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

  

Philadelphia Hoagies & Seafood

Italian Hoagie from Pastificio Deli in South Philly

I love seafood.  Love it.  I'm coming up on 15 years of writing this blog, and I hope my passion for seafood and oysters has been aptly communicated in that time.  However, my absolute favorite meal is an Italian hoagie.  You may know it as a sub, a grinder, a wedge, just an Italian, or any number of other names.  Y'all are my heroes, but to me, it's a hoagie.  It's the thing I missed the most while living in San Francisco.  Since returning to Philadelphia, I've been making up for lost time, eating some of the best sandwiches in America.  Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of great sandwiches in the Bay Area and all over the country.  Pastrami on rye in New York, Cubanos in Miami, Po' boys in New Orleans, Italian Beefs in Chicago.  I still believe the fish sandwich is due its proper time in the national spotlight.  However, no place does sandwiches quite like the City of Brotherly Love.  I'll admit I'm biased towards many of the region's culinary creations.  But maybe there's a reason Philadelphia is consistently named the best sandwich city in the States.  And maybe there's a reason the hoagie, not the cheesesteak, is the Official Sandwich of Philadelphia.  And maybe, just maybe, that's because the Philadelphia Italian hoagie is the best sandwich in the country.  Yep, shots fired.  Come at me.

With such a bold claim, it's only appropriate for a little more detail.  Surely you've come across the classic Americanized Italian sandwich in one form or another.  Deli meats like ham, prosciutto, capicola, and salami piled on bread, most often a torpedo or sub roll, paired with cheese, lettuce, tomato, and onion.  It's typically dressed with some sort of condiment.  Oil and vinegar, pepper relish, Italian dressing, and for the blasphemers, mustard or mayo.  They're made all over the world.  Subway is the largest fast food chain on the planet with over 37,000 stores in 100 countries, serving its Spicy Italian or Italian BMT in most locations.  Unfortunately, Subway's v-cut quality days of the '90s are long gone, and now it's so shit even Steph Curry couldn't save it.  But respect for spreading sub familiarity far and wide.

Subway's "Hotshot Italiano"
Not sure if it is, but sounds kind of racist

Identifying the point of origin for the Italian-American sandwich is a fool's errand.  Countless regions across every state in the Northeast have their claimants, and they're possibly all right.  Placing meat on bread with fixins isn't exactly rocket surgery.  It's likely a few of them did this autonomously with some Old World culinary reference.  Philadelphia and the surrounding counties have their own competing candidates in DiCoztanza's, Emil's, and others.  What's largely agreed upon is that industrialization and urbanization of the late 19th and early 20th century shifted the way people in the US ate.  For decades prior, the US workforce was primarily agrarian.  Farmers grew a lot of their own food and could pause for meals throughout the day.  However, as the workforce shifted to manufacturing, laborers needed to purchase their food and often entire meals.  At the same time, Italian immigrants began opening Italian grocers in cities all across the Eastern Seaboard.  These markets sold bread, cheese, and antipasto.  With these naturally paired items on hand and busy laborers demanding economical meals on the go, it's no wonder the Italian sandwich gradually, perhaps even independently, rose to prominence in nearly every city in the Eastern US. 

A History of Philadelphia Sandwiches

Beyond being the best, the only real difference between the Philadelphia hoagie and other regional iterations is titular.  There are slight ingredient and execution differences between the sub, zep, spuckie, grinder, hero, etc., even hoagie to hoagie.  However, none are more notable than the name variations themselves.  While the etymology of "submarine sandwich," as it's most commonly known nationally, is relatively straightforward (emphasis on the relatively), the origins of the term "hoagie" are a bit more hazy.  No single resource I've found breaks this down better than Mike Madaio's A History of Philadelphia Sandwiches.  The majority of the following came directly from his chapter on hoagies, and I highly recommend purchasing the book to read in its entirety.    

There are a number of theories around the hoagie, many of which don't hold much weight when scrutinized.  However, two things seem certain.  One, the word is not as old as we'd like to believe.  It doesn't appear in text until 1946, and even then it's sporadic until the '50s.  Two, it's derived from the word "hoggie," "hoggy," or "hogie," as written references to the sandwich with these names began in 1940.  These simple points actually rule out a number of mainstream theories.

Philadelphia Hoagie Guide by Hawk Krall

1. It's named after the famous musician and actor Hoagy Carmichael.  The homophonic relationship is undeniable.  However, Carmichael's celebrity wasn't truly at its peak until the late '40s and early '50s, making the connection unlikely.  More evidential, we know hoagie stems from hoggie, and Hoagy's got nothing to do with hoggies.  
   
   
2. It comes from early 20th century street vendors called hokey pokey men.  At the start of the 20th century, street vendors known as hokey pokey men were regular fixtures in Western cities including London, Liverpool, New York and, of course, Philadelphia.  Some claim these vendors sold Italian sandwiches, which became knowns as hokeys and eventually hoagies.  However, records show hokey pokey men were almost exclusively known for selling ice cream, no more, no less.  And again, hoagie came from hoggie, making the connection even less plausible.    
   
   
3. It stems from a phrase meaning poverty-stricken - "one the hoke."  Philadelphia grocers, particularly during the Great Depression, would hand out leftover bread, meat scraps, and veggies to locals down on their luck.  Being in dire financial straits was colloquially known as being "on the hoke."  The resulting sandwich became known as a hokie and eventually a hoagie.  I like this one, especially due to its impetus from kindness and parallels to the po'boy.  However, yet again, there is no written record of the sandwich being called a hokie, and "on the hoke" certainly didn't lead to hoggie.
   
   
4. It's named after shipyard laborers or their meals at Hog Island.  Probably the most popular theory.  In 1917, the U.S. Government contracted a shipyard at Hog Island (the modern PHI airport) as part of the WWI effort.  It was the largest shipyard in the world at the time, employing thousands.  Either the laborers themselves or the sandwiches they ate became known as hoggies, eventually leading to hoagies.  Finally, a theory with hoggie to hoagie.  However, the Hog Island shipyard was shuttered in 1921, and we don't see hoggie in writing until 1940.  It's possible it stemmed from here, but unlikely given the time gap.  That would be like us not having written record of McGriddles until 2023.  

Unfortunately, the most plausible story is far from the most enchanting.  In the late '20s, jazz musician Al De Palma saw people eating large Italian sandwiches around Philadelphia.  Stunned by the size and heft of the sandwiches, he thought "man, you'd need to be a hog to eat one of those."  A decade later in the midst of the Great Depression and unable to find work as a musician, De Palma opened a sandwich shop.  Italian sandwiches were already common place by then.  The rise of the supermarket forced many local grocers to shift, and sandwich making was an accessible, low-cost startup.  We still see the legacy of this shift today with the ubiquity of corner hoagie shops all over the region.  De Palma of course sold Italian sandwiches; however, he decided to label his as hoggies.  Within a few years, his sandwiches were the talk of the town.  Hoggie worked its way into the Philadelphia lexicon, becoming the standard designation for Italian sandwiches, and De Palma became the self-proclaimed King of Hoggies.  And if you're at all familiar with the Philadelphia accent, it's no shock that the hoggie quickly became the hoagie we enjoy today. 

 

Al De Palma and his hoggie assembly line - Philadelphia Inquirer

So, why is the once-hoggie-now-hoagie better than any other regional Italian sandwich?  There's no secret sauce, ingredient, or technique to a Philadelphia hoagie.  The components are much the same as any other.  In reality, it's a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy.  Upon moving here a few decades ago, now-celebrated Philadelphia food critic Craig LaBan lamented that there was no great pizza.  He soon realized it wasn't from a lack of talent or resources, but rather that everyone was focused on making great sandwiches.  Philadelphians are fanatics about their sandwiches, and local purveyors respond in kind with the best ingredients, craft, and understanding of tradition.  With such a foundation, it's not hard to produce the best sandwich in the country.

Niland's Seafood Muffuletta

Hoagie history and veneration is fun, but making an Italian hoagie with seafood was the true goal of this post.  "Seafood hoagies" exist, such as the Little Fish's floagie or Honeysuckle Provisions' Friday fish hoagie.  Po'boys are arguably seafood hoagies.  But I wanted to go full ham, literally, using all seafood charcuterie.  Cured or preserved fish served in sandwich format is nothing new.  Lox, pickled herring, smoked trout, whitefish salad, and canned tuna are longstanding sandwich staples.  Nobody would classify those as deli meats, though.  Japanese items like surimi and kamoboko come closer in style and texture, but are rarely seen utilized in sandwich format.  However, over the last few years, the preserved seafood landscape has dipped into classic sliced meats.  Swordfish bacon, salmon pastrami, lobster lunch meat.  Josh Niland, notable Australian chef of "#FishAsMeat" fame, even makes a muffuletta consisting of albacore tuna 'nduja, ocean trout salami, and kingfish mortadella.  Dude's already a legend in my mind, but this struck a new chord.  With plenty of fishpiration, I set off on my seafood hoagie adventure.  Wooooo!  Gonna make some aquatic cold cuts!

A point of contention in the Philadelphia area is exactly what meats make up the proper Italian hoagie.  There's a wide array of Italian and Italian-American cold cuts, all of which have likely made their way onto a hoagie at some point.  The one thing that seems to be loosely agreed upon is that an Italian hoagie requires three different meats.  Within those meats, I believe the best results are achieved with a complimentary diversity.  There is some crossover and interchangeability here, but a good guide is:

• A classic cooked and / or cured meat like Italian ham, capicola / coppa / gabagool, or prosciutto cotto.  This comprises the bulk of the sandwich, adding heft and meatiness.  It should be in a 2 to 1 to 1 ratio with the other cuts.
• A fermented and / or supplemental cured meat, such as genoa salami, pepperoni, soppressata, speck, or prosciutto di parma.  This contributes tooth and texture, as well as additional flavor in tang and spice.
• An emulsified or fatty meat, like mortadella, bologna, cotechino, even 'nduja or lardo.  This brings a richness and body to the sandwich, as well as an extra layer of savory depth.   

Great.  I understood the assignment.  Time to make the oceanic equivalents.

 
Spicy Tuna Ham

Tuna Loin ready for Smoker (L) 
Brine Mixture (R) 

I like spicy, and love a hoagie with hot capicola or peppered ham. I wanted the base of my seafood hoagie to bring the heft and heat, so I decided on brined, heavily spiced, cold smoked tuna.  Hot smoking a fish cooks it, giving it that flaky texture like smoked salmon or trout dips.  Cold smoking a fish, however, preserves it while maintaining the raw texture, like lox or gravlax.  A spicy, Niland style cold smoked tuna loin would be quite similar in taste and texture to an Italian ham.  I started by brining a two pound yellowfin tuna loin in a concentrated mix of kosher salt, brown sugar, red pepper flakes, coriander, paprika, black peppercorns and pink salt #1.  After twelve hours, I removed the loin, rinsed, patted dry, and covered it in more red pepper, black pepper, and paprika.  Lastly, I tied it off and placed it back in the fridge for twelve hours of drying and pellicle development.

We've got a decent amount of culinary oddities in our household, or unitaskers as they're commonly known.  Pasta machine, sausage grinder, vacuum sealer, food dehydrator, seltzer carbonator, even a deli slicer, as you'll see shortly.  However, we have yet to buy a smoker.  Since I couldn't justify the $500+ price tag for this project, plus the $130+ cold smoker adapter, I ended up MacGyvering one.  Repurposing two cardboard boxes, a wooden dowel, a hot plate, a handheld mini fan, and some flexible duct piping, I made my very own, fully functional cold smoker.  I'm far from cheap, but all in, this maybe cost me $30.  Not bad compared to the price of a commercial smoker.  Funnily enough, I also think it's the only time I've ever used duct tape on actual duct work.
   

Homemade Cold Smoker

I smoked the tuna loin for a little over four hours with a mixture of smoke chip samples on hand that I'd been wanting to use for ages.  Cherry, oak, apple, and hickory.  It needed pretty minimal maintenance, only refreshing the wood chips every hour or so.  Once finished, I set it aside to wait patiently for its cold cut partners.  The family wasn't too thrilled with the smokey scented fridge it created, but hoagie greatness requires sacrifice, right?

Octopus Salami

I get it.  We all know they're smart, especially if you've seen My Octopus Teacher.  I hope someone is reading this and condemning my use of octopus.  And while sitting on this perceived moral high ground, maybe they're sipping a Starbucks frappuccino made from child labor coffee beans.  Perhaps they're enjoying some avocado toast that's literally decimating entire water supplies in Chile.  Even better, they're reading this on an iPhone.  Many of our personal choices can have regrettable implications around the world, often without our realizing.

When it comes to food, I don't value one life more than the other based our contemporary understanding of what constitutes intelligence.  Recent research has shown trees and fungi communicate with each other.  All life is precious and deserving of our respect, regardless of how cute or smart we think it is.  At the same time, some life must end to nourish others.  For me, the importance is in the sustainable production and humane treatment of our food.  This goes from peas to pork and everything in between (the latter is also supposedly quite clever).  As long as the octopus was responsibly and ethically harvested, it's kosher in my book.   And it's ok if we disagree.  Don't eat my octopus salami, enjoy your iPhone, and we can still be friends. 

Beginnings of Octopus Salami

I didn't have the time or equipment to make actual cured and fermented octopus salami.  However, cooked octopus texture on its own would provide a nice contrasting bite, similar to a salami, and I knew I could achieve the salami flavor with the same seasonings.  A classic octopus carpaccio technique would work great.  I poached a whole Atlantic octopus in red wine, garlic, onions, paprika, peppercorns and fennel seeds for two hours.  Once fully cooked, I pulled the octopus to chill and broke it down.  The goal was to compress the octopus together in a ham press, forming a sliceable roll.  I also reduced the poaching liquid to a cup, allowed it to cool, and mixed in some gelatin.  Adding the concentrated stock to the salami would add flavor, and the gelatin would aid in keeping it all together.  I layered it all into the press, adding plenty of fennel seeds and black peppercorns intermittently to replicate that Genoa style.  Finally, into the fridge it went to set overnight. 

Steelhead Mortadella    

Steelhead Mortadella Ingredients

Last up was the rich and fatty component.  Habitual James Beard nominee Beau Schooler out of Juneau makes some pretty cool shit with local, seasonal salmon.  Salmon wings, shiny smoked salmon, salmon pepperoni, kelp cured salmon roe, compressed melon lox. Given the abundance of Alaskan seafood he uses with a focus on Italian technique, I figured he might provide some inspiration.  Sure enough, his salmon and scallop mortadella was the perfect fit for my hoagie.

Unfortunately, it was the middle of winter, when no Pacific wild-caught salmon is available fresh.  I could have gone for frozen sockeye, but I needed something a little fattier.  I'm also not a fan of most Atlantic farmed salmon, for a variety of reasons.  Then I remembered one of my previous winter projects where I used a locally farmed steelhead trout for a Fish Wellington.  It had a decent amount of fat and would work great for my mortadella.  Mixing in a few sea scallops would add to the richness as well.

Any mortadella starts with emulsifying meat, almost into a paste, with seasonings and binders.  While certainly not the most appetizing to prepare, many commonplace foods we love are emulsified meats.  Hot dogs, gyros, pepperoni, scrapple and pork roll for my Mid-Atlantic homies, and even chicken nuggets.  Contrary to the idiom, the world would be a better place if we all understood how the proverbial sausage was made.  Just think of that iPhone.  Anyway, I thoroughly blended the steelhead and a few sea scallops with salt, sugar, black pepper, coriander, garlic powder and egg whites.  Once a smooth forcemeat texture, I piped it all into a cook bag for steaming.  I also layered in whole pistachios and a few whole sea scallops to replicate that classic mortadella with fatback.  All bagged up, into the ham press and simmering water it went to steam to an internal temperature of 135°.  After about thirty minutes, it was fully cooked and ready for the fridge to chill and set. 

The SF Oyster Nerd Seafood Hoagie

The next day all three nautical deli meats were ready to go. They came out exactly as I'd hoped, especially when shaved on the deli slicer.  The tuna ham was smokey, spicy, and a perfect meaty cold cut texture.  The octopus salami was toothsome, savory, and had sharp, fragrant notes of fennel seed and black peppercorn, just like Genoa salami.  And the steelhead mortadella was rich, unctuous, and garlic forward with a slight scallopy sweetness.  Time for hoagie assembly.    

A great hoagie starts with great bread.  Which bread is best is another local point of contention, but "it's all about the bread" is commonly heard when talking about Philadelphia sandwiches.  Madaio's book has an entire chapter dedicated to just bread.  For my sandwich, I'd wanted to get a famous Sarcone's Bakery hoagie roll, but the 2 hour round trip for a loaf was a tough sell to the wife.  Liscio's Bakery seeded pan blind loaf has become a regional standard, with award winning Primo Hoagies even using them.  They're readily available at several retail stores in the area, and I prefer sesame seeded hoagie rolls.  They add pleasant toasted nuttiness. 

Seafood Hoagie Assembly

In terms of fixins and condiments, the world is your hoagie, except for mustard and mayo.  I believe you'd get your ass kicked asking for that.  The usual suspects are lettuce, tomato, and onion.  The lettuce is always finely shredded, and has affectionately become known as "shredduce" by some.  Careful, though.  Say shredduce in some parts of Philly and you'd get your ass kicked again.  The tomato should be sliced translucently thin and lightly salted to extract some moisture and flavor.  The onions must be sliced paper thin as well, and should be briefly marinated in oil, vinegar, and Italian seasoning.  This removes some of the piquant raw onion flavor that can overwhelm a hoagie.  Some form of pickled or roasted pepper often turns the topping trio into a quartet.  I always go for pepperoncinis as they've got a slight acidic heat, but not enough to blow out the whole hoagie.  For cheese, provolone is most common, but you know how it goes with cheese and seafood in Italian cuisine.  I'd considered shaving some bottarga on as a seafood surrogate for the cheese, but didn't get any in time.  Finally, the whole hoagie gets a liberal dousing of oil and vinegar, and hefty shake of Italian herbs and spices.

The SF Oyster Nerd Seafood Hoagie, Philly Style

The end result, absolute seafood hoagie bliss.  No joke, it actually worked.  I wish my home deli slicer could have gone thinner on the cuts, but beyond that, it was incredible.  I was seriously blown away.  Like most of you, I too was skeptical at the start of this project.  My culinary compadre, who's usually on board with most of my whacky ideas, called me "sick in the head" when I bounced this one off him.  But I knew I could make the parts well, and this surprisingly ended up as a genuine "the sum is greater than the parts" situation.  A slightly crunchy, toasty roll into savory layers of smokey tuna, rich mortadella, and briny octopus, all cut by bright, tart, and heavily seasoned fixins.  I even brought half to my die-hard-all-things-Philly neighbor to try and he was equally blown away.  I'm considering that proof of concept.  Watch out, Greater Philadelphia Area.  The SF Oyster Nerd Seafood Hoagie just might be coming to a pop-up near you.

Cheers,

The SF Oyster Nerd