Super Bowl Seafood

Philly Ultra Fan

A few weeks ago, a friend invited us to his Super Bowl party.  It seemed awfully early to announce one;  however, he'd planned last year's in early January 2025 in anticipation of the Philadelphia Eagles making it to the Big Game.  As that resulted in an Eagles' championship victory, how could he possibly break tradition?  Unfortunately, it didn't work 😬, but he decided to move forward with the party anyway.  If you know anything about the City of Brotherly Love, you know we take our sports very seriously.  "Go Birds" becomes the local version of "aloha," denoting "hello," "goodbye," "cheers," "thanks," and any other pleasantry you can think of.  I've got buddies, all grown-ass men, who literally cried with joy when the Eagles won back in 2018.  A lot of emotion is tied to the Eagles, to say the least. What else would you expect from a city that booed Santa Claus at a Birds' game?  I'm far from a die-hard Eagles fan, but admittedly have my own Philly sports obsessions.  I almost called out of work when the Phillies lost the NLDS last year.  However, this invitation got me focused on one thing: Super Bowl party snacks of the seafood persuasion.  Chickie's & Pete's crab fries are great, but let's air it out with a few Hail Marys.     

Buddy Ryan

Now, I've got a real mixed history with American football and the NFL that I need to get out of the way.  Apologies in advance for the non-seafood-related rant.  Feel free to Ctrl+F for "football is delightful" at any time to skip.  

As a kid, I lived and breathed all things football.  Trading cards, jerseys, posters, Starter jackets.  You name it, I had it.  I used to create my own I-Formation plays on index cards, and the neighborhood kids and I had weekly backyard football games.  I even dressed up as Buddy Ryan for Halloween in 2nd grade.  This continued into my teenage years.  RedZone every Sunday, Madden on N64 or PlayStation daily, fantasy draft leagues.  I idolized Brian Dawkins and Brian Westbrook, and absolutely loved playing under the Friday night lights for my high school team.  However, once I got to college, things started to change.  There was no single event.  Rather it was a combination of things that saw me gradually lose interest in football, eventually leading to an outright disdain for the NFL in particular: 

1. The game itself changed.  I loved the 90's and early 2000's smash mouth, run-first game built around guts, defense, and physicality.  Hard-nosed teams grinding out wins with big hits and tough tailbacks.  Brian Urlacher and LaDanian Tomlinson going head-to-head in a 16-13 nail-biter.  Now, it's a pass-heavy spectacle focused on highlight reels and fantasy-friendly stats, not strategy, balance, or depth.  There was a Chiefs vs. Rams game that ended 54-51 a few years ago.  That's a college basketball score, not a football game.    
   
   
2. The constant rule changes (a major contributing factor to the first point).  Every new NFL season I find myself questioning "Wait, they moved the extra point back?  You can't wedge block anymore?"  Defensive players so much as sneeze on a quarterback or receiver and they're flagged for unnecessary roughness or pass interference.  It feels like perpetual beta testing at this point - "NFL 2.7.1 - patch update - defense rate-limited."  I understand the reasoning behind these changes, which leads to my next point.   
   
   
3. The NFL's oversight of player safety.  Everyone knows football is dangerous.  However, the NFL knew the true nature of that danger and conspired to hide it.  Big Tobacco style, they denied and downplayed the severity of concussions while attacking independent research that said otherwise.  Meanwhile, CTE was literally ruining lives.  It took years of investigative journalism, lawsuits, and irrefutable medical evidence for the league to start prioritizing player safety.  And this prioritization wasn't from actual player welfare concerns; it was damage control for their brand.  They got caught, made some bullshit apologies, then started making superficial changes.  Forgive me despising a league that committed decades of criminal collusion and neglect. 
   
   
4. Disparate treatment across the league.  Discrimination is rampant in the NFL, particularly in player assessments and leadership opportunities.  Colin Kaepernick peacefully protested for racial injustice awareness.  As a result, he was blackballed from the league.  He questioned the establishment, so his career was destroyed.  At the same time, Ray Rice viciously assaulted his girlfriend and the league suppressed video evidence in attempts to avoid his lengthy suspension.  Same with Deshaun Watson and Ben Roethlisberger.  Ray Lewis literally got away with murder.  Team medical staffs were handing out Vicodin like TicTacs while Ricky Williams was ostracized for marijuana offenses.  The Patriots' slap on the wrist and the Chiefs' favorable officiating.  Why all this hypocritical disparity?  One word: money.  This leads right into the final point.   
   
   
5. The NFL is a billionaire boys' club.  "We're concerned about player safety, but let's expand the season to 17 games."  "Breaking news -- NFL player gambling scandal -- brought to you by DraftKings."  Subscription streaming services.  Duplicitous revenue tactics.  Tax-payer funded stadiums.  TV blackouts while it's $100 for a nosebleed seat.  Every single point previously made is a result of NFL owner greed.  Outwardly, they preach safety and integrity.  "We support the troops" and #unity campaigns.  They greenwash, pinkwash, even redwashed for years to hold onto a racist mascot.  The real priority is preserving their robber baron cartel where accountability is optional, but the money never misses a snap.  These practices are not unique to the NFL, of course, and my issues are really with corporate plutocracy.  But still, f*ck the NFL owners.  They don't care about the players, the staff, and especially not you...just your dollars.  
   

Former Fifa President Sepp Blatter

I fully appreciate that many will disagree with some, if not all of this.  People are very passionate about their football and will defend it at any cost.  I mean, the NFL has challenged the oldest institution in the Western World for a day of the week and arguably won.  I also admit my rationale is full contradiction and hypocrisy.  I can't stand the NFL, but love watching soccer.  Whenever some NFL scandal emerges, FIFA is the first to say "hold my beer."  And as messed up as that is, I'm okay with it.  We all need to compromise for some escapism, especially with the current state of world affairs.  So, I'll enjoy the World Cup and the Premier League; you'll enjoy the Cialis and Bud Light commercials with intermittent football, and we can still be friends.  

All jokes aside, though, this is why I love food.  While we may disagree on football or the NFL, I think we can all agree the cuisine surrounding football is delightful.  Spicy Buffalo wings, saucy pulled pork sliders, unctuous brats and burgers right off the tailgate grill.  Who doesn't love a good seven layer dip or cheesy nachos?  For the upcoming Super Bowl LX, I wanted to do something similar to my ballpark seafood project from a few months back.  Let's audible to a much lighter note and make some gameday classics with the catch of the day.  So, if you're still with me, then hut, hut, cook!

Monkfish Chili 

Chili Queens via San Antonio Mag

Football and chili both have their origins in foreign concepts: football from British rugby and soccer, chili from pre-colonial Mesoamerican cooking.  Both were reshaped and adapted, eventually becoming pillars of American identity, masculine-American identity in particular.  However, chili, as we know it today, started with the Chili Queens in mid-1800's San Antonio.  Mexican and Tejana women braised dried chile peppers and beef into a rich stew and sold from street stalls across the city.  It became quite popular, and the commercialization of chili powder in the 1890's saw the dish spread outside of Texas.  By WWII, hundreds of chili parlors were operating nationwide.  Nowadays, people are just as passionate about their chili as they are their football.  Chili festivals, competitions, and debates are everywhere.  There's chili colorado, Texas red, Skyline, vegan three-bean, white chicken, Denver green, even legally defined chili.  Hot take: chili is just America's version of curry.     

More importantly, few things pair as well as football and chili.  Who doesn't love a warm, comforting cup at a wintry tailgate party?  Seeing how well fish curry works, wouldn't fish chili work too?  For my chili con pescado, I started by picking up a pound of monkfish from Hill's Quality Seafood.  Monkfish has a meatier texture than most fish, almost like lobster, and holds up well in a stew or braise.  It's the most common stewing fish around the Mediterranean.  Once home, I prepped all the usual chili suspects.  Diced onion, bell pepper, jalapeño, and garlic; canned tomatoes and red kidney beans; and a spice mix of chili powder, cumin, cayenne, garlic powder, onion powder, paprika, salt & pepper, plus a little dried, foraged ramps from my Aunt Jo.  Yes, making my own chili powder from pasilla, ancho, guajillo, and other chiles would have been better.  No, I didn't do that.  I already annoy my wife enough with my seafood projects taking over the whole house.  I didn't want to exacerbate that with a powdered pepper-spray cloud.  We're a Geneva Protocol observant home.

All prepped up, I started by browning the cubed monkfish.   After a few minutes, out it came and in went the peppers and onions, then garlic.  Once softened, the spice mixture went in to bloom a bit, followed by a deglazing with some Lagunitas and a little tomato paste.  I was sure to scrape up all that delicious monkfish fond, then in went the tomatoes, a little hot sauce, and remaining beer to simmer on low heat.  After the flavors melded together, I added in the beans and monkfish to finish cooking.  Fifteen minutes later, it was lunch time.  Topped with the standard fixins' of sour cream, Fritos, cheddar cheese and green onions, it was a pretty tasty bowl of chili.  It had that classic savory and smokey chili flavor with a subtle hint of seafood.  It tasted even better the next day, when my kids surprisingly enjoyed some, and the monkfish texture held up great.  My only adjustment would be making it more seafood forward the next time.  Perhaps a little octopus or crab meat, maybe some Old Bay.  I'll let y'all know.         

Calamari Poppers 

Shrimp & Jalapeño Poppers at Acme  

Football food heavily favors Tex-Mex.  Nachos, BBQ, the aforementioned chili.  I don't think I've ever been to a Super Bowl party that hasn't had chips and salsa or guacamole.  It makes sense as Texas loves football and, of course, its namesake Tex-Mex.  Jalapeño poppers are another great example.  The precusor to poppers, the chile relleno, dates back to 19th century Puebla, Mexico.  However, surprisingly, it wasn't until the 1970's when jalapeños stuffed with cheese started to really take off in the States.  Tex Mex was in its golden age at the time, and poppers began showing up on bar menus everywhere.  They became so popular that Anchor Foods tried trademarking "jalapeño poppers" in 1992, but were rejected as the name was already established as a generic reference American society.  A few years later, jalapeño poppers started showing up on TGI Friday's and Applebee's menus, proof the dish was here to stay.           

Seafood jalapeño poppers are nothing new.  Recipes for shrimp or crab poppers are all over the interwebs.  They're even available oven-ready retail at my regional grocery chain -- just more evidence the "cheese and seafood don't mix" saying is bunk.  However, I decided to go a slightly different direction.  Squid tubes are the perfect shape for stuffing, and it's a common practice across many cultures.  Portuguese, Italian, Turkish, and Korean cuisines all have variations.  One of my absolute favorites was a Spanish tinned version in Da Morgada Stuffed Calamari I'd had at haley.henry in Boston a few years back.  So why not calamari jalapeño poppers?  I picked up some squid, as well as some Philadelphia Whipped Cream Cheese and Tillamook Sharp Cheddar.  

Once home, I crisped and chopped up some bacon, diced jalapeños and scallions, and mixed it all together with the cheeses.  I placed the mixture in a plastic bag and piped it into the calamari tubes.  Finally, I seasoned them with some leftover BBQ rub and onto a ripping hot grill they went.  A quick two to three minutes later and my calamari poppers were ready to go.  And man, they were delectable.  Nothing beats live-fire char on cephalopods.  Pair that with spicy jalapeños in a decadent cheese sauce and you've got a textbook six points.  Oh, and the two point conversion with the bacon.  Seafood and salty pig parts always deliver.   These are a 100% make again, any time, quite possibly for my buddy's upcoming Super Bowl party.      

Buffalo Salmon Wings

Top - John Young's Wings'n'Things
Bottom - Anchor Bar

Ah yes, the Lombardi Trophy of football foods - Buffalo wings.  No other gridiron fare is held in higher regard.  So much so that there was a competitive chicken wing eating competition annually in Philadelphia just before the Super Bowl: The Wing Bowl.  They retired it in 2018, but it's coming back in Vegas this year.  As for the Buffalo wing's origins, well, they're from Buffalo, of course.  How and by whom they were created is a murkier matter.  In 1964, Dominic Bellissimo and some hungry college friends were at his parents' restaurant, Anchor Bar, on a late Friday night.  Dominic's mother, Teressa, grabbed some scrap chicken wings, typically used for making stocks and sauces.  She cut them into drumettes and flats, deep fried them, tossed them in a butter-and-cayenne sauce mixture, then served them to the boys with blue cheese dressing and celery sticks.  The kids loved them so much they kept coming back weekly, asking for more.  Over the next few years, Anchor Bar began serving the wings regularly.  A decade later, wings were being sold all over Buffalo, and nationwide by the 80's.

The modern Buffalo wing -- split wings, fried naked, and tossed in hot sauce -- is most often credited to Anchor Bar with the above story.  But two years earlier, in 1962, John Young opened Wings ’n’ Things in Buffalo’s East Side, serving whole, breaded wings dipped in a spicy mumbo sauce inspired by African American cooking traditions around the South and Washington, D.C.  Young never claimed he invented sauced wings, but he did claim to have introduced them to Buffalo.  He also noted that Anchor Bar co-owner Frank Bellissimo had visited his restaurant more than once.  Was this the true origin of the Anchor Bar Buffalo wing?  Sadly, Young’s restaurant closed after only a few years due to financial challenges.  Buffalo was one of the most heavily redlined cities in America, and Black neighborhoods, including where Wings ’n’ Things operated, were economically crushed.  I'm not sure we'll ever know how to appropriately credit the Buffalo wing.  However, we do know that wings were considered inedible scraps for decades, only utilized by marginalized minorities who had to make the most of what others discarded.  With that said, I think John Young and the African American community deserve more credit for the Buffalo wing than is currently acknowledged in the mainstream origin story.

As for my seafood spin on the football classic, that was easy.  Chickens have wings, and fish have fins, pectoral fins to be precise.  I again took some inspiration from one of the whole fish OGs, Beau Schooler out of Juneau, Alaska.  Dude was rocking salmon wings back when I still thought football was cool.  I picked up some salmon collars from Hill's Quality Seafood and boned out the pectoral fins.  I patted them dry, then into a 375° peanut oil bath they went for four to five minutes.  Finally, I tossed them in a Frank's Red Hot and butter sauce mixture and plated with celery, carrot, and blue cheese.  I did overcook them slightly, and the meat was falling off the fin a bit.  However, fish fins are much like dark meat chicken and retain their moisture well even when overcooked.  They were rich with a strong, gamey-salmon flavor that balanced out well with the heat and acidity from the Buffalo sauce.  A light dredge or coating might help with the texture integrity on the next batch, but I was pleased overall with my initial trial. 

I really enjoyed this Super Bowl seafood project.  While I can't say I enjoy the sport much any more, I can wholeheartedly say I love the food around it.  If I'm lucky enough to be invited to your Super Bowl party some time, I can promise I'll show up with a smile on my face and calamari poppers in my hand.  Or maybe seven layer smoked fish dip, crab-stuffed potato skins, or even swordfish BBQ ribs.  Let me know some other ideas in the comments.

 

Cheers,

The SF Oyster Nerd

  

Cheeky London Seafood Trip

I had a week-long business trip to London recently.  I love London and love to travel, but doing so for work is a bit conflicting.  Beholden to meetings, conferences, presentations, and networking, there's little opportunity for the actual joys of travel.  No time for museums, tours, landmarks, shopping, etc.  However, my favorite part of traveling is always the local dining scene.  And luckily, the one common denominator between business and personal travel is that you've still got to eat.  So, with a bit of strategic planning, I double booked a corporate and culinary trip.  Seamless access to London's public transit, after all, is called an Oyster Card.  How could I resist?

Various "Puddings"

Now, British food doesn't have the best reputation.  Bland, boiled meats and overcooked vegetables immediately come to mind.  Various mashes and mushes.  Almost everything is either fried or pied.  And what exactly is pudding in the UK, by the way?  Figgy pudding.  Yorkshire pudding.  Black pudding.  Hasty Pudding.  It's seemingly anything but what we, in the States, know as pudding.  That's custard.  I like the definition Ben Ebbrell shared on the A Hot Dog is a Sandwich podcast.  In short, pudding is vibes.  Anything that's warm, comforting, familiar, maybe even endearing or celebratory.  That's pudding. #NoCosbyJokes

Contrary to the hackneyed clichés, London is one of the best food cities in the world.  Having visited quite a few times, I think there are a couple of reasons behind this.  One, British food isn't actually that bad.  Beef wellington, the full English breakfast, a classic Sunday roast, and shepherd's pie are globally recognized and celebrated.  Chefs like Marco Pierre White, Heston Blumenthal, and Fergus Henderson have been showcasing British dishes and ingredients for over three decades, receiving some of the highest culinary accolades possible.  British food can be quite good, when done right.

Second, and seemingly in contradiction to the first point, the British-food-is-bad stereotype does have some merit.  I've found British people are comfortable acknowledging that.  There are many bland pasties, watery porridges, and low-quality pies to be had.  However, with that, there isn't a robust superiority complex around British food that you see in other European countries.  British people are much more welcoming of foreign cuisines.  Pair that with London being one of the most diverse cities in the world and you've got a recipe for a true culinary capital.  Thai, Italian, Lebanese, Jamaican, Senegalese, Brazilian, Japanese.  All have incredible gastronomic representations in the city.  Hell, many even say that chicken tikka masala is the national dish of the United Kingdom.

Lastly, as you likely know, the United Kingdom is an island nation.  However, it paradoxically does not have as rich a seafood culture as other similarly situated coastal countries.  Sure, we all know fish & chips.  Maybe you're familiar with fish pie or even kippers.  But beyond that, there isn't much globally recognized.  I truly don't mean to offend, and there is a lot of great seafood in the UK.  Things are definitely changing, too, it just doesn't compare to the likes of Portugal, Japan, or Peru, though.  I'm going to save the whole deep dive on this for another, broader trip, doing the country proper justice.  Trust me, nothing would please me more than drafting 4,000 words on the English Reformation's or Industrial Revolution's impact on UK seafood consumption while digging into stargazy pie and Whistable oysters.  But, I'll spare you...for now.  This post is already long enough.  If you're interested, though, here are a few quick resources. 

So, with all this in mind, limited time due to work commitments, and a sea-to-table focus, I set out on my cheeky London seafood trip.  Oh, and traveling for work isn't all bad.  I always had that company AmEx on hand 😜. 

The Fryer's Delight

First up had to be fish & chips.  Easily recognized as the quintessential British dish, fish & chips actually originated elsewhere.  The practice of frying fish came from the Jewish diaspora fleeing the Inquisition in 16th century Spain and Portugal, and chips (fried potatoes) were an import from 17th century Belgium.  The two came together and took off in the 19th century, leading to over 10,000 fish & chip shops in the UK today.  That's seven chippies for every one McDonald's operating in the Isles, and roughly 500 of those are in Greater London alone.

This was daunting, to say the least.  How could I possibly choose just one?  The answer actually ended up being simple: beef fat.  In the 19th and early 20th century, the most common frying medium in the UK was beef tallow (known as beef drippings).  It was a cheap, readily available byproduct from cattle farms.  Refined oils were imported and expensive.  However, during WWII, animal fats started to be rationed for military use.  At the same time, early globalization made processed oils like palm and soy cheaper and more widely available to supplement the rationing.  Then, with emerging health concerns around cholesterol and animal fats in the 1960s and 1970s, processed vegetable oils quickly became the fish & chip frying standard, as it is today.  The irony is that beef tallow is making a comeback globally since seed oils are now the villains en vogue.  Fearmongering seems to be the only consistent trend across ever-changing dietary guidance.  Again, stay hydrated, eat more fiber, and all things in moderation.  You'll be fine. 

Either way, this made my London chippy choice quite easy.  I wanted the OG beef fat fish & chips, and only a handful of London establishments still fry in tallow.  There were a few cutty spots that caught my research eye, but they were all too far from Central London with my limited time.  That left me with one choice: The Fryer's Delight in Holborn.   

The Fryer's Delight opened in the 1960s, and it seems nothing has changed since.  Laminate booth seating, checkered-tile flooring, wood-paneled walls.  The curt, almost short-tempered service matched the decor.  It's like stepping into a Guy Ritchie film where some bad boy yardies or street geezers could pop-in at any moment.  And while largely a tourist destination nowadays, the ownership recognizes this charm and promotes it.  Nothing quite like an animated London gangster using Cockney slang to pitch your product.  I ordered the haddock and chips with a side of curry sauce.  I wish we'd normalize the side of "curry sauce" in the States a bit more.  It's delightful with all things fried.  Either way, the fish & chips were piping hot, crispy, and had a subtle yet notable beefy flavor.  As with many British classics, they did require ample amounts of salt and vinegar, or a dip in the curry sauce, to really enhance the flavor.  I think that's just standard operating protocol in the UK - seasoning is at your discretion.  All in all, solid fish & chips and a fun experience I'd recommend.   

M. Manze: Noted Eel & Pie House 

While much less known than fish & chips, there's another British classic that could arguably be the UK's national dish, or at least London's - pie & mash.  In the 19th century, London saw rapid industrialization.  Urban populations boomed and factory workers needed quick, filling, and affordable meals, a similar situation to the rise of Italian subs on America's East coast.  In London, that was beef pies and eels with mashed potatoes.  Cheap beef trimmings were widely available, same as beef tallow.  Eels were also cheap and widely available, being one of the few remaining species that could survive in an increasingly polluted River Thames.  I love that parallel of resilience: a tough, adaptable fish feeding tough, adaptable people.  Anyways, pie those proteins up, add some rib-sticking mashed potatoes, and you've got a hefty, economical meal.

Just like British chippies, pie houses are an institution unto themselves.  Full of tightly packed wooden booths and marble tabletops, many of the remaining pie shops are multigenerational spaces harkening back to a working-class Edwardian London.  Their popularity has declined as of late, so much that there are contemporary movements to try and save the pie & mash shops.  They're truly a snapshot of time, culture, and identity, so I had to try at least one.  Unfortunately, I did see the remnants of recently closed ones in my research.  There are still a few OGs hanging around, though. 

For my pie & mash experience, how could I not go to the oldest continually operating one in town?  Just south of the Thames and Tower Bridge, the M.Manze location has been a pie shop since 1892 and under the same business name since 1902.  It has all the aforementioned charm, and seems to be successfully threading the needle of tourist destination while locally approved.  There was a lengthy line out the door when I arrived on a late Sunday afternoon, along with a raucous birthday party inside.   

 Honestly, the whole scene was a bit intimidating.  Fast paced queues, shorthand slang, staff hastily slapping mash onto plates and practically throwing them to guests.  There's even a chalkboard at the shop's entrance guiding first-timers on etiquette.  "Use a spoon and fork (no knives)."  "Turn over the pie before eating."  But for a clear novice like myself, the staff couldn't have been kinder.  One pie, one mash, stewed eels, and lots of parsley sauce, a.k.a. liquor.  A byproduct of stewing or jellying eels is a flavorful, naturally thickened stock.  Historically, this was repurposed with some parsley and seasoning into a sauce to go with the pie & mash.  Waste not, want not, right?  Nowadays, most liquors are made with vegetable stock.  M.Manze keeps their liquor recipe under lock and key.  Not even the service staff know all the ingredients.  However, there was a notable fish stock undertone to it. 

As for the pie, mash, & stewed eels, true to British style, they all required ample amounts of salt and chili vinegar.  The chalkboard guide even said to use "lots of vinegar."  The liquor added a bit of flavor, but overall it was rather bland and single note.  The texture on the eels was spot on, at least.  And while I can't say the meal was great, the whole experience certainly was.  Few things are as fiercely tied to identity as food, and I certainly felt that "East End born, East End bred" energy at M.Manze.  A kind but scrutinizing local even handed me a bottle of chili vinegar as I sat down at my table, ensuring I followed proper protocol.  Check one out if you're in London, especially since they're a dying breed. 

J Sheekey 

In stark contrast to the chippy and pie shop atmospheres, London's got quite a few fine-dining seafood restaurants with rich histories.  Located throughout Central London's posh West End, Scott's, Wiltons, and Bentley's are all white table cloth establishments that have been catering to the ritzy retail and theater crowds of the neighborhood for at least a century, if not longer.  Wiltons' origins go all the way back to oyster vending in the 1740s.  I'd been to Scott's and Bentley's before, and they do evoke those "Rule Britannia," old chap, Alfred's-pulling-the-car-around vibes.  With mostly dishes like sole meunière, lobster thermidor, and mixed seafood platters, I hadn't targeted these restaurants on my cheeky seafood trip.  However, there's a British classic that piqued my interest, and one of these places reportedly has the best in the city.

Located in Covent Garden only steps away from London's Theatreland, J Sheekey started out as an oyster vendor back in 1896.  Once a brick and mortar in the early 20th century, it quickly became a popular seafood destination frequented by famous actors and socialites.  Full of rich mahogony and gilded-frame artwork, the restaurant screams blue blood old money.  With that, I of course had to get a few oysters.  They were solid.  It's always nice to taste native European oysters.  However, it was the humblest of dishes that brought me there: fish pie.  

I won't lie - conceptually, I've never really been drawn to fish pie.  I appreciate the medieval history and origins as a peasant dish.  However, a mix of seafood scraps in a cream sauce with mashed potatoes never sounded appetizing to me.  It's basically just shepherd's pie with fish instead of meat.  But I was all in on the British classics, so I had to try it.  It didn't hurt that Notorious Foodie posted his version of fish pie the exact week I was in London, too.  As for J Sheekey's version, I was genuinely stunned.  Lusciously smooth mashed potatoes topped with a crispy parmesan and breadcrumb crust, all of which gave way for a deep, savory fish chowder.  It had just the right amount of citrus and alliums to balance the creamy sauce, fatty salmon, and smoked haddock.  I'm surprised it's not called a fish pudding, because this dish is the embodiment of warmth, comfort, tradition, and celebration all in one.  Next time you're in London, definitely pop on your Hackett tweed with some Edward Green Oxfords and grab a fish pie at J Sheekey.   
     

Ragam - Fitzrovia

I know nothing about Indian cuisine.  Actually, that's not true.  I know just enough to be embarrassed by my classic white boy order of shrimp tikka masala and garlic naan whenever my family and I go to an Indian restaurant.  There are two other things I know.  First, Indian food is incredibly diverse and varies immensely by region.  It makes sense.  We're just a population of 300 million in the States and can't agree on what BBQ is.  How does that play out when it's over 1.4 billion?  And much like Mexican and Chinese, Indian cuisine tends to all get lumped together in the States.  That pan-Indian, especially in the suburbs, is most often Punjabi-heavy with butter chickens and saag paneers.  You'll see some Gujarati dhoklas or Udupi dosas here and there, but Indian food in the US is mostly in the Northern style. 

The second thing I know, and this will likely offend in more ways than one, is that Indian food in the UK is better than the US.  Sorry, it's just what I've observed over several trips to London and dining out in the States.  Given the long and complicated history between Britain and India, this too makes a lot of sense.  No other culture has adopted Indian cuisine as its own quite as much as the British.  Perhaps appropriated is more accurate, as some even say London has better Indian food than Delhi.  I certainly can't speak to that.  However, with all this in mind, I knew I was going to get some quality Keralan seafood on my trip to London.  Udaya Kerala Restaurant in East Ham and Radha Krishna Bhavan in Tooting topped the charts in my research.  However, with my time constraints challenge, an hour long tube ride each way simply wasn't in the cards. 
 

Luckily, Radha Krishna Bhavan's got a sister establishment, Ragam Fitzrovia, that was only minutes away by foot from my hotel in Marylebone.  Right around the corner from the University of Westminster, it sits in a neighborhood with trendy boba cafes and art galleries.  However, Ragam has been a South Indian stalwart in the community for over 30 years, and the interior reflects that.  Modest and functional but with a slightly coastal feel in the form of tropical colors and rattan walls.  The menu covers the gamut, catering to the non-Indian patrons, but does have a Keralan focus.  Their paratha even says "our version of naan" on the menu. 

True to my white boy form, I had to order the grilled king prawns and paratha.  Both were delightful, especially the paratha.  It's similar to naan as it's a flatbread, but is actually a dough laminated with ghee and griddled.  This gives it a flaky, crispy exterior with a soft, chewy interior.  My focus, though, was the Malabar fish curry, a dish endemic to Kerala.  Thinner than Northern Indian curries, it's made with a base of coconut milk, smoked tamarind, ginger, garlic, green chilies, and plenty of Subcontinent spices.  It's a fragrant, tangy, spicy, and slightly sweet flavor all in one.  Ragam uses kingfish, a member of the mackerel family, as the primary protein.  Only a firm and oily fish could stand up to such complex flavors, and Ragam nailed that.  The rich, steaky kingfish had the perfect bite, especially when scooped up with the paratha and ample curry.  My only regret was that I didn't try more fish curries around town.

All in all, my cheeky London seafood trip was incredible.  Lots of rich history, culture, and tradition while tasting some classic dishes and dispelling stereotypes about London cuisine.  And, I need to be transparent here - I managed to pack in quite a bit more while in Central London.  Pan-seared red gurnard at Roe, street scallops at the Marylebone Farmers Market, steak & oyster pie at The Guinea Grill.  I mean, how could your boy pass up an anchovy eclair from Lilibet's.  Plenty more I could have highlighted.  Don't worry, though, a proper UK seafood dive is on the horizon.

Cheers,

The SF Oyster Nerd  

   

Oyster Ice Cream

There are lots of popular culinary combinations or dishes that, when first mentioned, likely seemed senseless or even disgusting.  Breakfast sausage with maple syrup, pepperoni pizza dipped in ranch, peanut butter & jelly.  Now, they're as American as apple pie (topped with cheddar cheese, of course).  Odd pairings or preparations like these span the globe and history, too.  Prosciutto & melon, chicken & waffles, cold beef & buckwheat noodles, watermelon & feta salad, a bloody caesar's mix of tomato & clam juices.  Surf & turf was once the focus of aspersive eyes, and I bet many unfamiliar still question the centuries old combination of chocolate & chile pepper in mole negro.  Hell, even salted caramel ice cream was bizarre and relatively novel in the early 2000's mainstream.  Now it's arguably one of the most popular flavors around.

Oyster Ice Cream from Oysome
via In a Halfshell

Oysters have been going through a renaissance of sorts in the last few decades.  So, when you hear "oyster ice cream," you might think it's some whacky hipster invention that's pushed the oyster revival a bit too far.  "Oyster ice cream?!?  The leftist woke mind virus is destroying this country!  What's next?!?  Men dressed as women eating salmon sorbet in girls' bathrooms?!?"  Just jokes - much like our current president and administration.  However, the reality is quite the opposite.  Oyster ice cream has a deep, rich history in the United States.

Ice cream, in one form or another, has been around for millenia.  Unfortunately, like so many foods, its beginnings are full of myth, lore, and hotly contested debate.  Evidence of Persians, Greeks, Egyptians, Chinese, and Romans mixing fruit, milk, rice, or honey with snow goes back thousands of years.  Ice cream, like so many historic creations that are often misattributed elsewhere, was likely invented in China.  There are records from the Tang Dynasty (618 - 907 A.D) of milk being cooked with flour and spices, frozen, and served as a sweet treat for the elite.  Whether by the Silk Road, Marco Polo, or other means, this practice made its way to Europe over the next few centuries.  It eventually started being refined to versions we'd be more familiar with today.  This mostly happened in the royal courts or aristocratic houses of Italy and France in the 16th and 17th centuries, and gradually spread to nobility across Europe.  For most of history, ice cream has been a labor and resource intensive product, thus enjoyed primarily by the rich.  Such was the case in ice cream making its way to the Americas, with the first recorded instance being at a dinner held by Maryland's Colonial Governor in 1744.

19th Century Oyster & Ice Cream Vendors

Oyster ice cream, on the other had, doesn't have much formal record until the 19th century.  But that doesn't stop the myth and lore, yet again.  Some say it was George Washington's favorite, as well as First Lady Dolly Madison's.  Others say Mark Twain loved it so much he wrote about it in Tom Sawyer.  There are even claims that it was served at the First Thanksgiving, which is down right comedic to think.  None of this is true, or at least there's no record to verify.  However, it is true that a relative of Thomas Jefferson named Mary Randolph wrote the first recorded recipe for oyster ice cream in 1824's The Virginia Housewife.  The book was so popular that it was republished twenty times before the Civil War, arguably making Randolph one of America's first celebrity chefs.  The Virginia Housewife is also recognized as America's very first Southern cookbook.  Contemporary chefs still praise her innovation to this day. 

      Now, there has been a lot of analysis and opinion about Mary Randolph, her cookbook, and Antebellum cuisine in general.  That deep discussion is admittedly beyond the scope of my arm-chair historical research.  However, there are two things I find quite curious about Mary Randolph and the earliest record of oyster ice cream.

First, it feels a bit inappropriate to credit Randolph with oyster ice cream in any capacity, or even much Southern cuisine in general.  Sure, she recorded it, codified it, hosted dinner parties with it, maybe even cooked a bit at her luxurious boarding house.  But coming from one of early America's most prominent and affluent Southern families, I think we can be honest and say that Mary primarily had slaves cook for her and her guests.  Her book even presupposes that the reader has a staff of cooks and servants.  "We have no right to expect slaves or hired servants to be more attentive to our interests than we ourselves are; nor can it be supposed that persons of ordinary capacity will perform their duties with punctuality or exactness, unless they know they are subject to frequent inspection."  This is a direct quote from The Virginia Housewife.  

18th century portrait often mistakenly
identified as Hercules Posey

This is an upsetting and uncomfortable paradox we run into when trying to celebrate Antebellum history, culture, and cuisine.  I certainly romanticize hearth baked peach cobbler or sweet tea on the porch as much as anyone.  But the reality is that most of this rich culinary history stems from enslaved chefs.  We know much of Martha Washington's celebrated cookery comes straight from her and George's slave, Hercules Posey.  We also know Thomas Jefferson's slave, James Hemings, was culinarily trained in Paris and influenced much of Mary Randolph's record.  Affluent women of the day were subjugated too, largely powerless beyond homemaking.  So it feels a bit weird to knock Mary Randolph, Martha Washington, or other women of the day.  But that subjugation pales in comparison to that experienced by the enslaved in America, often at the hands of those same homemaking women.  What I do know is that credit is due to the African American slaves who largely shaped Southern cuisine, and that just might include oyster ice cream.

Second, the original oyster ice cream wasn't exactly what we think of when it comes to ice cream.  Mary Randolph's recipe is simply "make a rich oyster soup, strain it, freeze it."  Her recipe for oyster soup included onions, ham, salt, pepper, and thyme.  Safe to say it wasn't the dulcet delight we know ice cream to be today.   At the time, ice cream had a broader culinary application than it generally does now, and savory variations were quite common.  Parmesan, asparagus, artichoke, spinach, and cucumber ice creams are all well documented from the Colonial and Victorian eras.  Randoph's book even has a calf's hoof ice cream recipe.  Ice cream was still a pretty new concept, and thus, experimental.  It was often served as a palate cleanser or mid-course at opulent dinners, as well as a sweet dessert.  Chefs making dill pickle or everything bagel ice cream today might think they're breaking the mold, but there's already a few hundred years of precedent.

Mary Randolph's Oyster Ice Cream Recipe from The Virginia Housewife - 1824

Japanese Oyster Ice Cream via TokyoTreat

That said, I'm an American kid of the 90's and to me, ice cream is a sweet treat or dessert.  I'm as adventurous as the next guy, often more, particularly when trying out historic seafood recipes.   Candidly though, icey oyster stew didn't sound like my cup of tea, or scoop of ice cream, rather.  However, I could see a sweet oyster ice cream working.  Salty and sweet pair well, and there are several ice cream examples in salted caramel, vanilla in pretzel cones, even olive oil ice cream topped with fleur de sel.  Sweet oyster ice cream is also nothing new.  Vanilla soft serve paired with deep fried oysters has taken Japan by storm over the last decade.  There are also some establishments Stateside who've been making it for the last few years.  For my own homemade version, I largely took my inspiration from Oysome out of Ireland.
 
SF Oyster Nerd Oyster Ice Cream

I picked up some stewing oysters in their liquor from Hill's Quality Seafood, as well as some heavy cream and sweetened condensed milk from Whole Paycheck.  They've always got that rich, bougie heavy cream in a glass bottle.  You know, the kind that reminds you of the pastoral 1950s when milkmen delivered weekly to your front porch, past your white picket fence and tire swing.  Another paradoxical time to romanticize.  I'm not terribly keen on $11 a pint cream, but when making a mostly cream based soup, it's 100% worth it.  A great oyster stew is simple with few ingredients - oysters, oyster liquor, and cream.  A little salt, a little pepper, maybe an herb.  That's it.  Chef Mark Franz taught me that, literally while spoon-feeding me his version in front of a dozen patrons dining at Waterbar's oyster bar.  Dude is a legend, and truly dgaf.  I once watched him take a bite out of a white Alba truffle like it was an apple.

Anyway, I brought equal parts oyster liquor and cream to a simmer with salt and pepper to taste and a bit of thyme.  I then added the dozen stewing oysters to cook and infuse more oyster flavor.  Once the oysters were cooked and the taste was right, I strained everything and set the soup to the side to chill.  Don't worry, the oysters didn't go to waste.  They were a nice lunch when mixed with some chives and topped on some Ritz crackers.  I then mixed two parts oyster soup with one part whole milk and one part sweetened condensed milk.  Your boy doesn't have have a fancy ice cream churner on hand or a stockpile of liquid nitrogen in the basement, so I couldn't make a classic style ice cream.  However, my niece went through a smoothie / sorbet craze a few years ago, and I was able to borrow her Ninja Creami.  As such, I loosely followed some suggested recipes and ended up on a 2-1-1 ratio of oyster soup, whole milk, and condensed milk.  The mixture then went into the freezer to set for 24 hours before getting Ninja Creamified into ice cream.

While waiting, I figured I'd make some oyster appropriate toppings for my ice cream.  First thought was the classic pairing of oysters and citrus.  Raw oysters are almost always served with lemons or limes, as their sharp acidity compliments oysters' rich brininess.  Luckily, I had a bag of limes on hand, and decided to make candied lime rinds.  I peeled the limes, taking as little pith with the rinds as possible.  I sliced the peels thin, blanched them for 30 minutes or so to remove some bitterness, then cooked them down in some simple syrup for another 30 minutes.  Strained and cooled, I tossed them in some sugar and voila - candied limes.  Another classic pairing is oysters and stout, specifically Guinness.  It goes back centuries in Ireland, as both oysters and Guinness were widely available to the working class, and is still celebrated across the globe today.  Stout's roasty bitterness goes well with oysters' salty minerality.  There's even an oyster & Guinness flavored potato chip.  So, I decided to make a Guinness caramel sauce.  I reduced a can of Guinness by half on medium heat, then added in brown sugar and vanilla extract.  Ten minutes later, I removed it from the heat and whisked in heavy cream and butter.  Then, jarred and into the fridge to chill it went.

The next day, it was time to churn.  I have to say the Ninja Creami is a breeze to use.  I simply took out the frozen oyster cream base, plugged it into the machine, and selected "Ice Cream" mode.  Two minutes later, I had a rich, smooth, oyster ice cream.  The texture was spot on.  How did it taste, though?  I tried it straight up to start.  Imagine a sea wave hit your vanilla ice cream cone, then you took a lick.  It's like that, but a bit gamier. Not for the faint of oceanic heart, as it definitely had notes of savory low tide.  But if you like oyster stuffing, scalloped oysters, even oysters Rockefeller, this is a novel taste I think you'd enjoy.  The interesting thing was that the oyster flavor mellowed with time.  It was pretty intense when I ate it on day one, but more and more muted on each following day.  My neighbor tried it on day five and said it was very faintly oyster flavored. 



However, when I added the toppings to the oyster ice cream on day one, it really came to life.  The buttery, briny ice cream was cut by the roasty, slightly bitter Guinness caramel, and the candied lime rinds added an acidic brightness with a crystalized, sugary crunch.  Together, it was an indulgent, peculiar, and overall pleasant bite.  Definitely not a two scoop or milk shake type of ice cream, but a curiosity I was happy I'd explored.  Who knows, with some more trial and error, you may just see The SF Oyster Nerd's Oyster Ice Cream in a market near you soon 😜.    

Cheers,
The SF Oyster Nerd