I’ve realized over the past couple of weeks that I’m about as good at blogging as I am in the kitchen. That is to say, not very. In particular, I am not sure the best way to write about these great, interesting, and instructive recipes that I’m cooking out here in Napa. Do I just recite the recipe in a narrative form? Should I write a fictional account of preparing the dish? Or, perhaps write about the dish from the point of view of a pad of butter? (“I’m melting, I’m melting. Aaaaggh!” Sorry that was unnecessary.)
This issue has come to a head because I’ve been trying to write about this great salmon and beurre blanc recipe I made two Fridays ago, but have come up with little more than just a recitation of the steps I followed in making it, e.g. “First, I reduced a vinegar and white wine mixture. Then, I added a crap load of butter. Etc., etc., etc.” Frankly, I got a little bored just writing it and didn’t want to bore all six of you who might actually read it.
So, what’s a neophyte blogger like me to do? Although I’m already four recipes deep into the Bouchon Cookbook, I know I do not want this to be a blog that works through a famous cookbook, e.g. the (in)famous Julie/Julia Project and the very informative The French Laundry at Home. For now I want to set out my goals for each recipe that I write about: 1) to be informative, 2) to find ways to make many of these dishes doable and accessible so they don't have to be reserved for special occasions and 3) to be at least somewhat entertaining.
With that lengthy lead-in, let’s get to Atlantic Salmon with Leeks and Beurre Blanc (Bouchon Cookbook, p. 174). I think it will be helpful (for this and for future recipes) to start at the end and work backwards. What (and how good) was the end product, and how did I get there?
The final product was a piece of fresh Atlantic salmon, cooked about two-thirds of the way up the thickness of the fillet. The skin side was nicely browned, which contrasted with the cool, light, freshness of the top. The fish rested on a small portion of blanched leeks and beurre blanc.
After cooking four of Bouchon's recipes, I have realized two important cornerstones of French recipes: butter and sauces. Beurre blanc is an almost perfect unification of both. Like the previous sauces I’ve made, the beurre blanc consisted of two main elements: a concentrated base and the bulk of the sauce’s volume. The base of the Bouchon beurre blanc consisted of dry white wine, champagne vinegar, shallots, thyme, bay, parsley, and peppercorns.
A quick wine side note. I used a Buehler Vineyards Russian River Chardonnay for the sauce (see above). The recipe called for something with a little more acid, like a sauvignon blanc, but for budgetary reasons I wanted to buy a wine that I would also drink with the salmon. (The whole killing two birds with one stone thing.) So, hence the chardonnay. Just a plug for Buehler, in addition to this chardonnay they make a zinfandel and cabernet sauvignon, all of which are great values. Check one out if you see one!
Back to the beurre blanc. The "base" was brought to a boil and then reduced to a simmer for twenty minutes. The reduction should be about one tablespoon of liquid. If you are sensitive to vinegar (and probably even if you’re not) make sure to keep a window open! The vinegar smell is quite strong.
Next came all the fun stuff. First, off the heat, I added some cream, which is then reduced by half. The cream is supposed to help stabilize the emulsion in the sauce. Then, take 8 oz. of cold butter which have been cut into sixteen smaller pieces and begin adding them one at a time to the sauce over low heat. This takes some time and patience (and coordination). I had to keep whisking the sauce while adding the butter. It was one of those challenging pat yourself on the head and rub your stomach moments. I added the next piece of butter after the preceding one has almost melted. For some final seasoning, I added a couple tablespoons of chicken stock after incorporating all the butter.
The final product was a nice contrast of richness and acidity. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I’m not generally one for rich, creamy sauces. But, I must admit that I enjoyed this sauce and was already thinking about other ways in which to use it. I have a somewhat untraditional idea brewing, but that will have to wait for a future post. I kept the sauce on a very low heat while I turned my attention to the salmon.
Although I know that it’s true for every dish that better ingredients equal a better result, I think it is most true (is that possible…can something be “more true”?) when it comes to seafood. I am always very careful about where I purchase my seafood. For this recipe, I decided to check out the relatively new Napa branch of Whole Foods, which opened in the past couple years. They had some beautiful pink salmon in the case and I asked for a little less than a pound with the skin removed, which was enough for two servings. The fillet was also thick enough to sustain the graduated cooking method in the recipe.
(Skinned side up on the left)
I had never cooked a fish this way, which is similar to the “unilateral” cooking technique. It results in a piece of fish with a graduated level of doneness from the skin side (crispy, but not burned) to the top (rare, or as close to it as you prefer). To achieve this result, the fish is cooked only on one side, which means that the bottom gets crispy while the top is just warmed through. I first heard of unilateral cooking when Jen used it in the Bocus d’Or challenge in the most recent Top Chef season. Unlike some recipes I’ve seen on-line that suggest the top should be warmed through until it turns white, the Bouchon recipe calls for the salmon to remain pink and rare on top.
The salmon was seasoned with salt and white pepper on the skin side and only salt on the top (otherwise the raw salmon on top would be overpowered by the also raw pepper). After warming a very thin layer of canola oil in a stainless steel skillet, I put the fillets in skin-side down. The key here is simply to monitor the heat levels so about half the salmon gets cooked without burning the bottom. Luckily salmon is easy to read and you can watch the meat gradually turn white up the fish to your liking. I took mine out after about seven minutes, and you can see the results in the picture below. The salmon should pretty much go directly from the pan to the plate.
But, don’t forget the leeks! The leeks were the final element to hit the heat, because they just needed to be warmed up. The recipe called for only the light-green portion of the leek, cut into rounds with all the layers kept intact. Leeks retain a lot of dirt in between its layers, so I quickly swished them around in some warm water. Once they were cleaned, I blanched the leeks in a large pot of salted water. (According to Chef Keller, the water should be so salty that it “tastes like the sea.”) They were then left to rest until shortly before the salmon was ready, at which point I warmed them in a small amount of chicken stock and adjusted seasoning with salt and pepper.
Finally, the beurre blanc received some chopped tarragon, chives, and parsley before hitting the plate. I then put the salmon in the center of the plate on a small mound of leeks.
With the exception of the beurre blanc, the dish was actually pretty quick and could even be a good weeknight fish option. The relative simplicity of the salmon could also make it a good vehicle for completely different flavors, e.g. a Japanese sesame- or soy-based sauce.
My favorite part about this dish was the range of textures and flavors created by unilateral cooking. I found it more interesting than a seared tuna steak with a raw interior. I’m not quite sure why, however. There was just something intriguing about the taste and feel of the graduated textures and flavors that I found appealing. After doing some more reading about unilateral cooking, I'm not sure if I cooked this fish enough. But it tasted good, so I'm not complaining.
Finally, it is a rich dish. The fattiness of the salmon and the silky, buttery beurre blanc make it taste and feel luxurious without being a drain on the wallet. Salmon, after all, is less expensive than tuna, lobster, and many other popular seafood options. This is one of the consistent themes I’m noticing in Bouchon’s bistro recipes: a way to get the most taste and excitement out of relatively commonplace proteins like salmon or chicken. Foie gras is easy to make luxurious (of course, it’s also easy to screw up), but making a skirt steak taste expensive and deserving of a Michelin star seems more fun to eat and to make.
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