monkfish liver

Monkfish liver is rarely seen outside of Japanese cuisine where it is known as ankimo. Those who have tasted its creamy decadence will understand why it's often referred to as "foie gras of the sea", although its flavor is more delicate with just a whisper of its oceanic origin in the aftertaste.

Ankimo is traditionally prepared as a torchon, much like foie. After removing the skin and veins, it is soaked in milk for 4 hours, then rinsed and brined in a solution of water/sake/mirin at a 5:3:1 ratio, with salt added at 3% of total weight, for 8 hours. The drained livers are compressed and rolled into a cylinder in a double layer of fine cheesecloth and the ends are tied. The cylinder is steamed over a 50/50 blend of water and sake until the core reaches 63C/145F, about 20 minutes for a 3" diameter torchon. Or it can be cooked in a 65C/149F water bath for 30 minutes. In either case, the torchon is allowed to rest in the refrigerator overnight before slicing.

ankimo • kinome • red shiso • pear gelee

red frisee • pickled mexican cucumber • spiced croutons • plum sauce

At about $8 per pound, the price of commercially-fished monkfish liver is a fraction of foie, but it comes a much higher cost to the ocean. It's not that monkfish is overfished or endangered — it's a fast-growing, short-lived species whose population is currently stable— it's the method by which they are harvested that is of concern. Because monkfish live in mudflats along the Atlantic coast, they are easily caught with trawls that scrape the bottom of the ocean— a practice that results in high incidents of non-targeted bycatch and the destruction of their habitat. Choosing line-caught monkfish, though at a premium, preserves the diversity of bottom-dwelling species and their homes.

garlic mustard

As long as we've lived here, there has been garlic mustard in the woods at the back of our property. Over the years, I've watched it creep down the hillside and flirt with the backyard. I've managed to keep them apart because they can be terribly invasive, although their compact colonies don't bother me as much as pokeweed or knotweed.

I don't know how long I can keep them at bay. In the battle of the weeds, I just might let garlic mustard win.

Garlic mustard (Alliaria petiolata) is a hardy biennial in the Brassicaceae family that grows to three feet in height. All parts of the plant are edible. The leaves are tender and mild, almost sweet, and taste of both garlic and mustard due to flavonoids that are enjoyed by humans, but despised by insects and herbivores— an efficacious trait that guarantees its proliferation.

Next to onions, garlic is the most used allium in my kitchen, though it's not a regular in my vegetable garden. That's because it needs to go in the ground in the fall when I'm more concerned with harvesting than planting. I did remember to plant a handful of cloves last September and recently dug up some immature heads. The baby-toe-sized cloves are tender and their translucent skins have not yet turned papery. When poached in milk, they become incredibly sweet and mild— a rare treat that only a vampire could resist.

Milk-poaching garlic always reminds me of brandade, a requisite step in making the salted cod and potato emulsion. The garlic-infused milk is used to poach the cod, which is infinitely better when salted just prior to cooking.

I piped the brandade from a parchment paper cone, using the exact same motion to fashion bite-size cones from garlic mustard leaves. A tiny smear of brandade on the underside of the outer leaf edge glues the cone together. Fried potatoes sticks were inserted into the cone before the brandade was piped in, because fried potatoes with [garlic and cod] pureed potatoes are doubly delicious!

brandade

Brandade is traditionally served as a dip or spread for bread. Other fish such as halibut, haddock, pollock, and hake can be substituted for the cod. Strong, oily fish like mackerel, herring, and sardines makes an assertive brandade that stands up well to pickled and brined condiments. In any case, the fish should be salted the day before. The salting process could go on for up to 24 hours, but I prefer the flavor and texture of 6-8 hours. I also prefer to use Yukon Gold potatoes over more traditional white as the don't get pasty when mechanically pureed.

400g cod (or other fish) fillet
kosher or sea salt

Sread a 1.25cm/1/2" thick layer of salt in the bottom of a shallow, non-reactive dish that is just large enough to hold the fish. Lay the fish fillet on top of the salt and completely cover with another 1.25cm/1/2" thick layer of salt. Cover dish loosely and refrigerate for 6-8 hours. Remove fish from salt and rinse thoroughly under cold running water. Pat dry. Cut fish into 2.5cm/1" pieces and allow to sit at room temperature while proceeding with recipe.

200g Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cut into 2.5cm/1" dice

Drop the potatoes into a pot of lightly salted boiling water and cook until very tender. Drain and keep warm.

600g whole milk
35g shallot, peeled and thinly sliced
10 black peppercorns
4 bay leaves
3 sprigs of thyme
12g garlic, peeled and thinly sliced

Place all ingredients except garlic into a large saucepan and bring to a bare simmer. Continue simmering (don't allow milk to boil), tightly covered, for 8 minutes. Strain through a sieve. Discard solids and return milk to saucepan. Add garlic and simmer for 4 minutes. Add fish to pan and simmer for 2 minutes (temp should be at about 80C/144F). Tightly cover pan and remove from heat. Let sit for 5 minutes or until fish is thoroughly cooked and flakes easily.

50g extra virgin olive oil

Lift the warm fish and garlic slices from the milk with a slotted spoon and place in the bowl of a food processor along with the olive oil. Process for in short bursts, sraping down sides, until a smooth paste is formed. Add about 1/3 of the milk and process for 30 seconds. Add the warm potatoes and process until smooth, adding more milk (as needed) in a stream through the feed tube until the mixture is smooth and the consistency of mayonnaise.

sashimi rose and a celebration of fermentation

My first batch of shoyu has been brewing for six months now and it's just hitting its stride. I've tended it faithfully, stirring at least once a week and skimming off harmless surface mold as it formed, but for the longest time it was barely more interesting than a pot of bean soup. It wasn't until the end of its fourth month that I noticed a marked difference as the mold quit and the moromi (solids) began congregating on the surface, concealing clear dark liquid beneath. When I stir it now, the aroma is intoxicating in the nuanced complex way of fermented things. Soon, I'll begin filtering small batches to mark its progress and though I don't yet know when it'll be done, I expect it to continue improving with time.

While I wait for the shoyu, there's a fresh batch of mirin to celebrate— and real mirin is a just cause for celebration. I'll restrain myself from a full-on rant about what passes for mirin in the commercial market; you have only to read the list of ingredients and if it begins with glucose and ends with corn syrup, you should wonder why you're being asked to pay four dollars for ten ounces of sugar water. Hon- mirin (true mirin) contains no added sugar, though it is remarkably sweet— the result of koji/rice saccharification. The aroma of hon-mirin is unlike anything else, fruity and floral with a delicate flavor that can be sipped like a fine sake*. In fact, I see great potential for hon-mirin in cocktails and as an alternative dessert wine/spirit. And, an unexpected perk of brewing mirin is the lees— a heady cream that is left after pressing the moromi and before filtering.

The celebration continues with hishio, a hybrid of mugi (barley) miso and lactic-fermented fruits and vegetables. Hishio is made entirely with barley koji that is fermented in water and salt for about a week before adding vegetables (asian pear, cucumber, and eggplant in mine) that are seperately fermented in salt. The loose, miso-type condiment is then fermented in a warm environment and is ready in four months.

In even less time, a lively yuzu kosho can be made in a just over a week at room temperature. This particular batch was made late last year, when piney green yuzu were still available. They were zested with a microplane and blended with the restrained heat of charred, minced shishito peppers and salt. After it fermented for eight days, I blended in the last of the kinome leaves just before my tree went dormant for the winter. I'm sad to see the bottom of my jar come into view as fresh yuzu won't be available again until the end of the year, but I'm equally gratefully for the bounty; a consequence of soil, bacteria, and patience.

(left) mirin: clockwise from top- filtered, lees, moromi
(right) from top- hishio, yuzu kosho

sashimi rose
hiramasa • mirin lees • yuzu kosho puree • strained hishio

* most mirin brewers add water to the rice, koji, and shochu to bring the finished alcohol down to about 14%. I used straight shochu (20%), no water, and can only assume that my mirin comes in at between 17%- 20% alcohol by volume.

salmon pumpernickel leek

A variation of the previous dish with salmon sausage, chocolate rye pumpernickel (in pudding form), micro leeks, and oca.

pumpernickel pudding

50g charred leeks, cooked through
30g pumpernickel bread, trimmed of crusts and crumbled
50g kefir
35g water
20g beer
2g salt
15g neutral oil

Place all of the ingredients except the oil in a blender or food processor and blend until smooth. Slowly drizzle in the oil with the motor running. If necessary, add more oil to thicken, or water to thin. Adjust seasoning.

Oca (Oxalis tuberosa) is a species of oxalis that has long been cultivated in the Andes, where it is the second most popular tuber next to the potato, and more recently in New Zealand. Unlike common oxalis (wood sorrel), oca forms prolific fleshy tubers that can be eaten raw or cooked. In its raw form, they are crisp and moderatly acidic, like an apple without the sugar.

Oca contains fairly high concentrations of oxalates, an organic acid that can lead to kidney stones. Because the oxalates are found mostly in the skin, they can be diminished by peeling, cooking, or by exposing the tubers to direct sunlight for several hours.

Cultivating oca requires a long growing season. To get a headstart, they were sprouted in a bright, moist environment. And now that they're off to a good start they'll go directly into pots, where they'll live until the ground warms up. By late autumn, I hope to have a new crop of these delicious nuggets.

salmon hot dog

There's a virtually untapped world of specialty malted grains made for the beer brewing industry that can be used to add unique flavor to baked goods. Two stand-outs are: smoked barley (gives Rauchmalz its smoky aroma) and chocolate rye (contributes nutty, caramel notes to dark stouts and Porters). Over the past year, I've tested them in everything from laminated pastries* to cookie doughs** with great effect, but it is the realm of yeasted doughs where they seem most at home. The robust complexity that chocolate rye adds to pumpernickel makes the original pale in comparison.

The virtue of making condiments lies in customization and enhanced flavor. Commercially made Dijon mustards taste flat and boring in comparison to the ones you can make yourself. The process starts with shallots and garlic simmered in Chardonnay. The reduced infusion is strained and blended with brown mustard powder, olive oil, and a few drops of honey. Sometimes, I customize it with various herbs and aromatics, but I always let it sit at room temperature for at least 2 weeks to ripen the flavor before storing in the refrigerator, where it will keep for three months or longer. It's a small effort for a big flavor; too big, it turns out, for my delicately flavored salmon hot dog.

Coincidentally, I was working on an orange horseradish*** puree for a pork dish that needed a nudge in the flavor department. A whole orange and peeled horseradish root had been steamed in a pressure cooker with white wine, then the whole lot pureed. Pressure cooking removes the acridity from the horseradish and softens the bitterness in the orange's pith, producing a puree with a mellower flavor than you would think possible from the raw ingredients.

For the salmon hot dog, I punched up the puree by blending it with an equal amount of homemade Dijon, and— because I love citrus with salmon— I added microplaned orange zest. Mixing horseradish with mustard made sense because they both belong to the Brassica family, a simple observation that opened a new pathway to a great condiment.

salmon sausage in leek casing
chocolate rye roll
horseradish orange mustard
kefir fermented daikon
fennel sprouts

* croissants made with smoked barley flour and smoked butter are revelatory.

** see pepper cookies

*** please, no comments about the horseradish root. I only photographed and cooked the thing, Nature did the rest.

salmon sausage

Sausages need a casing.

That conclusion was reached while considering a naked and unappealing cylinder of poached salmon paste. It might've been acceptable had it not been about to be presented as a sausage.

Clearly, it needed a casing. The casing needed to be vegetarian. And with service quickly approaching, it needed to be fast.

Looking at vegetables to encase the sausage, there were two ways to go about it: wrapping or stuffing. Stuffing into a seamless casing was aesthetically preferable, but short of whitling a long, thin tube from a vegetable, there were no quick or easy alternatives that I could think of.

Wrapping, by far, offered the most doable options. Blanched leaves were considered, but rejected for their unwanted color and opacity. Translucent paper-thin sheets (which would have required breaking out the mad knife skillz) of potato, cucumber, zucchini, or daikon seemed the way to go, until a simpler technique involving leeks sprung to mind. The technique, as learned from a chef long ago was as follows:

Trim the top and roots off of a long, fat leek. Cut halfway through the leeks lengthwise and dislodge the outer layers. Blanch, shock, and lay the leek sheets flat. Pipe the filling on the leek sheet, roll tightly around filling to encase, tie ends with string, wrap tightly in plastic wrap, and poach in barely simmering water.

With the leeks trimmed, I made the first cut. It wasn't until I began seperating the layers that I realized my folly: I was making a sheet to avoid making a tube, yet I had cut through a tube to make a sheet.

And that's how the most perfect vegetable casing that Nature could provide had almost eluded me.

salmon sausage

These sausages are a great way to use up trimmings. The flecks of smoked salmon give it a more dimensional flavor, as would the addition of fresh herbs, dried spice, grated aromatics, etc. They can be served hot, cold, or finished in a pan with butter.

2 leeks
500g salmon, cut into chunks and well chilled
130g cold cream cheese, cut into chunks
4g salt
70g smoked salmon, minced and chilled

casings: Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Trim the root end off of the leeks and cut the tops where they begin to seperate and turn green. Drop the leeks into the boiling water and remove after 3 minutes. Using a dishtowel, pull the outer layer of the hot leeks up and over the tops until they're free. If they don't slide off easily, return to the boiling water for another minute or two. Repeat until you have enough casings to hold the filling, about 6- 8, depending on their width and length.
filling: Place the salmon in the bowl of a food processor. Process in short bursts, scraping bowl 2-3 times, until reduced to a smooth paste. Distribute the cream cheese and salt over the top of paste and process again in short bursts, until the cream cheese is no longer distinguishable. Scrape paste into a bowl and fold in the smoked salmon mince.
stuffing: Slide a leek casing over the extension tube of a sausage stuffer, taking care to not tear the leek. Feed the paste through until it fills about 1" of the end of the casing (enough to release air pocket), then tie filled end with string. Continue feeding paste until casing is filled. Remove from tube and tie open end with string. If sausage stuffer is not available, fill casings by piping filling through a pastry bag fitted with a long, wide tip. Or, do it old school (like my mother still does), by forcing the filling with thumbs through a funnel fitted into one end of the casing.
cooking: Drop tied sausages into a 50C water bath and cook for 20 minutes (no bag needed).

blowfish tails

Blowfish. Just reading the word set off a panic alarm.

"Aren't blowfish potentially lethal?" I asked the fishmonger with genuine concern and a frisson of excitement.

"No" he said, "You're thinking of the kind they serve in Japan. These are from Long Island. They're harmless."

He picked one up and offered to eat it— raw and all— as proof. His comical heroics only slightly allayed my fear. I wanted to ask more questions but there was a long line behind me, so I bought a pound out of curiosity.

Back home, I examined the blowfish tails. They looked innocuous enough. In fact, they looked like they would be pretty tasty. The only thing preventing me from cooking and eating them was a piece of information: were they safe? Certainly, I trusted the fishmonger, but I needed to know what made his blowfish different from the deadly delicacy that I had only read about. I thought the answer would be easy to find.

Blowfish belong to the Tetraodontidae family, of which there are 19 genera and at least 189 species. Fugu is the notorious genus whose preparation is rigorously controlled in Japan and only allowed by licensed chefs who train for 11 years. The culprit toxin: tetrodotoxin, is concentrated in the liver and ovaries (the sale of fugu liver has been banned in Japan since 1983). Tetrodotoxin is a powerful neurotoxin— 1200 times deadlier than cyanide(!)— and when ingested, it paralyzes the diaphragm muscles and produces a pseudo-coma for which there is no antidote. (Interestingly, the toxin is used in Voodoo to induce these symptoms in creating zombies— sounds like fodder for a CSI plot).

Blowfish, or puffers, as they are commonly known, are accused of being the second-most poisonous vertabrate in existence, but by many accounts, their levels of toxicity vary wildly according to species, sex, part of body, season, and location. Puffers are not thought to produce tetrodotoxin themselves— it is believed that they manufacture it from specific precursor bacteria in their prey. Thus, puffers that are raised in farms are free of the toxin.

That was all well and good until I remembered that my fish was labeled "wild-caught".

The internet is both a blessing and a curse . On the one hand, it instantly provides us with a mind-numbing wealth of information. On the other, the uncensored glut often turns up contradictions, and I hit those in spades. For instance, one article in Wiki (whose content I take with a grain of salt) singled out Takifugu oblongus as being non-poisonous, yet another stated that all species of Takifugu were suspect. Other sources unequivocally stated that ALL species were toxic, while others claimed that some were not, but didn't bother to list them. Which to believe? I knew that I had to identify the species of my puffers and the fish monger had given me a valuable clue— they were caught on Long Island. Puffers are warm water fish, there is only one species that venture into the waters north of Florida: Sphoeroides maculatus

Most of what I found about S. maculatus were idyllic accounts by fishermen and childhood reminiscences of summers on the mid-Atlantic coast. Apparently, in the 1960's, northern puffers "were so plentiful that you could practically kick them up on the shore". Amateur fishermen loved them because they could "catch more in an afternoon than they could eat in a week" but professionals who were after the bigger catch found them a nuisance and would "beat them off the side of the boat as we reeled them in". Children were endlessly entertained by their cartoonish spherical bodies. It seems that for most of the decade, the eastern seaboard— from Long Island to the Chesapeake Bay— was teeming with northern puffers. And then they suddenly disappeared. To this day, no one can explain why.

The more I learned about blowfish, the more enigmatic they became, but I was at least encouraged by the memories of those that were familiar with the northern puffer and the casualness with which they caught and prepared the fish. They were eaten with abandon and never with concern of safety— and they all lived to tell about it.

But that was a long time ago and I needed solid facts about the safety of the fish that I was determined to consume. It was then that I realized that if there was any questionable food being sold in the US that the FDA would have a report. On their website I found the answer that I was searching for:

"The only safe sources for imported puffer fish are fish that have been processed and prepared by specially trained and certified fish cutters in the city of Shimonoseki, Japan. Additionally, puffer fish caught in the mid-Atlantic coastal waters of the United States, typically between Virginia and New York, are safe to consume. Puffer fish from all other sources can either naturally contain deadly toxins or become toxic because of environmental factors and therefore are not considered safe."

Finally, I no longer felt like I'd be playing Russian roulette by serving them to my family. When my husband and son asked what they were, I simply said "blowfish tails" and was only mildly surprised by their lack of alarm. I wanted to tell them more, but I just let them enjoy it, uninhibited, as did I.

And we all lived to tell.

I couldn't resist the alliteration of making puffed puffers, and I'm glad I didn't. The crunchy shell was a perfect foil for the sweet fish and a visual reference to its spines. The texture of the meat reminded me of the fried eels that my mother used to make. To get the broken, dehydrated spaghetti to cling to the tails, they were first dipped in a light tempura batter. The sauce is a wood sorrel (Oxalis acetosella) aioli, plated to look like red ribbon sorrel (Rumex sanguineus) leaves. A quenelle of beet and fennel salad completes the dish.

cured shad roe

With the other shad roe sac, I'm attempting a multi-stage curing process. Here it is so far:

First, it was brined for 2 days in a 3% salt solution. Then it was embedded in a thick layer of sea salt for 3 days. Next, it was allowed to dry on a rack in the refrigerator for another 3 days until the surface was thoroughly dry. After brushing off the excess salt, it was embedded in a thick layer of red miso, covered and set in the refrigerator to ferrment for 2-3 months. That's where it is now.
After that, it will be cold smoked, then dehydrated until it is hard as wood.
The intention is to transform the shad roe into a botarga-like product with the complexity of katsuobushi.
The hope is that it will be delicious.

pickled shad roe

The turning of the seasons brings a new palette of flavors that are never more ephemeral than in spring. For a few short weeks I gorge on newborn onions, particularly those of the sweet Vidalia variety. Grilled, roasted, braised— I can't seem to get enough of them before they're gone.

The season for shad roe is equally fleeting and depends on where you live. Like salmon, shad are anadramous fish that live in salt water, but ascend rivers and streams to breed when the waters warm. Along the east coast, they begin running in January in Florida, and continue through to June in Canada. In Connecticut, where the American shad (Alosa sapidissima) is the state fish*, the month-long season is nearly over.

And shad roe's perishability is more evanescent than its season. I only buy it when I know that I can cook and serve it the same day. Yet, I couldn't walk away from the remaining pair of sacs in the fish case and when I asked the fish monger to wrap those as well, I knew I would be enjoying them days later.

*Want to know your state's fish? Here you go.

pickled shad roe

1-2 shad roe sacs
1Liter/1.05 qt cold water
85g/3 oz kosher salt
56g/2 oz brown sugar
3.5g/½ tsp. pink curing salt (optional, but will give the roe a rosy color)
1 bay leaf
10 black peppercorns
3.5g/1 tsp mustard seeds
3.5g/1 tsp whole coriander seeds
1g/½ tsp dried thyme
rendered bacon fat

Place roe sac(s) in a non-reactive container and chill. Bring water, salt, sugar and sodium nitrate to boil in a stainless steel saucepan. Remove from heat and allow to cool completely. Pour cooled brine over roe. Add remaining ingredients, cover and pickle in the refrigerator for 3 days. Remove roe from brine, discard brine and rinse container. Return roe to container and cover with fresh cold water. Chill for 12 hours.
Remove roe from water and pat dry with paper towels. Place roe sac(s) in sous vide bag. Add 28g/1 oz rendered bacon fat per sac. Vacuum and seal bag. Cook at 64C/147.2F for 40 minutes. Remove roe from bag and pat dry with paper towels. Chill before serving.

pickled shad roe ✢ braised/grilled spring onion
coriander mustard sauce

potatoes halibut garlic

earthy potatoes the color of an Aegean sky
silken paint spread on a porcelain canvas

piquant bulbils strewn across a Skordalia triptych
like stray pearls from a necklace that has come undone

Poseidon offers fish from the depths of a torrid ocean of oil
they emerge blistered and weightless as ghosts

caught up in the fantasy I imagine
[only for a moment] that I've made something new
something original

foolish me it's only fish and chips

skordalia

200g red bliss potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2" dice
200g purple potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2" dice
100g extra virgin olive oil
7g garlic, thickly sliced
salt
50g french bread, trimmed of crust and soaked in milk
25g white wine vinegar
25g red wine vinegar
garlic bulbils

Place the red bliss potatoes in a bowl and drizzle with 10g of olive oil. Add half of the garlic and a sprinkle of salt. Toss well, then pack into a bag and vacuum seal. Repeat with purple potatoes. Sous-vide at 85C/185F for 45-60 minutes or until very tender when pressed.
Empty the contents of the red bliss potatoes into food processor and add half of the remaining olive oil. Process until smooth. Squeeze excess milk from bread and add to processor along with white vinegar. Process until smooth and fluid, adding some of the milk if too thick. Season with salt. Repeat with purple potatoes, using the remaining ingredients and the red vinegar.
To serve, screen the skordalia through a stencil onto plates or serve in separate bowls. Sprinkle garlic bulbils over top.

halibut crisps

115g halibut, cut against the grain into 1/4" thick slices
rice flour
salt
peanut oil for deep frying

Season halibut with salt on both sides. Lay out a sheet of plastic wrap on a flat surface. Cover with a thick dusting of rice flour. Place a slice of halibut over top of rice flour and generously dust top with additional flour. Cover with another sheet of plastic wrap and pound until paper-thin, adding more rice flour if necessary. Repeat with remaining fish slices. Cut pounded slices into 2" discs with round cutter.
Heat a pot of oil for deep frying to 190C/375F. Fry discs for 1-2 minutes, or until crisp but still pale.
Serve with skordalia. If desired, sprinkle with dehydrated, pulverized kalamata olives and cinnamon basil stems.