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  

   

Pastry & Seafood

As you may have noticed from the new header, I moved this past summer from the Bay Area to the suburbs of Philadelphia, where I grew up.  Quite the transition from the trendy, hipster streets of Oakland and San Francisco to the pastoral, colonial themed ways of Willistown Township, Pennsylvania.  I'm pretty excited for the perks of suburban living: bigger home, backyard, tool shed, tree house, tire swing.  But I'd be lying if I said I don't miss the bustling food scenes of urban areas.  Don't get me wrong, there are lots of quality restaurants and markets in the suburbs, and I'm just a 30 minute drive from a booming restaurant scene in Philadelphia .  The accessibility to gardening, fishing, foraging, and hunting in the suburbs more than makes up for any cuisine shortcomings.  Occasionally though, I've caught myself whining "why aren't there any Peruvian roast chicken spots" or "what do you mean the nearest Korean BBQ is 45 mins away?!"  I've even uttered a snide "man, this place is stuck in 2012 with all these gastropubs."  Seriously, every other new restaurant profiled in this January 2022 issue of a local magazine was a beer tasting room or tap house.  Criticizing the community is a great way to reintroduce myself, right?  Figured I'd be transparent on what an asshole I can be when it comes to my culinary expectations.

Largemouth bass from my neighborhood
pond in Chester County, PA

What most excites me is both the prospect and challenge of new oyster nerd experiences.  When I first moved, I was nervous, knowing I'd become a snobby brat from the abundance of food culture in the Bay Area.  Sure, the Philly suburbs were where my foundation of fish and seafood obsession started.  My childhood was filled with trips to the Jersey Shore, bass fishing in neighborhood ponds or Marsh Creek, and learning how to shuck oysters at Hill's.  But no way the quaintness of Malvern, Pennsylvania could compete with the edible eminence of San Francisco to which I'd become so accustomed.  However, the more I've regained my footing in the Greater Philadelphia area, the more ideas for seafood experiments, exploration, and collaboration have spawned (yep, still grinding out the oyster puns).  I can't wait to splurge on Philadelphia's high-end seafood scene, delve into Chester County trout fishing, and visit some Delaware and South Jersey aquaculture farms.  There are new, progressive organizations like Fishadelphia to check out.  Hell, even Baltimore, Boston, and New York with all their oceanic delights are just a few hours' drive.  And you know I'm going to do a deep dive into one of Philadelphia's most historic and iconic dishes, Snapper Soup.

That being said, it gets cold here.  Like, really cold.  Like fuck-off-I'm-not-going-outside cold.  Taking the climatic Prozac of the Bay Area for the last 10 years has made me a little b*tch when it comes to the weather, but it was 4° Fahrenheit outside as I wrote this.  Come on.  That's cold.  I guess that meant most of my ideas would be back-burnered until spring or summer.  What that also meant, though, was this would be the first proper braising and baking season I'd enjoyed in a long time.  Nothing says "it's winter" as endearingly as a pot of beef stew simmering on the stove top or the aroma of freshly baked Christmas cookies permeating the house.  

David Atherton's Fish Pie from
The Great British Bake Off 

Okay.  I knew I wanted to celebrate the joyous cooking season that an East Coast winter could be.  How best to incorporate seafood or oysters into this?  Yes, I'm aware oysters are at their absolute peak in the winter and there are myriad new and unique ones to try on the East Coast.  In due time.  I was looking for more of a cozy and covid-resurgence-safe indoor project.  Something to enjoy with the family, and braising or baking seemed like a perfect fit.  As for a braise, beyond squid, octopus, and a debatable fish or two, not many good low and slow cooked seafoods came to mind.  Sure, few things are better on a cold night than steamy bowl of chowder or cioppino.  But those felt like old hat and wouldn't occupy all my recently obtained free time thanks to omicron.  That left me with baking.  And while king mackerel muffins or black cod biscotti sound like horrifyingly bad ideas, there might be something to savory, warmth filled and pastry focused seafood dishes.  Binge watching The Great British Bake Off may or may not have played a part in this as well.  

There was one problem.  I'm a shit baker.  Maybe not that bad, but I never took a keen interest or really gave it the old college try.  Without even the most novice of experience in making chocolate cake or apple pie, how the hell was I going to tackle a master task like flaky, well laminated puff pastry?  Luckily, I have a wonderful co-parent and partner in culinary crime, Vanessa, who lives and breathes all things baking.  Girl can make a mean pie crust from scratch while reviewing our mortgage, hosting a Zoom meeting for work, and chasing our son around the kitchen, all at the same time.  With some coaxing, I finally convinced her to participate in my selfishly indulgent baked seafood bonanza.  So, with opulent amounts of butter on hand and a savvy pâtissier by my side, I guess it's: 

on our marks, get set, bake!

Maine Lobster Pot Pie

The Kennebunk Inn Lobster Pot Pie

I love chicken pot pie.  My family actually has a long running tradition of making what can best be described as sympathy or support pot pies.  Serious injury or illness, you get a pot pie.  Loss of a loved one, you get a pot pie.  Welcoming a new baby, you get a pot pie.  Everybody gets a pot pie!  It's a timeless comfort food; a warm, edible hug that says "we're here and thinking of you."  I wanted to start with something simple and identifiable, so a lobster pot pie made perfect sense.  It's a rather common re-imagination of the classic dish, and The Kennebunk Inn in Maine has even received international recognition for theirs.  Celebrity chef Cat Cora called it "the best thing she ever ate" on the namesake Food Network show.

Top left clockwise - Cooked Lobsters,
Filling Prep, Pre-Bake Pot Pies, Shortcrust

After grabbing a few lobsters from Hill's on a chilly Sunday afternoon, we busted out the steaming pot and rolling pin to get started.  Vanessa knocked out her legendary shortcrust pastry: AP flour, kosher salt, butter, ice water, egg, and of course, more butter.  I was expecting her to be slapping, kneading, and all the things associated with dough making.  Pie crust, however, should be handled as little as possible.  Overworking the dough will create gluten and make the final product tough and chewy.  We wanted that flake.  She brought together cold butter and flour as gently as possible til crumbly, worked in the egg and cold water, and formed it all into a ball.  I steamed the lobsters and started cracking away.  Both the shortcrust and the lobster meat went into the fridge for chilling. 

For the pie filling, I'd had a refined lobster chowder of sorts with a slight sweetness in mind.  I evenly cubed up carrots, onions and celery (or brunoised the mirepoix if you're feeling posh).  I also cubed up red potatoes and fennel.  That anise flavor fennel has goes great with lobster.  I sauteed all this on high heat for a few minutes with some grapeseed oil in a dutch oven, then hit it with some cognac to deglaze and bring in that desired sweetness.  Lobster and cognac are another great pairing.  After the alcohol cooked off, I added in some butter and flour to make a light roux, followed by clam juice and heavy cream, then brought it all down to a simmer.  The veggies cooked a little more until al dente and the filling gradually thickened.  Right before it finished, I folded in some peas, parsley, and the lobster, and let it go a few minutes more for the flavors to meld.  Shortcrust rolled out and we were ready for com-pie-lation.

Warren Avenue Lobster Pot Pies

Keeping a little lobster meat and filling left over for snacking, of course, we ended up making four individual serving sized pies.  Two for us, and two for some family members who'd recently tested positive for the 'vid.  Like I said, support pot pies are a tradition.  As for ours, light egg wash applied and into a 375° oven for 15-20 minutes.  I also made two claw sized slits in the crust to pop in some lobster claws and fennel fronds at the end, kind of like a classic lamb shank pie presentation.  The final product, quite delicious to say the least.  Admittedly, we started with a layup on this one.  Nailed on pie crust from Vanessa and a surefire lobster chowder all brought together couldn't really fail.  It was warm, crispy, rich, savory, comforting and every other adjective you could tuck into your own personal little pot pie.  Only adjustment I would make is the price of lobster, as this would be an excellent Sunday night staple if the pocketbook allowed.  

Everything Spiced Smoked Salmon Pinwheels

This came to me as a cheeky "when in Rome" approach.  As mentioned before, being in the suburbs kind of feels like being ten years behind the culinary curve.  So, why not embrace that?  Pinwheels are right up there with other anachronistic dishes like stuffed tomatoes, tuna casserole, and egg salad.  You know, like those buffalo chicken pinwheels Carol brings to Nance and Bill's Super Bowl party every year.  They are sooo good, and Carol won't tell anyone the secret ingredient.  Three margaritas later and "shhh...it's a packet of Hidden Valley Ranch Seasoning."  I'm actually pretty fond of some of these and genuinely believe the tupperware generation doesn't get enough appreciation.  Some are truly terrible, though, so maybe it's just the contrarian in me.  Either way, a puff pastry pinwheel would be a step-above-novice challenge, and while tongue in cheek, should still be delicious. 

Aunt Jo making puff pastry with the 
Poilâne recipe for reference

We were fortunate enough to have an even more veteran baker, my in-law Aunt Jo, visiting at the time.  She's an expert in everything from your standard rough puff to newspaper thin sheets of filo.  We had to employ such experience when making our puff pastry.  Funny thing I started to realize, I was making it through this entire pastry foray without actually making any dough myself.  True pros delegate, no?  Quick reference to Vanessa's good friend's cookbook, Poilâne, and away we went with the kneading and laminating.  Making puff pastry didn't seem the insurmountable task I'd assumed, it's just time consuming and a bit finicky.  It's basically enveloping butter in dough, rolling, folding, and chilling.  Then it's rolling, folding, and chilling.  Again, rolling, folding, and chilling.  Once again, rolling, folding...you get the point.  We then had to wait a full 24 hours before we could actually use the dough.  Not exactly a casual process. 

Salmon Pinwheel Roll

The next day, I mixed up cream cheese, sour cream, parsley, everything spice, lemon juice, and some Sugartown Smoked Specialties salmon.  Go figure there's an award winning smoked seafood company right around the corner from our house, and it's really good.  I guess the 'burbs ain't so bad.  Anyway, I laid out the chilled pastry dough, spread out the mixture, and rolled it up tightly.  After a little more everything spice was sprinkled on the outside, I sliced out fifteen wheels as evenly as possible, added a little egg wash and into a 400° oven they went.  20 minutes later and we had beautifully browned, flaky, smoked salmon pinwheels.  Visually they weren't perfect, but the pastry and salmon mixture tasted amazing.  Our 15 month old even crushed two whole ones on his own.

Willistown Everything Spiced Smoked Salmon Pinwheels

There were some tweaks I'd definitely make on future versions.  I should have whipped the cream cheese longer and flaked the salmon finer for a nicer uniformity and texture, which may have also made a better visual spiral.  Dill would have been preferable to parsley.  I also could have sliced the pinwheels thinner for more suitably sized appetizer bites, but all in all, I was happy.  Due to "taste testing," fifteen quickly became twelve before plating.  And nothing felt more appropriate than presenting them all dolled up with some lemon and parsley garnish on my most ostentatious oyster platter, boomer style.  Watch out, Carol, 'cause I'm coming hard in the paint with everything spiced smoked salmon pinwheels at the March Madness Final Four party.

Steelhead Trout Wellington

Josh Niland's Fish Wellington

Beef Wellingtons are admittedly out of style, but they're making a gradual comeback, or at least should be.  Regardless, they taste great, are always showstoppers, and had everything that I wanted in my seafood pastry coupe de grâce.  Whole fish or loins wrapped in pastry were more common than I'd originally thought.  Various fish en croûte recipes by Gordon Ramsay, Martha Stewart, Jamie Oliver and others were all over the place in my research.  Sydney based chef and avant-garde seafood master Josh Niland makes an impressive one.  As I'd had decent success with guidance from his fish sausage recipe, I decided to use his version as my main reference.  And going for that stunning look, a head on tail on whole fish was a must.

Mediterranean sea bass, also known as branzino or branzini, was my original idea for this approach, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to go local.  I'd already had Northeast trap caught lobster and salmon that was locally smoked, so it would be nice to keep the regional theme going.  That meant trout.  Don't get me wrong, branzino is a tasty fish and can be a very sustainable choice depending on how it's farmed.  However, there's something weird about getting plain old sea bass all the way from Europe, especially as the carbon footprint from its 5,000 mile journey seems to negate the ecological benefits.  It's also been annoyingly trendy for the last decade and almost cliché now.  I bet you'd find it on one of those aforementioned suburban gastropub menus.  Sorry, I'm sure they're all very pleasant establishments with great kale caesar salads and Nashville hot chicken sandwiches.

Hudson Valley Steelhead on a Snow Day

I ended up getting a Hudson Valley Fisheries steelhead trout.  A Pacific coast native fish being responsibly farmed in New York felt like an appropriate choice reflecting my own personal transition.  I'd honestly wanted to get a trout from Springcress or Laurel Hill trout farms in Pennsylvania, but driving four to eight hours round trip for one fish was a tough sell.  Hudson Valley simply shipped directly to my doorstep in 24 hours.  I'm pretty anti-Amazon, DoorDash, Blue Apron, etc., but delivery can be a way to directly support sustainable farms around the country and ensure the best quality.  Plus, it kept me out of the cold.

Top left clockwise - Steelhead Butchery,
Pre-Bake Wellington, Duxelles Prep

Fortuitously enough, the steelhead showed up on a snowy Saturday morning.  Perfect timing.  With my fillet knife sharpened and Aunt Jo's puff pastry thawing in the fridge, I went to work preparing the fish for the Wellington.  It was tricky, as I had to fillet one loin off, debone the whole fish, skin it, and keep the head and tail intact.  My fish-mongering was definitely rusty, but with nothing but time on my hands, it ended up working out.  Next, I cooked off a mushroom and spinach duxelles for the stuffing between the fish and pastry.  Bloomsdale spinach, creminis, shallots, garlic, thyme and parsley finely minced and sauteed in butter.  A little cream was added in for an almost paste-like texture to adhere to the fish.  I let this cool and spread it out on a double layer of store bought filo dough.  The filo would act as a barrier to prevent the puff pastry from getting soggy while baking.  We rolled the trout up tightly, let it chill for a few hours to bind and slow the eventual cooking, and then enveloped it with the puff pastry.  Vanessa did some cross hatching to make it all fancy, and into a 425° oven.  The higher temperature would expand the pastry more quickly, adding an insulation barrier to ensure the trout wouldn't overcook before the pastry had fully browned.  Yeah Science!  

Duffy's Cut Steelhead Trout Wellington

Although those 25 minutes felt like an eternity, the result was well worth the wait.  A decadent showstopper indeed, and it tasted great.  The puff pastry was crispy, buttery, and popped with a heavy sprinkle of Maldon sea salt.  Cracklings I'd made from the steelhead skin added a nice crunch on top too.  The trout had a mild, clean yet slightly earthy flavor that was complimented well by the mushroom, garlic, and spinach.  I know many people say saltwater fish are better than freshwater, but I genuinely prefer the latter.  There's a pleasing gaminess to them that most saltwater fish don't have.  When I think of what fish tastes like, it's freshwater like trout, yellow perch, and lake whitefish that first come to mind.  The only issue with the Wellington was the worst possible offense of all - a soggy bottom.  Paul Hollywood would not have approved.  I'm not quite sure what happened.  I could have left too much moisture in the duxelles, may not have used enough filo, or the Pyrex baking dish might not have been the best medium.  I'll try out some different methods in the future. Either way, it wasn't a complete deal breaker.  Vanessa and I had lovely snowy Saturday evening dinner with a bright side salad, and then enjoyed some Great British Bake Off - Holiday Edition.  

Sliced Steelhead Trout Wellington

Overall, our seafood pastry experiments were a success.  We had some quality creations, quality educational experiences, and most importantly, some quality family time together.  However, I won't lie, as much as I love family time and the indoors, I can't wait for spring to arrive and the covid-surge to subside.  Philadelphia has so much seafood culture to offer, explore, and nerd out on - just preferably in above freezing temperatures.  And as much I knock the suburbs, there's tons of wonderful stuff to explore here too.  Please, just ease off the gastropubs and taprooms. I hope you're braving the inclement weather and pandemic with some fun culinary projects of your own.  Whatever you do, keep it crispy.  

  

Cheers,
The SF Oyster Nerd