Seafood

Cooking fish is not one of my specialties, but I do love this recipe because it doesn’t taste fishy. I think it was probably my mom’s attempt to get us girls to eat some fish by disguising it in fried bread crumbs. What can I say? It worked. The creamed peas give the croquettes a slightly sweet accent. This topping tastes good on other meats too, like baked chicken and ham.

This recipe is a nice alternative to fried fish, and the spices give the fish plenty of flavor. You can substitute any mild fish for the roughy.

Growing up, I was lucky to have a catfish pond just down the hill on our farm. My daddy had created the pond from a natural spring when I was a little girl and stocked it with catfish and bream. We had many a wonderful fish fry with freshly caught catfish from our pond all through my childhood. Fresh fried fish served with Mama’s Cornmeal Hushpuppies (page 140)—you couldn’t ask for a better meal! My only suggestion is that you let someone else dress the catfish. Yuck!

Famous dishes have historically taken their names from the chefs who invented them—Sole Dugléré, for example, was named after French chef Adolphe Dugléré. As a consultant to Finger Lakes Aquaculture, distinguished local chef Etienne Merle, who once ran well-loved Ithaca restaurants L’Auberge du Cochon Rouge and Valentine Café, created a recipe for Dugléré-style tilapia. The addition of curry and herbs gives the dish Etienne’s unmistakable touch.

Follow these rules, as set forth by Chef Samantha Izzo, when you order a bowl of her shrimp, and you’ll understand how they achieved “killer” status. You want to make sure to sop up all of the spicy broth without missing a drop. Make sure to wash your hands well before eating, as they will be your only utensils. Have extra napkins on hand, although licking your fingers is proper etiquette. For the dark ale, Samantha uses Ithaca Nut Brown ale. The bread is used for sopping up the delicious, spicy sauce.

Suzanne Stack regularly updates and modifies her menus to take advantage of the rich, vibrant flavors the time of year offers. The butternut squash for this dish is grown at Blue Heron Farm, just down the road from the 1903 farmhouse she has converted to one of the Finger Lakes’ most charming restaurants.

Used correctly, wines should intensify, enhance, and accent the properties of a dish, not overpower it. With years of experience in winery kitchens, Chef William Cornelius has mastered the fine art of cooking with wine. Using Vidal Blanc as the key flavoring component, he adds a remarkable richness of tropical fruit and a slightly spicy finish to this preparation of bay scallops.

This tangy herring pickle somehow made its way from northern Europe to Nova Scotia, where you can find it in every grocery store. It’s like roll mops but less sweet. Here the classic preparation is done not with salted herring but with fresh salmon, which we salt the living daylights out of, then desalt and pickle in jars. It screams saltines and mustard. The Nova Scotians will tell you that the name Gundy is Nova Scotian, but the Brits, the French, and the Jamaicans all claim it for their own, too.

You will need a smoker that can be controlled or a grill and a chip box for this recipe and a supply of maple wood or maple wood chips.

We never went hungry as kids. And we have no inherent fear of the next Great Depression or anxiety about canned food. Still, we always want more. Wanting and eating four of the Swedish shrimp-egg things you can buy in the restaurant at IKEA is a good example of that. Another good example is how we would have piled more stuff on this modest toast if we could have fit it: a can of sardines from Bretagne, maybe, or quails stuffed with crab hiding in the corner. Our first reaction on seeing this photo was, “Shit, we forgot clams.” There are thirty items here, and if we do another book, we will put in sixty, we promise (just so we don’t run out of food). Disclaimer: In no way do we aspire or pretend to serve authentic Scandinavian food. This is just our view projected onto a classic. The closest we have been to Scandinavia is Fred Heimlich-maneuvering a Dane who choked on the biggest oyster ever eaten raw. And it was a weird experience because it was like they kissed; they were shy around each other for the rest of the evening. In the list that follows, an asterisk means a recipe is included. If there’s no *, it means the item is straightforward and you can figure it out. We suggest serving the items on rye bread or a baguette sliced lengthwise and buttered. You then eat your open-faced sandwich with a fork and knife. Or, you can do as we do: add condiments and eat it like a military strategist, portioning, placing, moving, and rationing. Regarding yields: the smorgasbord is more of a concept than a straightforward recipe. The smorgasbord shown here serves 4 to 6, and includes every single thing listed. You don’t have to follow our lead (though we would be pleased). Typically we put 4 or 5 proteins and 4 or 5 condiments on the average smorgasbord. Following this rule, each of the small recipes serves four.

This is more of an appetizer than a cocktail. What’s the reason behind the size? Hunger, gluttony, and insecurity are but a few. Serve in a large glass or a Mason jar.

The best image we have of bagna càuda is in the Time-Life Book, Cooking of Italy: a few stocky men and their elegant wives, towels around their necks, are sitting solemnly around a table in a brick vault. You would think they are about to eat ortolans or monkey brains, but no, they are enjoying long sticks of celery dipped in a warm butter-oil-anchovy bath. It’s a strange image, and we were inexplicably inspired by it. Bagna càuda is peasant yet elegant—the essence of Italian food. We love the flavor and the process of trimming the vegetables, and we (bittersweetly) think most people like bagna càuda because it tastes like Caesar salad. We serve our bagna càuda with a dip or aioli and have provided both options below.

When we wrote “mackerel” on the blackboard menu, it didn’t sell, so we renamed it silver tail and a star was born. Now when we serve silver tail with bacon and sage, or in a breakfast Benedict, it flies out of the kitchen. We sell so much that our supplier thinks we might be feeding farmed killer whales in the backyard. Our guys at McKiernan Luncheonette do a great job of smoking 50 pounds (23 kilograms) every week, which culminates with the Saturday brunch mackerel Benedict, with eggs, hollandaise, maple syrup, and an English muffin.

Of all the crab we receive at the restaurant, West Coast Dungeness and the common crab from the Saint Lawrence (tourteau, brown crab, or Jonah) are our favorites. Many of the same guys who fish for lobster in these areas also fish for crab. But oddly enough, these crabs don’t make it to Montreal. Instead, they’re highjacked somewhere along the way for the Asian market. The crab is typically picked clean and frozen in blocks, shipped to China (for example), sawed, and only then sent back in one-pound (455-gram) packs. Although we make a point of using PEI or Quebec crab, Maine seems to understand the game a bit better. At Portland’s Browne Trading Company, you can buy fresh, handpicked Jonah crab, meat and claws: our dream. Whatever crab you buy (or catch!), make very sure to check the meat closely for bits of shell and cartilage that might have been left.

According to argumentalist extraordinaire John Bil, these are actually called “stuffies.” Everyone seems to agree that this is a great way to eat razor clams, as it’s not uncommon for us to sell one hundred pounds (forty-five kilograms) per week at Joe Beef. We get our clams from the elusive fisherman John Doyle, who lives on the northern coast of the Saint Lawrence. To our knowledge, no commercial fisheries in Canada sell razor clams. If you want to prepare clams this way, but can’t find razor, quahog will do.