I’m not very old, but for much of my youth in the north west of England, it was almost impossible to find fresh foods that weren’t local. Today such a statement seems like an echo of Victorian times, but, literally, that’s how it was until a supermarket was built behind the Knutsford courthouse in the late 80s.

I often tell my wife about the cheese stall at the weekly market only kept five kinds of cheese – Cheshire, Cheddar, Lancashire, and sage Derby were ever present, with perhaps a Wenslydale reasonably common too. If anything as unusual as a Stilton, from distant Nottinghamshire, appeared, it would generate as much commotion among the town’s housewives, who elbowed their way to the front of the queue to catch a glimpse of this highly perfumed foreigner, as if Julio Iglesias showed up sporting his tennis shorts. My wife usually responds that I should count myself lucky because when she was young there were only four kinds of cheese at her local supermarket: white American, yellow American, cheddar and Swiss and had anything else been available it would have been looked upon with extreme suspicion. Touché.

Making our weekly Tuesday rounds of the covered (indoor) market (the outdoor market sold mostly fruit and veg, bric a brac, and live pets, believe it or not) with my mother, on the cheese man’s left was the egg man, or “mister Chookie” as I knew him, on account of his perennial sales pitch “come tek a look at these lover-lee chookie eggs I’ve got for yuh!”. Unlike his fellow stall-holders, whose wares fell within a particular genre, the egg man also sold milk, orange juice and yogurt due to him being one of the younger siblings of the Sheldon family that owned the local dairy, and who, excepting market days, delivered these provisions to the doorsteps of the town’s residents.

Beyond Mr. Chookie was the fish man, Mr. Scales, as my mother used to call him, although at the time her pun was lost on me. Above his stall ran the legend “fresh daily from Fleetwood, Lancs”, referring to the port just north of blackpool where much of Britain’s catch was landed. That his stall was only open Tuesdays and Thursdays didn’t seem to matter. Whether it was due to her upbringing in blackpool where there is – rightfully – a great deal of local snobbery about the quality of the fish that goes into their fish n’chips, or whether because of an innate suspicion of fishmongers, my mother always eyed mr scales’s wares closely, casting a wary eye over his glossy fish, as if trying to discern if there was anything untoward hiding among the cockle-shells. Because we rarely had fish except on Fridays when we weren’t allowed anything else – even in our lunchboxes at school we had to mark the end of the week with evil-smelling “salmon paste” sandwiches – and because mum worked a full day on Thursdays, whatever we bought on Tuesdays had to last on ice in the bottom of the fridge until then (freezing fish made it taste all woolly, she always said), so freshness was absolutely crucial otherwise it/we wouldn’t survive.

Typically, the fish was cod, but often halibut or hake did service in the flaky white fish department. This was usually broiled and served with oven-baked chips, since as a nurse my mother couldn’t countenance deep-frying at home lest it give the townies the impression she was a hypocrite in her dietary exhortations, and homemade mushy peas, flecked with mint and tangy with a splash of malt vinegar. Apart from a distinctly non-traditional and rather dodgy-looking “curry” she made every so often, friday night fish suppers were my dad’s favorite – he still demands it to this day and he is about as agnostic an Anglican as you’ll find.

Instead of waiting for Friday, and going against my mum’s rubric of no-frying, but keeping with the buying of white fish on a Tuesday, we made a version of the Provencal classic, aioli garni, with a pan seared halibut fillet, steamed fennel and butter beans. Rather like much of the cooking I experienced growing up, it doesn’t look like much on the plate – the pale colors and the two sauces lapping against one another may seem bland – but the sharp tang of the garlicky aiolli with the surprising hot peppery-bite of the brown sauce against the muted flavors of the white fish and butter beans makes for an unusually rewarding dish. I am convinced that my mum would’ve enjoyed this dish a great deal, even though she would have asked why we didn’t save it for Friday night. As for my dad, well, sadly, he wouldn’t touch it on account of it humming with garlic. Too bad for him.

The hardworking folks behind this non-award winning blog are enjoying a deserved warm weather break on Florida’s Gulf Coast right now. No offense to the locals, but we did not pick this particular destination for its well-known and highly prized food culture. Instead, it was selected as a fitting location for our first post-baby trip that would be easy to get to, easy to negotiate in situ and with guaranteed good weather, something we’ve been craving after a hard winter made tougher by a sleepless infant.

However, we are happy to discover that we didn’t touch down in a food desert at all, and we could have posted about the delicious and moist blackened mahi-mahi sandwiches we had yesterday at Randy’s Fish Market, but after a preparatory month of near-total meat deprivation that helped us fit into our bathing suits with less embarrassment, we were feeling decidedly carnivorous. So, here are some grilled cross-cut beef short ribs, leftover from the tablita parrillada we gorged on during last night’s visit to Martin Fierro, an Argentine-run parrilla hidden away in a strip-mall on the other side of town. Named for the central character of Argentina’s famous epic poem by Jose Hernandez, it’s a faithful recreation of the parrillas we so enjoyed almost exactly two years ago during our visit to Argentina and Uruguay, in every respect but the strip-mall.

Joining them were a quick salsa criolla and some rounds of fried yucca. Sure, it’s not exactly beach food, and we stripped off at the pool with noticeably less enthusiasm today, but it was delicious and exactly the kind of indulgence we had been looking forward to for weeks. And, as every Englishman knows, a little of what you fancy does you good.

It is no coincidence that, in the 30 years since Franco’s death, Spanish creativity in the arts, architecture, business, and gastronomy has blossomed. It is also no coincidence that it has been, predominantly, though not exclusively, Spain’s sub-national and regional groups — who were repressed most viciously by the Fascist dictator — that have led this rebirth. Valencian architect Santiago Calatrava, designer of some of the most stunning buildings of all time, and Catalonian Ferran Adría, who runs what is, almost undisputedly, the world’s best restaurant, are but two whose genius has prospered in the post-Franco era. One could also point to more general trends of economic prosperity (prior to the recent global meltdown) in formerly moribund provincial cities like Bilbao and the resurgence of regional languages as evidence of this Spanish renaissance in recent times.

The Basque Country (País Vasco) has always been somewhat removed from mainstream Spanish affairs, even prior to the 20th century. Linguistically, ethnically and culturally unique, and surrounded on all sides by Indo-European speakers, the Basques have survived millennia of both active and passive discrimination, keeping their traditions alive with stubborn tenacity. One might be forgiven then, for assuming that these remarkable and unique people are a population of stolid conventionalists, unable or unwilling to change their habits. One would be wrong.

Historians trace the epicenter of today’s wave of Spanish gastronomic innovation to a small kitchen in San Sebastian (Donostía) in the mid-1970s. At his eponymous restaurant, Arzak, Juan Mari Arzak pioneered New Basque Cuisine (nueva cocina vasca) virtually single-handedly. Taking inspiration from the French nouvelle cuisine revolution of the late 60s — especially from Michel Guérard, whose spa-restaurant at Eugenie-les-Bains between Bordeaux and Biarritz was a particularly fine ‘local’ example — he began creating lighter and less rustic dishes from the finest traditional Basque ingredients and time-honored Basque techniques. Arzak has been so extraordinarily successful in this that not only do world-famous chefs Ferran Adría and Karlos Arguiñano credit him with heavily influencing their cooking, but his restaurant has retained the 3 Michelin star-rating it achieved in 1989, and only last year it was named the 8th best restaurant in the world.

Anyone who has eaten Basque food knows that it is characterized by simple, unadorned dishes with a weighting towards the maritime, like Marmitako (a tuna and tomato stew), Bacalao al Pil-Pil (salt cod in a spicy garlic sauce), and Txangurro (stuffed crabs), and Juan Mari Arzak’s signature dish — his hake in green sauce with clams — is of this same ilk, featuring very basic ingredients and unfussy technique.

Two things make Juan Mari Arzak such a revolutionary and this dish so seminal: (1) when he first made it, the dish demonstrated exquisitely, and for perhaps the first time by a Spanish chef, that Iberian dishes, Iberian ingredients and Iberian traditions could constitute haute cuisine — an idea that, today, resonates globally; (2) he showed in this dish that the cooking of the future would be as much, if not more, about what you didn’t do to the food as what you did do to it — a truly revolutionary notion at a time when the elaborate and time-intensive dishes of classic French gastronomy were still considered the pinnacle of the culinary arts.

Hake (merluza) is a staple of Spanish seafood cooking, and indeed, so influential has Arzak been that versions of this dish are still, 35 years later, pretty commonplace in Spain. I first ate it at a hole-in-the-wall tasca behind the Plaza Mayor in Salamanca years ago and I can still see its beautiful green color and feel the silkiness of the fish in my mind. Sadly, and for no good reason I can fathom, hake is difficult to get hold of on this side of the Atlantic and obtaining other white fish with similar properties is also problematic for the ethical consumer due to issues of over-fishing and scarcity. Nonetheless, sustainably managed Pacific cod is fairly readily-available, and most mild-flavored white fish, if left skin-on to keep it intact, will make a perfect substitute.

Juan Mari Arzak’s revelation of allowing the ingredients to speak for themselves is taken to its logical extreme here as he hardly applies his hands or any heat to create what is a fully cooked dish. Understanding that white fish can dry out and quickly fall apart if not dealt with delicately, all he does is gently caress it around a barely warm pan with garlic, olive oil, parsley, clam juice and wine. The emulsion created by this careful preparation is as sweet and elegant as you would expect from a three Michelin star chef, but with a flavor as robust as the ancestral Basque fare from which it comes, and as spirited as the revolution it began. Vivá la Revolucíon!

The heavens have cleared here in NYC, finally.  After over twenty straight days of clouds and/or rain, we celebrated the welcoming warm and sunny weather with something light and bright.  Before this week, bathing suit season seemed very, very far away – then the heat and sun came and getting into a bathing suit began staring me in the face immediately. Barf.  I’ll need a few less choripáns and patacones and a few more lentils and fish to feel a bit less “Dance Your Ass Off contestant” and a bit more Gisele Bündchen pre-pregnancy (that ain’t no beer bloat, please).

With the abundance of basil out in the garden, we decorated our plate of lentils and quickly seared, sesame-crusted tuna steaks with some fresh, bright basil oil.  Easiest thing to make and extremely delicious.  Nothing much more to elaborate on except to say that this meal cost about $5 each and took about twenty minutes to prepare.  Can’t get any better than that (well except if I really did look like Gisele).

One day, not so long ago, a Jamaican grapefruit with a twinkle in his eye spied a sweet and winsome-looking tangerine. A couple of witty one-liners later, perhaps with the aid of one or more adult beverages, the grapefruit and the tangerine fell on each other with inevitable consequences. Several months later, to the dismay of the parents, rather than the beautiful offspring they were wishing for, a misshapen, thick-skinned brute emerged.

However, unlike many ugly ducklings, this beast, try as he might, remained ugly. So much so, that wherever he went, people and citrus fruit alike would holler at him, calling him “Uuuugliii” (pronounced ooo-glee). What these meanies didn’t know was that beneath his hideous exterior, our Ugli was not only attractive and bright on the inside, but sweet and not a little juicy too, and soon began to become famous in his own right for this hidden personality.

Then, one joyful day, much to his surprise, Ugli found himself sitting on a wooden block in a Brooklyn kitchen. Before he had time to comprehend the gravity of the situation, his skin had been removed with a razor-sharp blade and his plump flesh sliced into supremes. Had he still been conscious, I am sure he would have been pleased to know that what remained of him was squeezed and mixed with an expensive olive oil making a kick-ass citrus vinaigrette that worked perfectly as a a sauce for a very simple tapa/pintxo of marinated fresh anchovies (boquerones) and slices of buttery avocado. The End.

Fresh Anchovy, Avocado & Ugli Fruit Tapa

Ingredients

1 package boquerones (flat-filleted, fresh anchovies marinated in oil and vinegar) (about 6oz)

1 ugli fruit, skinned and supremed

1/2 loaf crusty French or Italian-style bread, cut into thin rounds

1/2 avocado, sliced into 1/4inch pieces

juice of 1/2 ugli fruit

2tbsp best olive oil

salt and black pepper to taste

toothpicks

Recipe

Add juice, oil, salt and pepper in a bowl and whisk until combined.

Spear anchovies, “ugli supremes” and avocado slices with toothpicks and stick to bread rounds.

Drizzle with dressing and serve with a nice dry Manzanilla or Fino sherry.

So, lately we’ve been experiencing a certain degree of apathy with regard to food. Maybe it’s the time of year or the grind of work, either way, it’s not a great place to be for us, and hopefully somewhere we will leave soon. Nonetheless, sometimes inspiration can strike, and delicious, seasonal citrus fruit can be the spark.

Now, I use the word inspiration somewhat liberally here because really, all this dish is, is lightly fried monkfish medallions over a mix of Israeli and regular couscous. The “inspired bit”, if you will, is the sauce, an olive oil, tangerine, and Marcona almond emulsion.

Fried Monkfish Medallions with Mixed Couscous & Almond Sauce

Ingredients

• 1lb monkfish tail, sliced into 1 inch (2.5cm) medallions
• 3oz Israeli couscous
• 3oz regular (or flavored) couscous
• 1 large bunch white chard or escarole (chicory)
• 2tbsp golden raisins
• 6 tbsp whole marcona or other whole large almonds (1 tbsp chopped)
• 3oz your best extra virgin olive oil
• 1 tangerine, supremed, and juiced
• 1 handful good black, or kalamata, olives
• 3tbsp flat leaf parsley, finely chopped
• 12 oz vegetable or chicken stock
• 1 egg, beaten
• 4tbsp plain flour
• juice of 1/2 lemon

Recipe

1. Cook couscous with stock according to directions on package, or eyeball it if you’re feeling fancy.
2. In a blender grind all but 1 tbsp almonds, before drizzling in olive oil and tangerine juice. Taste and correct seasoning accordingly.
3. When couscous is cooked, stir in parsley, olives and remaining lemon juice. Correct seasoning if necessary.
4. Heat a frying pan to medium-high and add 2 tbsp regular olive oil
5. Sprinkle with salt and a squeeze of lemon juice, before dredging monkfish medallions in flour and egg.
6. Gently fry monkfish until golden brown on all sides, and remove to a cooling rack.
7. Add another tbsp olive oil to pan and add chard. Sweat until limp before adding golden raisins, tangerine segments and the chopped almonds.
8. Arrange all these delicious elements artfully on a plate before wolfing it down with a chilled Albarino.

And it was because of this humbling reminder of mortality that we were unable to visit a very tempting restaurant that lay just across Calle de Campomanes from our hotel (the curiously-titled Roommate Mario) in the Opera district of the city. Every day for a week, we walked (or, as our stay progressed, waddled) past this restaurant (it didn’t appear to have a name), re-reading and salivating at the names of dishes advertised on the sunshades overhanging the windows: paella marinera, paella bogavante, arroz al horno, paella valenciana, arroz atianda, and arroz negro.

At the time, we convinced ourselves that this was no big deal since we were in Madrid to eat Madrileño food, not rice dishes from the Levante (eastern Spain, around Valencia/Murcia, so-called because that’s where the sun rises), and certainly not in the chilly depths of winter when rib-sticking dishes like cocido madrileño and callos a la madrileño were the order of the day. Of course, we flagrantly disobeyed this rule on a couple of occasions (see our previous posts on Canarian papas arrugadas and Galician arroz marinero), and during our current lengthy bout of winter-induced, home-bound funk, we found ourselves, in our related regret-filled nostalgia, wishing that we’d made one more exception.

So, to appease these feelings, what we were unable or unwilling to eat in Madrid, we decided to make ourselves right here in Brooklyn. A couple of sachets of cuttlefish ink, some D.O. Calasparra rice, and a little help from Penelope Casas’ The Foods and Wines of Spain resulted in a quite magnificent traditional Murcian arroz negro.

Do not be confused about it, the rice is, and should always be, the star of the dish. Do not be tempted to listen to the voices in your head telling you to add more seafood: this is not a black paella (though traditional Valencian paellas contain no seafood). Rice, in this case, is not just a starchy canvas on which the more tasty and colorful protein displays itself, as it is commonly thought of in the American and British mind. Use only the amount specified below, otherwise you risk distracting your tastebuds from the point that is the extraordinary manner in which the squid (or cuttlefish) ink, together with pimenton, saffron and a hint of garlic, delicately perfumes the rice. A crisp white wine (as called for in the recipe) or a dry rose would make a perfect match.

Our good friend Nuría of Spanish Recipes Pic by Pic made what is, by any measure, a superior arroz negro on her third attempt. Having been unable (at least for now) to find squid or cuttlefish complete with their ink sacs, we’re not optimistic that we’ll be able to mimic the wonderful inky blackness of Nuría’s dish, but next time we try, I think we’ll add an extra packet of dry ink to see if we can get closer to that beautiful color.
Arroz Negro Murciano (Murcian-style Black Rice) with Garlic Sauce
(adapted from Penelope Casas’ The Foods & Wines of Spain)

Ingredients

• 500 grams Calasparra, Valenciana, or Bomba rice (only use Italian arborio or carnaroli, if you are absolutely desperate)
• 2 pounds octopus (with tentacles)(ab0ut 8 squid), sliced (if you find them with their ink sacs you’re very lucky, and use these in place of packets listed below)
• 1/2 pound small shrimp/prawns, shelled and chopped into pieces
• 1 large onion, chopped roughly
• 1 medium tomato, roughly chopped
• 1/2 medium green pepper (capsicum), chopped
• 1/2 jar piquillo peppers, julienned
• 8 cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 2 small, dry chorizos, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
• 2 packets squid or cuttlefish ink (nero di calamari/seppia)
• 1 pinch saffron threads
• 1/4 cup dry white wine
• 3 tsp pimentón dulce (sweet paprika)
• 4tbsp finely chopped flat-leaf parsley
• 3 3/4 cups (1.5ish liters) fish broth or clam juice (make 4 cups in case you need a little extra)
• 3 tbsp olive oil

For garlic sauce:

• 3 cloves garlic, crushed
• 1/2 cup olive oil

Recipe

1. Preheat oven to 325F (160Cish)
2. Clean the squid, cutting bodies into rings and chopping up tentacles.
3. In a wide 2-3inch deep casserole dish (preferably earthenware), or paella (pan), heat oil and saute onion and green pepper until both are wilted.
4. Add squid rings and tentacles and saute for around five minutes before adding chorizo, garlic, tomato, parsley, salt, pepper, saffron, and pimentón. Cover and simmer gently for around 30 minutes.
5. Meanwhile, follow directions on packets for reconstituting the squid/cuttlefish ink, and pass black liquid through a sieve to remove impurities. Mix ink with wine.
6. After 30 minutes, stir in rice and when well combined, add broth (boiling hot) and stir in ink/wine and toss in shrimp.
7. Bring to a boil and stir occasionally until rice is no longer soupy, about 10 minutes. Decorate with pimento strips and put dish in oven and bake uncovered for around 15 minutes until all remaining liquid is absorbed.
8. Remove from oven and cover tightly and allow to sit for 10 minutes.
9. While rice is resting, add garlic in a food processor or blender, and with motor running gradually pour in olive oil until well combined and golden.
10. Place dish in the middle of the table and encourage diners to stake their claim. Serve garlic sauce on the side.

How many times can one person write the word crispy in one post title? Guess five times was enough.  Now how many times can one person write crispy within a post? Word count at the end of this post – I know you’ll be on the edge of your computer chair. Seriously, the other night I was craving crispy like something fierce!  I didn’t want fried chicken crispy or thincrust pizza crispy, but I wanted that delicate balance between baby food smooth and crunchy/crispy. Am I loosing you yet, folks?  Does anyone ever have this craving? Well, my craving was quelled by this fabulous mix of fish that was pan seared until the skin went super crispy (the trick? get all the moisture off your fish by patting it dry with paper towels and running your knife against the skin to remove any excess moisture and then putting it in a hot pan that is immediately turned to medium once the fish hits it skin side down), laid on a bed of creamy parsnip puree and sprinkled with all sorts of roasted vegetables.

One new thing that I discovered upon my crispy craving was that roasted broccoli rabe is really, really good.  I tried it and it worked.  The leaves and sides of the florets went super crispy with the stem staying perfectly crunchy.  I also roasted other things that were rolling around in my fridge including onions, a bit more leftover parsnip, cauliflower and shiitake mushrooms.

Ahhh, roasted mushrooms, my newest obsession.  They are sliced thinly and roasted until they almost become concentrated in flavor and crunchy.  If someone came out with a bag of roasted mushroom “chips” I’d happily snack away all day.  These are the perfect topping to any fish, pizza, chicken or bruschetta dish and I highly recommend you trying them.

I topped off this whole dish with a little “sauce” of reduced seafood stock with a squeeze of lemon and some butter mixed in.  The whole thing satisfied my crispy craving and made my cold winter night a little bit warmer.

Crispy count? 10.  How annoying was this post on a scale from 1 to 10? 10.  Deliciousness factor of this meal?  10.

CRISPY FISH WITH ROASTED VEGGIES AND PARSNIP PUREE (serves 2-4)

Ingredients:

• 2 filets of trout with skin (or any other mild flavored fish)
• 1 8oz. package of mushrooms (we used shiitake, you could use cremini, white button, etc.), sliced in 1/4 inch slices
• a variety of vegetables including cauliflower, onions, parsnips
• 1/2 bunch of brocolli rabe
• 2-3 large parsnips, peeled
• 2 cloves of garlic, roasted in the oven for 20 minutes (optional)
• 1 teaspoon whole grain mustard
• 1/2 cup milk (may need a bit more depending on size of parsnips)
• olive oil
• salt and pepper
• 1/2 lemon
• truffle oil (optional)

What to do:

1. Heat your oven to 450 degrees and boil and pot of salted water for the parsnip puree. 
2. In a bowl, toss the cauliflower in a bit of olive oil and (optional) a few drops of truffle oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper.  Spread on a baking sheet lined with foil.  Next, toss the mushrooms with the same – olive oil, optional truffle oil and then salt and pepper. On a seperate part of the the baking sheet, add the mushrooms.  Repeat this “toss and season” thing with each vegetable you will roast, including the broccoli rabe, and add to a baking sheet, giving enough space for each vegetable to roast evenly.  Put in oven and roast at first for 15 minutes (total roasting time will vary for some veggies depending on how crunchy you want them to be).
3. Peel your parsnips and cut into 2 inch chunks.  Add to the boiling water and allow to cook until soft – about 15 or 20 minutes.
4. Pat your fish dry with paper towels and make sure you get the excess moisture off the skin by running your knife up and down the length of the skin. Sprinkle with salt and pepper on both sides and allow to rest until ready to cook.
5. After the first 15 minutes of roasting time is up, turn the vegetables in order to promote even browning. Your mushrooms will start to be looking more dried out than the other vegetables.  Turn each mushroom slice on to the other side – if they are to your liking, remove them to a bowl and reserve until you are ready to plate.  The broccoli rabe will need to be tossed around as well, ensuring that the delicate leaves don’t get too burnt. Put all the vegetables back in the oven and roast again – the mushrooms will only need another 5 to 8 minutes and the rest of the veggies will need another 15 to 20 minutes.
6. Remove your soft, boiled parsnips from the water and add to a blender or food processor along with the milk, roasted garlic, whole grain mustard and salt and pepper.  Add a bit of olive oil to bring it all together and taste for seasoning.  Keep warm in a pot or by keeping the lid on the food processor.
7. Heat a pan up on high heat until it comes up to temperature.  Add about 2 tablespoons of olive oil and your fish filets skin side down in the pan.  As soon as the fish hits the pan, turn your heat down to medium-high (or medium if your range has a very strong flame).  Allow to cook skin side down for 5 to 6 minutes.  Carefully flip the trout filets over and cook for a minute and then turn off the heat.  It will continue to cook in the hot pan while you assemble your plate.
8. Remove all the veggies from the oven and plate – add the roasted broccoli rabe on the bottom then a dollop of the parsnip puree and then lay the trout filet on top. Sprinkle some of the other roasted veggies around the plate, top the trout with a few of the crispy mushrooms, squeeze some lemon and drizzle with olive oil.  Enjoy.

Perhaps the day that both our teams (Manchester United & Philadelphia Eagles) won unlikely decisive victories in the realm of competitive sports, is the best day to dwell on the recent personal glory of our seafood soufflés staying up. However – even if (quite sensibly) you don’t give a rat’s ass about sports – anyone who has tried making them before knows the all-too-brief satisfaction of the fully puffed soufflé, and, though, we’ve experienced the saddening deflation of failure, we now also know the pride and joy that is a fully erect soufflé.

And, lest you think that we traded our heroes for ghosts, this was none other than a snorting, full-on multi-fish and cheese souffle that not only satisfied our desire for classic French cookery, but provided much-needed stomach-lining on a day that required some serious daytime drinking.

Even if you’re not planning on a full day of sports-related drinking, these souffles are a fantastically light, yet rich, first course, or a great light main with bread and an arugula side-salad, not to sound all non-contact-sports metrosexual on you.

We’d like to thank Taste With the Eyes whose comté soufflé gave us inspiration for this dish. 

Mixed Fish & Gruyere Soufflé with Parsley Sauce (serves 4)

Ingredients

• 2 tbsp unsalted butter
• 2 tbsp all-purpose flour
• 3/4 cup (6oz) milk
• 3 eggs, separated
• 1 cup grated Gruyere cheese (Emmentaler or Comté would also work well)
• 1 cup assorted cooked shellfish (shrimp, scallops, mussels, + white fish, if you like)
• 1 bunch flat-leaf (Italian) parsley, chopped
• 2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
• 2 tbsp water
• 1 good pinch salt

Recipe

• Cook off your chosen seafood and allow to cool. Drain of as much cooking fat as possible.
• In a high-sided saucepan make a bechamel sauce with butter, flour and milk.
• Remove pan from heat and beat in egg yolks, one at time.
• Stir in grated cheese until fully combined, then stir in fish. Allow to cool.
• In a separate bowl, beat egg whites until until soft peaks are achieved.
• Gently fold in 1/3 egg whites into bechamel and continue adding beaten egg whites until completely combined.
• Pour mixture into buttered soufflé dishes until 3/4 full.
• Cook immediately for 20 minutes at 400F (210C), then increase to 450F (230C) for 8-10 minutes or until fully-risen and browned on top.
• Add parsley, water, oil and salt to blender. Blitz until consistency of vinaigrette. Pour into squeezy bottle and squirt gaily over your fish soufflé.

But, reminiscing about skinnier times, I must say that Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were very delicious.  And, as Heather says, “Catholic much?”.  Yes, we try to incorporate as much fish into our Christmas meal as possible and one starter we had on Christmas Day was this fabulously easy and mildly decadent Salmon Rillettes.  Many know this traditional French “spread” to be made primarily with pork but also with duck, rabbit, chicken or other types of meat, and is often made with tuna or salmon.  Meat rillettes are made by cooking the meat slowly in fat so that it is so tender it almost melts or shreds and is then blended with the cooking fat so that is is able to be spread, once cooled, on pieces of bread.  One day we’ll do a meat rillette for the blog but, until then, give this tasty (and easier to make) salmon version a whirl.  Don’t be afraid of the butter content and ease your worries about eating raw egg by buying cage free and organic.  It needs fat and is supposed to be eaten in small quantities, so enjoy it – but maybe you should wait until after your post-holiday purge?

SALMON RILLETTES (adapted from Bistro by G. Hiriqoyen) - serves six to eight

Ingredients

• 1 3/4 pound (or 12 oz.) piece of salmon, skin removed
• 7 oz. of smoked salmon
• 1/2 cup (4 oz.) of unsalted butter at room temperature
• 2 eggs (the freshest possible), beaten
• 1/2 fennel bulb, chopped very fine using a blender or food processor
• juice of 1 lemon
• 2 tablespoons fresh chives
• optional: 2 tablespoons chopped fennel fronds
• 1 tablespoon chopped capers
• salt and pepper

What to do:

1. Season your salmon filet with salt and pepper, place in a steaming basket, cover and steam over gently boiling water. You could also poach the salmon in  a few inches of water, covering the salmon.  Cook salmon until it is firm to the touch, about 9 minutes.
2. Remove salmon and put in a bowl and shred the salmon with a fork.  It may be easier to just use your fingers, but shred so that pieces are not shredded finely but will give the rillette some texture.  Cover and refridgerate to cool.
3. Place the room temperature butter in a bowl and, using a rubber spatula, “work” it till it’s smooth and creamy. Add the lemon juice, chives, capers, fennel and fennel fronds and mix together well.  Now add the beaten egg, only adding half at first, then mixing.  If you feel it’s still kind of “dry”, add 1/4 more of it.  Personally, I thought it was too wet with 2 whole beaten eggs, so see what works best for you.
4. Cut the smoked salmon into small pieces, about 1 inch “strips” so that they are similar in size to the shredded pieces.  Add the cooled fresh salmon and the smoked salmon pieces to the butter mixture and mix together thoroughly until it is completely incorporated together.  Taste for seasoning and add salt and pepper and more lemon juice if necessary.
5. Put in one big ramekin or individual ramekins (about 2 tablespoons per ramekin) and allow to chill in the fridge for at least 3 hours.  Bring to room temperature before serving and serve with toasted slices of baguette.