COOKING: Is It That Time Already?
Volume 49, Issue 10
By Michael Safdiah

There have been a few truly memorable fish dishes in my life. Marcello visited me from Italy and we grilled a whole red snapper over wood from my yard, slashing and stuffing it with fresh herbs, then slatheribng it with extra virgin olive oil. He was from Sardinia, on the Italian Olympic football team; we met on a long flight traveling from Milan to JFK many years ago. We shared Chianti wine, cheese, Tuscan bread and boar sausages; when I told him about Fire Island he just had to see for himself. I filleted striped bass freshly caught off this beach, and kissed the flesh with some Dijon mustard, olive oil and pesto; fish that good and that fresh was not to be messed up with additional flavors. I grilled it over real charcoal, but the perfectly poached filet of turbot which was served to me at Le Bernadin in Paris has got to be the ultimate.

The Era of “La Nouvelle Cuisine”

We went to Bernadin which had two well-deserved stars. Their specialty is seafood, fresh and the best available. This was the era of “La Nouvelle Cuisine” when French chefs were busily reinventing French cooking. The owner, poker faced Mme. Maguy Le Coze, sat in the rear of the room where she could keep an eye on things, a habit I soon adopted at the Black Sheep.

The turbot, a large flounder shaped fish with good solid texture and excellent flavor, so unlike the blandness of its cousin, our North American Sole, was presented to me basking in a sea of pale yellow beurre blanc sauce and a generous array of exotic mushrooms. It was all new to me, all at once buttery, flavorful and far lighter than I expected with a slight tang in the finish. The fish was -- what can I say -- it was perfect; never before and never since. I looked for turbot when I got back to the States but whatever passes for good turbot here never measured up to Bernadin.

In The Pines

Recently we had dinner at Le Sapin restaurant here in The Pines. The specialty was a filet of halibut sealed in a crepe pastry, pan fried crisp, plated on some zucchini sweated in butter, ringed with sweet cherry tomatoes and surrounded in a pool of warm toasted coriander-scented lemon Beurre Blanc sauce. There it was, the memory of THAT turbot returned to me like an old, long-missed friend. I was home again.

The sauce, now widely known is no real mystery; you finely chop up a few tablespoons of shallots, add some white wine, some strong wine vinegar, around a quarter cup of each, salt, white pepper, and reduce 'till the liquid's nearly gone. Then you raise the heat, whisk in a half pound of fresh sweet butter allowing the butter to soften into an emulsion, a sauce. Your taste will let you know when you've added enough butter. Many chefs do the sauce nowadays by adding two tablespoons of heavy cream just before they add the butter; it's not 'authentic' whatever that means, it tastes less sharp, almost flat but the sauce lasts longer in the hot kitchens of many restaurants. I omit the cream. If you prefer your sauce to have more tang then add some more vinegar, something like a champagne or sherry vinegar.

Chef David Ledu is very generous in sharing his techniques. To season the fish, David places a coriander pesto mix on the fish, place it securely inside the crepe to preserve the flavors, seals with water or egg, and sets the 'package' aside until ready to fry. Shamefully simple, but most things like this are the work of genius driven by space and time limitations such as the weekend kitchen on a busy night.

Saying Goodbye

Well, here it is almost September, always the toughest column I have to write every summer, saying goodbye and thanks for putting up with me another season, and for your letters and comments; it's especially hard because I regard this as the start of the nicest part of the Fire Island year. Apple pies and grilled duck with red wine, buying pumpkins, colorful gourds at farm stands, Brussels Sprouts, delicious when sliced thin and stir fried with soy, garlic, ginger and a big pinch of sugar, Kale cooked up with Portuguese sausage and potatoes in a rich onion and garlic broth for a perfect soup to chase away the chill of fall, clam chowders, making Cape Coders jealous with envy of our sweet Great South Bay clams, rich cream, salt pork and long island potatoes… It's all here as fall swings into our lives, and I wish I could be here with you to enjoy it all, and share more food with you. It's the season of harvest, and of Thanksgiving to come.

I just got back from the beach this late afternoon with Blondie who still swims like a dolphin, even in the choppy waters of late August. Along the sun setting shore line a majestic Fire Island picture: no less than six fishing poles poised against the south, anticipating Wild Striped Bass, or at least Blues, which are delicious when cooked as soon as you catch them, some fresh tomato sauce, sun-dried tomato, rosemary and garlic. My little garden experiment produced a lot of fresh basil, it's been in every salad we served, sweet cherry tomatoes, wonderful tasting bright green zucchinis, and some still young cucumbers. What made it all so nice is everything was grown here and had real flavor. I used some Miracle Gro.

The eggplants, medium sized, not the supermarket ones, were delicious when I sliced them, salted and oiled, and grilled on a slow fire. Just took a splash of red wine vinegar to set off the flavors, and some fresh chopped mint. Next year there will be more zucchini, more eggplant, no carrots and radishes, and I hope to try okra, instead of the green beans which never quite made it. Try to grow the vegetables you really want to eat, and if you can, buy plants which have already been started at a nursery.

I did get a nice crop of Kirby cukes, which became: Bread and Butter Pickles: 2 pounds cucumbers (about 16), sliced into odd shapes, 1⁄2 medium onion sliced thin, 2 cloves fresh garlic, halved, 2 tablespoons kosher salt, 2 cups cider vinegar (5% acidity), 1/2 cup dark brown sugar, 3/4 cup sugar, 2 teaspoons black peppercorns, 2 teaspoons mustard seed, 1/2 teaspoon ground clove, 1/2 teaspoon allspice berries

Make the pickles: Toss the cucumbers onion and salt together in a colander and let drain for 90 minutes. Rinse in cold water, drain and set aside. Combine remaining ingredients with 3/4 cup water in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Heat until sugar dissolves and mixture just comes to a boil -- about 10 minutes. Pour hot liquid over the cucumbers until completely covered. Allow the mixture to cool to room temperature, cover, and refrigerate for up to 2 months. Don't worry -- you'll eat them before then.

Please have a safe and happy winter; I'll be looking for you next spring!