handling multiple pans with ease. Maybe it's this new cause I've found - I am no longer making dinner, I'm cooking. I'm doing this because I really, really want to become great at this. I want to learn, but most of all I want to share. This has had a great calming effect on me in the kitchen. I'm doing something I truly love. Now that I've come out and entered this wonderful world of food, I can bask in all of its delicious glory.

Mahi-Mahi with Cilantro Chutney (from Bon Appétit, Volume 52, No. 10)



For the fish:

Cumin, salt, pepper
1 tablespoon olive oil
Mahi Mahi - 6 to 8 ounce filets. The chutney is probably enough to liberally sauce 4 filets.

For the chutney:

1 large kiwi, cubed
1 large clove of garlic, peeled
2 teaspoons diced jalepeno
1 cup cilantro, tightly packed
1/4 cup coconut milk

Put all of the the chutney ingredients in a food processor (I used my blender, did the job just fine) and process into a coarse puree. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Sprinkle the fish liberally with salt, pepper and cumin on both sides. I thought I sprinkled mine pretty liberally, but the fish itself came out rather bland, so I would sprinkle very liberally. Heat the oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. Saute the fish until opaque, about 5 minutes per side. Spoon chutney over the fish and serve.



I served the fish on top of brown basmati rice with a side of bok choy that I sauteed with shallots, garlic and ginger in sesame oil and then braised in cider vinegar and some soy sauce and water. I really didn't know what I was doing with it, but it worked out alright. In the end, I would have just cut it lengthwise and braised it in two pieces as opposed to chopping and cooking. The chutney is fantastic, incredibly flavorful and the color is really something. I almost felt badly putting the bok choy next to the fish, since it's green had faded in cooking, and it seemed to cruel to taunt it with the color it once had.



It was an almost tropical-feeling dish, conjuring up memories of summer as the leaves turn colors outside. The fish combined with the chutney really well, and would work well as the main elements of a fish taco. The dish is a quick-fix meal with just enough flair and is really, truly simple.