chilled poached salmon
caviar
persian cucumber
creme fraiche
green dill seeds
leek buds
hyssop flowers
caviar
persian cucumber
creme fraiche
green dill seeds
leek buds
hyssop flowers
At the restaurant, we make tons of poached salmon.
Well, maybe not tons, but on the weekends we make enough to feed the masses. I'm told that it's been on the catering menu for the past 20 years and that attempts to remove it have been futile. I am not surprised by it's popularity; every time that I taste it I'm reminded of the complexity of flavor that can be achieved through simple, classic techniques.
The secret to it's success at the restaurant is that it is consistency prepared the same way. The fillets are cut off the bone and two whole sides go into a hotel pan, skin side down. Chopped onions, celery, lemons, and parsley are strewn over the top along with a liberal sprinkling of salt. Half of a magnum of white wine is poured over, followed by enough water to cover by an inch. They go into a cold convection oven at 375F. After 20 minutes, the court-bouillon just begins to steam, the vegetables begin to soften, releasing their aroma, and the oven is turned down to 325F. The salmon cooks slowly and gently until it is opaque all the way through. After the pans are removed from the oven, they cool on a rack until they are no longer hot, then they chill overnight in the walk-in. This is where the magic happens: as the salmon cools, the flesh retracts and draws in the aromatic liquid, locking in the flavor. The next day, the flesh, although cold, is soft and unctuous, and the flavor is deep and complex.
When I begin to play the what-if game with this particular preparation, I always come up short. I can think of no other techniques (short of sous-vide, which is unpractical with the quantities that we do) that would yield the same results.
If it ain't broke, don't fix it.
Well, maybe not tons, but on the weekends we make enough to feed the masses. I'm told that it's been on the catering menu for the past 20 years and that attempts to remove it have been futile. I am not surprised by it's popularity; every time that I taste it I'm reminded of the complexity of flavor that can be achieved through simple, classic techniques.
The secret to it's success at the restaurant is that it is consistency prepared the same way. The fillets are cut off the bone and two whole sides go into a hotel pan, skin side down. Chopped onions, celery, lemons, and parsley are strewn over the top along with a liberal sprinkling of salt. Half of a magnum of white wine is poured over, followed by enough water to cover by an inch. They go into a cold convection oven at 375F. After 20 minutes, the court-bouillon just begins to steam, the vegetables begin to soften, releasing their aroma, and the oven is turned down to 325F. The salmon cooks slowly and gently until it is opaque all the way through. After the pans are removed from the oven, they cool on a rack until they are no longer hot, then they chill overnight in the walk-in. This is where the magic happens: as the salmon cools, the flesh retracts and draws in the aromatic liquid, locking in the flavor. The next day, the flesh, although cold, is soft and unctuous, and the flavor is deep and complex.
When I begin to play the what-if game with this particular preparation, I always come up short. I can think of no other techniques (short of sous-vide, which is unpractical with the quantities that we do) that would yield the same results.
If it ain't broke, don't fix it.
hot poached salmon
salsa verde
court-bouillon
salsa verde
court-bouillon
whipped buttermilk potatoes
At home, hot poached salmon with salsa verde and softly whipped buttermilk potatoes is my go-to dish when I have salmon, fresh herbs, and a good bottle of Chardonnay on hand. The ripe flavors of the wine marries well with the richness of the fish and the assertive herbs.
Because the salmon is served hot and does not benefit from the flavor-boosting overnight chill, the court-bouillon must be concentrated. Copious amounts of aromatics are simmered in white wine and water until all of their flavor is extracted. This becomes more of a stock than a court-bouillon (court, in French, means short or quick). When the temperature of the stock is at 185F, the salmon are dropped in and poached for about 8 minutes, or until a translucent core remains.
Sometimes, when I can't bear to throw out the flavorful stock, I will surround the salmon and potatoes with it in shallow bowls. Doing this transforms the dish into something else…not a soup, but not quite a sauce, either…it becomes both. The soft potatoes melt into the stock along with flecks of herbs, so that after the salmon is consumed, a delicious potato-herb soup is left in the bowl.
Because the salmon is served hot and does not benefit from the flavor-boosting overnight chill, the court-bouillon must be concentrated. Copious amounts of aromatics are simmered in white wine and water until all of their flavor is extracted. This becomes more of a stock than a court-bouillon (court, in French, means short or quick). When the temperature of the stock is at 185F, the salmon are dropped in and poached for about 8 minutes, or until a translucent core remains.
Sometimes, when I can't bear to throw out the flavorful stock, I will surround the salmon and potatoes with it in shallow bowls. Doing this transforms the dish into something else…not a soup, but not quite a sauce, either…it becomes both. The soft potatoes melt into the stock along with flecks of herbs, so that after the salmon is consumed, a delicious potato-herb soup is left in the bowl.
Here, I have taken the dish and played with the textures. The salmon has been left alone, in it's state of perfection. The salsa verde, consisting of parsley, tarragon, golden oregano, common thyme, lemon thyme, anchovies, shallots, capers, extra-virgin olive oil, and white wine vinegar, has been set with agar. The agar has a higher melting point than most gels, allowing it to be served hot, while retaining it's shape. The potato base is cooked potatoes that have been passed through a tamis, blended with olive oil, salt, and buttermilk to a pourable consistency. 1.5% Methocel SGA150 is added and the mixture is whipped to aerate and lighten. The mixture is dropped off of the end of a spoon into the hot stock to form small, leaf-shaped dumplings that are firm while hot, yet melt on the tongue.
The tips of herbs, planted in the sheet of salsa verde, is directly inspired by my new planter. After years of trekking up to the garden to pick a few sprigs of herbs to season a dish in progress, and returning to a find that it has scorched or overcooked (I am easily distracted in the garden), I have planted an assortment of my favorite herbs in a windowbox on the front porch. Such a simple solution, and now I have no excuses to not use fresh herbs when the inspiration strikes.
The tips of herbs, planted in the sheet of salsa verde, is directly inspired by my new planter. After years of trekking up to the garden to pick a few sprigs of herbs to season a dish in progress, and returning to a find that it has scorched or overcooked (I am easily distracted in the garden), I have planted an assortment of my favorite herbs in a windowbox on the front porch. Such a simple solution, and now I have no excuses to not use fresh herbs when the inspiration strikes.
Playing with Fire and Water 
Delicate, supple, with a shroud of herbaceous dynamite. Love it. I get that your salsa verde is a play on words, and is more of a chimichurri, but you’ve lubricated my cogs for playing with tomatillos and charred tomatoes. Reverend.
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Uwe- Actually, salsa verde is a generic term used to describe any indigenous green sauce. Your version is found in Mexico and the Southwestern US, so I’m not surprized that is what you conjured up. My version is based on the ones found in Italy, along the Meditteranean. But you are right, it does resemble a chimichurri, which is Argentina’s version of a salsa verde.
While I’m pretty sure that I could whoop your butt in a game of sauce trivia, when it comes to playing with words, I couldn’t hold a candle to you, O Wort Meister.
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Surrounding the salmon with the liquid… that would be sort of like a Saumon en Nage… I’d say…
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“Don’t get saucy with me Béarnaise!” (One of my favorite lines of all time, from History of the World Pt. 1)… I must ask of your understanding though, for as your pursed lips whisper in the Latin patois of Roman elegance and superfluidity, I with enamored ear, may hear the audible 10 percent, but it is the 90 percent, imperceptible by ear, that I listen to. It is your subtle sweet song, the formless origin of all galaxies, the one peace that spawns all smiles that, alas, conquers my faculties to only postulate in the argot of indigenous Spain. I bid unto thee, grazie, from the dearest source within me.
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a good friend of mine/roommate is Argentinian, and according to him…chimichurri is whatever you got on hand, which is based on what grows in rural Argentina, is what we know to be a chimichurri. but potato, potAHto. great blog. swing by mine sometime.
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Linda – I’m wanting to make a nice salmon dish at the weekend and you’ve provided the inspiration (like many times before!).
Can you tell me how one achieves the nice circle of salmon in the top picture? I immediately thought cling film roll but that doesn’t make sense giving the cooking method you outlined
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Poached salmon, after it has cooled, is very malleable. I took advantage of that and pressed it into a flexi-mold— but cling film will work too.
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