Dressed Tuna Fish (tuna fish salad)

jars of tuna fish in olive oil
the right stuff

I’m always interested to learn what others do to make what they think of as tuna fish salad. Not interested enough ever to ask – I mean, if I think my preferences are not so much my business, but, simply, my preferences and unaccountable to anyone, everyone else is entitled to the same magnanimity; and there’s too much risk opening the conversation by asking, because too many people think it’s an invitation to friendly debate, and I’m not interested; it’s kind of like explaining your fierce loyalty, if you have it, to the local sports franchise, and choose your own sport, it’s all of equal indifference to me… when you start talking you have to realize, with even a gram (one twenty-third part of an ounce) of self-awareness, that there is no scientifically provable reason to root for the Pats or the Sox or the Sixers or the Hornets or the Wasps or the Bees – but when the information about tuna fish comes up spontaneously, I pay attention).

I’ve come to prefer to call it dressed tuna fish. I think tuna fish is the main attraction, and whatever is added surely should be there for its own alluring and tasty properties to be savored in their own right for sure, but added to provide a mutual enhancement, kind of like a chamber music piece with the tuna primus inter pares. I mean, most people wouldn’t, under ordinary quotidian circumstances at any random time of year, cut themselves a healthy slice of fresh onion (whatever kind of the usual suspects: white, yellow, red, etc.) and dine on it as a snack. I’ve been known to, but usually it’s around this time of year when the inestimable Vidalia (the AOC kind, not those anonymous “sweet onion” varieties available almost year-round at WFM (say) appears in the produce section in abundance) appears in the produce department.

To me, onion is the first thing to think of adding. I’ll get to the few other additions in a minute. But back to the star ingredient.

As I see it, usually the darker the meat, the tastier the tuna, and so, like the Europeans, but especially the French, the Italians, the Portuguese, and the Spanish (you can admonish me if I’m leaving somebody out, but there’s a limit to what’s available to me – and serves as context – to buy with regard to sourcing of the tinned and jarred varieties), I think the best tuna to use, if you’re not starting out fresh (to utterly different objectives) are the cuts of this noble fish usually abstracted from the Bonito, which is not strictly a tuna fish, but very close, and otherwise known, especially to Americans, as the Skipjack. The designation as to species sometimes reduces, depending on what country you’re in, to a matter of legalities and labels. But though it’s the same family as tuna, as I say, it’s a different species. However, the important thing is, seeing bonito on the label is assurance you are getting a darker, i.e., a gamier and somewhat tastier, usually, bit of fish flesh.

The best packing is olive oil. And it needn’t even be EVOO, though it’s out there in the form of more luxe products, with concomitant prices to match. But olive oil, with or without salt, and the fish of course, should be all the ingredients you see listed. Before I learned about the more premium brands, and alternatively, the more abundant equivalent, though ordinary supermarket, brands over in France, I used to buy tuna that was Pastene or Goya branded, i.e., in the “international food” section of what are otherwise white bread groceries in this country. Even the biggest chains today sequester a much smaller selection of much tastier foreign (and nothing says exotic, which it isn’t and shouldn’t be, like “foreign,” or “imported” or, yeah, “international,” which is a euphemism for “them” and “other” and always has been, and I don’t care what you say). And they congratulate themselves for doing so.

And the reason I bought it was because this was the authentic – or as close to that quality as one can find in urban centers, especially outside of New York and Los Angeles, and certain ethnic neighborhoods, if they exist, in other American cities – choice of tuna to crown the only thing I would eat that genuinely joins the words salad to tuna. I mean, of course, salade Niçoise, that amazing, and amazingly simple, and straightforward concoction that is a staple of my Mediterranean summers, when I am over there. It entails what you’d expect in a salad – fresh vegetables – and is garnished with three absolute essentials, the only natural food items that have anything done to them aside from being cleaned of surface deposits, with nothing stronger than fresh water: anchovies, small black olives (there are two or three optimal varieties, any one of which can be, and is, called Niçois), not pitted, and fillets of anchovy. But the crown, as I say, is a significant mound of tinned (or canned, if you prefer not to be British, or the jarred, which are usually the premium brands) tuna. And it’s usually dark meat, and it’s usually glistening with oil and nothing else, the oil it was packed in.

But back to my main subject: dressed tuna fish.

I like to use either of two brands, both caught and packed in Portugal (Ortiz brand) or Costa Rica (Tonnino brand), and usually to be found in one of three varieties of the fish species we all, let’s face it, basically crave periodically for inner peace: yellowfin, bonito, and albacore, or name your species. And unpredictably it’s available in greater or lesser abundance in either of two cuts. There’s the one that’s called “white” or “white meat,” and usually sources from the albacore, as well as from the bonito. And from the latter, also, the meat may have a much ruddier hue naturally, and there’s the one that’s called “ventresca,” which is what Sicilians call the Italian word for the belly of the fish, the “ventre.” And this latter cut is meatier, juicier, fatter, and hence more flavorful. And it’s also costing a prettier penny.

In any event, from those two brands, and from, admittedly, a good number of others, but these are the ones I see in my local stores, but there’s, for one, Genova Seafood, an Italian brand, and eminently typical of what can be found in even the most pedestrian of super markets in rural France (let’s say). These brands are a bargain, actually, as the same fish and the same cuts are packed in the same olive oil, and tinned usually in somewhat smaller packs (doubtless to keep the prices from seeming exorbitant). And you couldn’t go wrong with this category either.

I open the tin, but, purely as a matter of purely personal subjective preference, I prefer the glass-jarred products (maybe it’s that I can see what’s “swimming” in there; maybe it’s the somewhat false perception that glass is more readily sterilizable and clean than sheet metal, usually steel – I say all this, and then I’ll admit, when I’m in Provence, I do as the Provençals do, and I buy my thon [tuna, tonno, whatever] in a can). I upend the container with the fish and the oil into a strainer bigger than the opening of the jar and let the oil drain out into a fat and oil receptacle I keep nearby to keep the oil out of the household trash.

When it’s fully drained, I empty the chunks, and they are usually large whole bits, intact, of even larger cuts of fillet, into a non-reactive bowl, usually stainless steel, and I gently break it up for a minute or so with a cooking fork, of the skinny three pronged variety. I then rinse the skin and towel dry a whole fresh lemon. I cut it into halves across the middle (that is, a latitudinal cut through the middle, rather than a longitudinal cut from stem end to south pole) and I use a juice squeezer to squeeze out of every drop of juice, and withhold every pip or seed, on top of the tuna.

I add the following (and these are approximate measures; as with so many dishes of casual, but still very vital and compelling, intimacy in my usual diet, I do it by eye and by hand… true enough, but if I told you “a scant handful,” it would mean very little, because you have no idea the size of my paw):

3-4 Tbsp of walnut halves, roughly chopped
3-4 Tbsp of your favorite fresh onion (Vidalia if you got, but this makes the result particularly mild), finely diced
1-2 Tbsp of poppy seeds (make sure they’re still fresh)
¼ – ½ tsp of celery seed

That’s it.

Now gently break up the tuna and blend with the other ingredients, until the tuna is in large shreds (at their smallest) and has blended evenly with everything else, and the tuna has absorbed the lemon juice, and so that all the ingredients mildly adhere to one another, so they would make a mound in a tablespoon without crumbling.

I like my dressed tuna in a sandwich of really good crusty bread – but it works in a ciabatta roll, or on strips of the same bread you prefer otherwise for a nice croustade or avocado toast. Really, it’s good on any decent bread you’ve got left before you can justify venturing out (literally, or virtually online) to get your hands on some more bread – unless of course, you’ve taken up baking your own. I will admit to liking mayonnaise, in incredibly moderate amounts. However, I’m not crazy for the iconic American diner version of tuna fish salad, in which the fish, and whatever else is added, which you can’t usually discern identifiably, is drowned in a sea of mayonnaise, so it’s more an unctuous tuna spread, and far removed from being “tuna salad,” never mind my more dainty designation of dressed tuna fish.

So I may (and I may not, though I usually do) put a thin layer of mayo, spread on at least one slice of the sandwich, as long as the mayo is really good and still fresh.

My thinking is, simply, in terms of culinary philosophy, the star and main attraction of this dish, if it’s to be glorified by even this clinical designation is… (the further I get in writing this, the more “dressed tuna fish” sounds not just kind of dainty and hoity-toity; it’s not honestly, this is just the way I like it)… the tuna. The other ingredients? Not just there for the ride, but as enhancements and amplifiers of the pleasure of eating this delicious fish. They are not there just to season it in a somehow organically complementary way, but to help glorify it a bit further.

I’ve made this version of this indubitable comfort food staple for at least 25 years now. I try variants, mainly by way of adding other ingredients, and sometimes by way of adding tinned (or jarred) tuna prepared in something other than olive oil. But I always come back to this basic recipe.

It’s tuna, and it’s the other ingredients working together, to their mutual esteem as a dish. And maybe to solemnize it, to the degree it really does deserve, as does all good food, however seemingly humble, to be thought of and consumed as having a sacramental quality, along with being pleasurable and nutritious and life affirming.

Dressed Tuna Fish (tuna fish salad)

Course: Quick Lunch
Cuisine: American
Keyword: lemon juice, onion, poppy seed, tuna
Prep Time: 30 minutes
Cook Time: 0 minutes
Servings: 4
Calories: 59 kcal

My favorite

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Ingredients

  • 1 jar bonito tuna in olive oil Ortiz, or Tonnino, or Genova brand (or other variety of fish: albacore, etc.)
  • 1 lemon halved and pitted and juiced
  • 3-4 tbsp walnut halves chopped
  • 3-4 tbsp onion finely diced; white, yellow or red, or Vidalia
  • 1-2 tsp poppy seeds
  • 1/4-1/2 tsp celery seed
Nutrition Facts
Dressed Tuna Fish (tuna fish salad)
Amount Per Serving
Calories 59 Calories from Fat 45
% Daily Value*
Fat 5g8%
Saturated Fat 1g5%
Cholesterol 1mg0%
Sodium 2mg0%
Potassium 44mg1%
Carbohydrates 3g1%
Fiber 1g4%
Sugar 1g1%
Protein 1g2%
Vitamin C 3mg4%
Calcium 18mg2%
Iron 1mg6%
* Percent Daily Values are based on a 2000 calorie diet.

“Accra” – Beignets de brandade de morue (saltcod fritters)

fritters made from salt cod
“Accra” or beignets de brandade de morue

"Accra"

Course: Appetizer, Starter
Cuisine: Caribbean | Provençal
Prep Time: 1 hour
Cook Time: 20 minutes
Total Time: 1 hour 20 minutes
Servings: 6
Calories: 368 kcal
Author: Howard Dinin

A meeting of two related recipes.: the "accra" or saltfish fritters of the Caribbean, (often identified with Trinidad and Jamaica, though variants from each are very different) and the beignets de brandade de morue, which are fritters from Niçoise cookery, made with the core recipe for the saltcod fish mousse that is one of the masterpieces of Provençal/Cote d'Azur cuisine

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Ingredients

  • 150 grams all-purpose flour scant cup
  • 270 grams boneless saltcod about 9 oz. by weight
  • 2 medium Yukon Gold potatoes probably two, skinned and quartered
  • 30 mL olive oil about 2 Tbsp
  • 9 grams white peppercorns fresh ground; about 2 tsp
  • 9 grams smoked hot paprika about 2 tsp
  • 1 large egg beaten
  • 250 cc water about a cup; to trickle into the batter
  • 9 grams baking powder about 2 tsp
  • 1 small onion peeled and minced
  • 3 cloves of garlic crushed in a press

For cooking

  • 250-375 cc cooking oil, high smoke point use sunflower, grapeseed, canola, or peanut oil, or any combination of these; approximately 1 – 1½ cups

Instructions

Prepare the boneless saltcod; store unused portion

  1. Most saltcod, especially of the boneless variety, seems to come from Canada. I used what turned out to be a fine product that was sold in one pound poly bags at the local super market in the refrigerator case.

  2. Follow the directions on the packaging. They will likely be along the same lines whoever the packer or supplier is.

  3. Essentially, soak a pound of saltcod, boneless, in 6 cups of cold water and store the bowl in the refrigerator between changes of the liquid. Change the water three times in the course of 24 hours. Drain well, and use as directed in the recipe. Any unused portion of fish can be stored in a clean poly storage bag in the fridge for two or three days.

  4. I don't know if the restored (desalinated and rehydrated) fish can be frozen, but I also know of no reason not. I'd suggest a sealable freezer grade poly storage bag, squeezed free of air and stored in the freezer for up to six months. Defrost in the refrigerator over 24 hours.

Prepare ingredients for the batter

  1. After de-salting the cod and draining it well, weigh out 270 grams. Shred roughly in a food processor by pulsing it. Set aside.

  2. Peel and quarter the potatoes. Bring a quart of water to a boil and add two teaspoons of coarse kosher salt. Drop in the potato quarters and boil until tender (only to the point where a carving fork tine enters with little resistance).

  3. Drain the potatoes immediately and set aside in a bowl large enough to mash. Using a tool designed to mash softened vegetables, or a large kitchen fork, mash the potatoes coarsely and set aside.

  4. Skin the onion. Slice it, and mince fine. Set aside.

  5. Peel the garlic cloves and trim of stem ends. Set aside, ready to be crushed in a press at the time you add the garlic to the batter (see instructions further along).

  6. Beat the egg well until white and yolk are uniformly combined.

  7. Complete your mise en place by preparing the peppercorns, flour, baking powder, olive oil, and water in proper containers, ready for adding, as you would with any recipe.

Preparing the Batter

  1. In 2 quart non-reactive bowl (stainless steel or glass), combine the dry ingredients.

  2. Add the wet ingredients in any order, mixing each in well with a cooking spoon or silicon rubber spatula. When they have all been added, make sure they are combined well.

  3. At this point, you may allow the batter, which will be fairly stiff, to sit for about a half hour, at which point you will add the fish and potatoes. Or you can add first the fish and then the mashed potatoes at once. If you add them after the batter has rested (and risen somewhat), they will be easier to combine prior to adding the water.

  4. After adding the fish and potatoes, combine as well as possible to a state of uniformity. The batter is now ready to add the water.

  5. Add the water in a trickle, or in small amounts (two or three tablespoons worth at a time) and keep mixing with the fork or spatula. Keep adding water until the batter is sufficiently liquid to hold its shape but to drop off a spoon easily.

    It should be more fluid than dough, and more viscous than batter. It will drop off a spoon, but will not pour.

Frying the beignets

  1. In a seasoned cast-iron skillet (or similar heavy-walled, heat-retaining material) nine or ten inches in diameter, add the cooking oil to a depth of at least an inch. Heat over medium-high burner until the oil reaches a temperature of 360°F on a candy thermometer or an IR-reading digital thermometer.

  2. While the oil reaches cooking temperature, prepare an absorbent landing pad for the beignets in a safe location near the range using paper towels folded two or three layers thick.

  3. For each beignet, load a tablespoon with a heaping scoop of batter, and drop into the oil near the surface. There should be room in a skillet of the indicated size to fit five beignets comfortably. Assuming the oil is sufficiently hot to begin with, the batter will not stick to the surfaces of the skillet. With a heat-proof cooking spoon, make sure the beignets are able to move freely in the hot oil.

  4. After two or three minutes of frying, turn over a couple of the beignets in turn to see how well browned they are. When a beignet has turned a rich golden brown, turn the beignet over to cook on the other side.

  5. When the beignets have cooked uniformly to the same doneness, remove them one by one and deposit on the absorbent paper towels.

  6. You may keep the beignets warm and crispy by placing in a single layer on an oven proof pan or sheet and keeping in a 200° oven until ready to serve.

  7. This recipe should make from 24 to 32 beignets depending on the portion you used to fry the batter. Sufficient as appetizers for six people.

Serving the beignets

  1. These are excellent with a dipping sauce, or perhaps a choice of sauces. Accra are traditionally served with what is called in the Caribbean a "sauce chien" (dog sauce) which is sweet and savory at once, with some spicy kick.

  2. I prefer these with an "aigre-doux" (sweet and sour) spicy sauce that is much simpler as served in my favorite restaurant in Nice, France, where I first learned about "accra." This recipe provides for a reasonable substitute for the dish that's served at Le Safari year-round. Though these are somewhat more moist, and with not quite as crunchy a crust. I infer they fry theirs in a fryolator, which keeps the oil hotter when the batter is added.

  3. I will post a recipe for a sweet-sour spicy dipping sauce in the next few days.

  4. It may not be to everyone's taste, but I also like these beignets dipped, potato latke style, in sour cream or crème fraîche, chilled in the refrigerator.

Storing leftovers

  1. These will keep, though they'll lose some crispness overnight in the refrigerator, if allowed to cool on the countertop and then stored in the fridge in a sealable poly storage bag with excess air expelled. A freezer bag will allow freezing for a longer storage period.

  2. You can refresh the refrigerated leftovers to a reasonable degree of restored crispness if you reheat them in a pre-heated oven or toaster oven at 350°F for six or seven minutes on a sheet of parchment paper in a baking sheet or tray.

    If you have frozen the beignets, I suggest reheating them in a pre-heated oven or toaster oven on parchment paper on a baking tray or sheet. Set the oven at 400°F and heat for 13-14 minutes.

    Do not allow the reheated beignets to brown any further in the oven

Nutrition Facts
"Accra"
Amount Per Serving
Calories 368 Calories from Fat 135
% Daily Value*
Fat 15g23%
Saturated Fat 2g10%
Cholesterol 99mg33%
Sodium 3179mg132%
Potassium 903mg26%
Carbohydrates 23g8%
Fiber 1g4%
Protein 32g64%
Vitamin A 845IU17%
Vitamin C 3.2mg4%
Calcium 158mg16%
Iron 3.1mg17%
* Percent Daily Values are based on a 2000 calorie diet.

Desert Island Seafood Stew

Click here and jump to the recipe if you're in that much of a hurry

Not to overwork the usual tired conceit employed by all imagination-starved editors and writers doomed to fill that day’s quota of prose for an impending edition—I don’t, after all, have any real deadlines but the self-imposed kind—but this particular “assignment” has a particular pertinence. My favorite sort of food, the sort I would want to relinquish last in one of those reflexive, and frankly silly if you ask me, thought experiments when forced to admit it, is seafood. I would eschew all avian and mammalian flesh, but please, give me fish any day.

If ever in the unlikely event I were stranded on a desert island, with nought but a pot and decent four-burner range, not to mention a small vegetable plot to supply the ancillary ingredients, and finally some fortuitously provisioned selected alcoholic decoctions, I could go a long way dining on a dish that has a certain universalized ubiquity. I am not a sufficiently well-versed, never mind properly schooled, culinarian as to know the full extent of the global variants, but I’d daresay that nearly every culture advanced enough to have what can accurately be termed a cuisine in any venue that has an oceanic border could be relied upon, without too much scholarly effort, to reveal at least one signature dish, consisting of a soup or broth festooned chiefly with fish of either or both the finny and shelled species, and variously accompanied by a generous, if not only merely a token, array of vegetal tidbits.

One of my favorite parts of the world is in France, and more specifically the southern bit known univerally as Provence—likely among the top ten destinations for a sojourn of whatever length. Not the least among the reasons for my druthers in those climes is the native cuisine. It’s at the basis for the now famous, though by now more establishmentarian than trendy, Mediterranean diet.

This particular stew, which I have termed a “marmite de la mer” naming it, as are so many dishes that are eponymously designated after the cooking utensil in which they are prepared, like the gratin and the paella. These are among a slew of other favorites of mine, which slot easily into this highly digestible, incredibly healthy regimen named after that sea that constitutes the oceanic basin that sits at the heart of the intercontinental ring of enchanted lands (each with its own distinctive and delicious cuisine) ranging from Morocco, and along the northern coast of Africa, to the bits of Asia that reach eastward with a kind of longing for the sea. How many of us regularly stop to consider that Israel, Lebanon, Syria, and Turkey are as steeped in brine as any New England state (but Vermont, the land-locked one; don’t ever accept an offer for a “genuine” seafood stew while basking in the beauty of the Green Mountains)? And then following around the eastern rim of the Mediterranean sea to encompass the glory of possibly innumerable modifications of the humble fisherman’s meal at the heart of this recipe of mine, and so many others—and who, after all, would want to choose a “best,” that other imagination-starved conceit of failing editorial sensibilities. Not from Greece, or Italy, never mind France and Spain, and yes, I’ve skipped a host of countries with their own versions of seafood delights, because technically they are on the Adriatic.

This stew of mine is reminiscent, as it says in the notes that follow this recipe, of Italian, more specifically, Ligurian, and French riviera antecedents, with a touch of San Francisco, by virtue of being cousin to the Genoese and Calabrese, who make a stew that is the likely origin of cioppino (of which this marmite of mine is not an exemplum).

I’ve skimped on the vegetables (though carrots, potatoes, and fennel stalks parboiled to tender, for example, before being added, are easy accouterments), and it’s a fish stock, not a tomato. And I’ve used saffron and pastis in the flavoring to make this solidly and unmistakably Provençal, pointing slightly west, while the rest of the dish points east to the Riviera.

Marmite de la Mer (Seafood Stew), with toasts and rouille

Course: Main Course
Cuisine: Mediterranean
Prep Time: 1 hour
Cook Time: 45 minutes
Total Time: 1 hour 45 minutes
Servings: 4 people
Calories: 630 kcal
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Ingredients

Seafood broth and fish

  • 1 cup carrots : chopped
  • 1 cup fennel : trimmed and decored, chopped : trim the stalks, and core the bulb
  • 1 cup yellow onion : chopped
  • 3 cloves garlic : skinned and chopped
  • 1 quart fish fumet (fish stock) : made from fish frames and heads, available from fish mongers, usually frozen
  • 1 quart filtered water
  • 1 bouquet seafood bouquet garni : rough chopped fresh parsley, tarragon, dill, and a large bay leaf, wrapped in cheesecloth and tied
  • sea salt : to taste
  • fresh ground black pepper : to taste
  • 1 tbsp Tomato Paste : use the double-concentrated sort, usually available in tubes
  • 1 pinch saffron threads : this could be anywhere from 1/4 to 1/2 a teaspoon depending on how loose
  • 2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
  • 3 tbsp pastis : 2+1 tablespoons for different stages of the broth preparation; use any national brand, e.g., Pernod or Ricard
  • 1/2 lb white fleshed fresh non-oily ocean fish, halibut : see fish note
  • 1/2 lb white fleshed fresh non-oily ocean fish, black cod : see fish note
  • 1/2 lb white fleshed fresh non-oily ocean fish, swordfish : see fish note
  • 1/2 lb fresh or previously frozen wild-caught shrimp, shell on : see fish note
  • 1/2 lb fresh or previously frozen, squid : with tentacles if available
  • 3 each plum tomatoes : very ripe, cored and roughly chopped : optionally skinned and seeded

Rouille

  • 3 cloves garlic : roughly chopped
  • 1 pinch sea salt
  • 1/2-1 tbsp harissa seasoning : dry, ground spices
  • 1/2-1 tsp smoked paprika
  • 1 yolk large egg : separated, do this ahead of time and set aside in a glass or cup
  • ½ cup extra virgin olive oil : use a finer grade, as this will be ingested in its natural state as part of the sauce on the toasts

Toasts

  • 1 loaf fresh baked baguette

Instructions

Prepare the toasts

  1. As there are no carbohydrates added to the stew (which is a hint to give you some ideas about adding your favorite, say a pasta like orzo, or a grain, like barley or farro... but these are discussed under options and supplements) I like serving it with a borrowing from one of my favorite soups in the world. Soupe de poissons is a meal in itself (and requires about as much preparation) served in a bowl, and with some ritualistic accompaniments. For this more delicate stew, I suggest serving only the toasts made from fresh baguette, smeared with a generous helping of the rouille.

  2. The preparation is simple and should be done just prior to cooking the stew itself in earnest, between the prep work on the vegetables and beginning to make the mirepoix. Cut off the pointed or rounded end of the baguette (the shape will vary depending on the baker) and then cut at least two slices of about ¾" each for each diner. Cut these on an extreme bias (let's say about 30-40°) to maximize the surface area, creating long ovals.

    The most efficient way to toast these baguette slices is probably in a toaster-oven set to toast both sides at once to the lightest shade of brown. Once all the toasts are done, set them aside in the bowl or on the plate on which you serve them at table beside the stew.

    Also see the suggestions for further research for a brief discussion about serving bread and toast with some of the variants of this dish, as they are prepared and served in Italy and in San Francisco.

Prepare the Broth

  1. Begin with the mirepoix. This is prepared in the same marmite (covered casserole that can be used on the stovetop; one tradition is that it is made of enameled cast iron, which is what I use) in which you will prepare first the broth, and then the finished dish. Not being a fan of additional cleanup, and because the pans I use are quite handsome as well as functional, this can also serve as the serving dish on the table.

    One thing the experienced cook will notice about this mirepoix is that the mix of aromatics has been altered from the classic combination of onions, celery, carrots, and the proportions have been made equal, instead of 2:1:1 of onions to the other two vegetables. I've also added garlic. I've substituted (I prefer to think of it as elevated) fennel as the preferred member of the Apiacaea family (related to the carrot), and more deserving of the designation of aromatic, and most of all being a paradigm of the Mediterranean palette of vegetables, especially well utilized in the cuisine of Italy, just next door to the côte d'azur of France. The characteristic anise top notes of fennel are complemented and enhanced in this recipe with the addition of a shot or two of pastis, the French national drink, and the favorite aperitif in Nice and neighboring Provence.

  2. Start the marmite on medium heat, and add two tablespoons of EVOO. Heat gently until the oil starts to shimmer, and add the onions, fennel, and carrots in any order. Salt and pepper the vegetables and stir occasionally for about a minute. Add the chopped garlic, and stir further.

    Stir occasionally, and adjust the heat, usually downward, so the vegetables are cooking slowly, but not coloring in any way. When they begin to soften, lower the heat to low, and cover the marmite.

    Check the Marmite occasionally, and stir the mirepoix. The mixture should soften slowly, but progressively. Keep it covered while it cooks, in between checking and stirring. When bits of carrot have softened noticeably under pressure from your stirring utensil, raise the heat under the marmite slightly to low-medium. Add the tablespoon of tomato paste and stir thoroughly. Cook an additional minute or two to blend and begin to cook the tomato paste.

  3. Raise the heat to medium high, and after a half-minute or so, add the two tablespoons of pastis, and stir to mix and loosen any bits of fond that may have formed on the bottom of the marmite. Cook for a minute and no more than two, to burn off the alcohol. Add the 1/4 cup of chicken stock, and again, stir to mix and loosen the fond, and keep mixing until the liquid has evaporated so the mixture is thickened, but is not sticking to the pan.

    Add the two pints of fish stock, followed by the two pints of water, and mix thoroughly. Adjust the heat slightly and watch carefully until the liquid just starts to simmer, and lower the heat. Drop the bouquet garni in the heated liquid, and submerge with the stirring utensil until thoroughly soaked and the bouquet floats beneath the surface.

    Cover, and watch carefully to make sure the broth doesn't boil. Stir occasionally. While the broth is simmering and extracting optimal flavor from the mirepoix and bouquet garni, place a large pinch (holding the spice gently between the fingers) of saffron threads in the bowl of a mortar. Crush the threads gently into a coarse powder with the pestle, and set this aside.

  4. After at least 10 minutes, and preferably for no more than 20 minutes, remove the pan from the heat. With a fine sieve placed over a large clean glass or stainless steel bowl, strain the broth into the bowl. Scrape the pan well so all contents are in the sieve. With a large silicone rubber spatula, gently press the mirepoix (having removed and discarded the drenched bouquet garni) to extract more liquid. Be careful not to press the cooked vegetable dregs through the sieve. You want to extract as much liquid as possible, but no solids. Discard the vegetables. Pour the strained broth back into the marmite, and replace on the burner.

  5. Reheat the broth gently. With a large cooking spoon or a small ladle, spoon a small amount of broth into the bowl of the mortar with the crushed saffron and swirl gently so the saffron powder is suspended in the liquid. Pour this mixture carefully back into the marmite of broth as it warms up. Repeat this last step, and you may also use a small silicone rubber spatula to ensure you have scraped all fo the saffron residue into the broth. The mortar and pestle may be set aside to be cleaned for making the rouille while the broth reheats.

  6. When the broth reaches a simmer, add the remaining tablespoon of pastis and another ounce of rosé or white wine. Simmer for three or four minutes to boil off the alcohol. Reduce the heat under the marmite to a very low simmer and cover.

Prepare the rouille

  1. While the broth is simmering one last time, just prior to adding the fish and tomatoes, as described in the next section, prepare the rouille. There is a fresh uncooked egg yolk in this emulsion, and it should not stand for too long before being served. If you prefer preparing the rouille ahead of time, be sure immediately to refrigerate it in the bowl in which you will serve it, covered.

    In a clean dry mortar add the chopped garlic cloves and sprinkle with a pinch or two of sea salt. Crush into a smooth paste with the pestle. Add the yolk you set aside, and mix the paste and yolk together with the pestle until they form a uniform emulsion. Add the EVOO about a ½ teaspoonful at a time and mix thoroughly between dollops. As you mix the mixture should thicken more and more into a smooth unctuous sauce that approaches mayonnaise in consistency. Pause and add the harissa and paprika and mix thoroughly and uniformly into the sauce. It should take on a ruddy hue. Depending on the brand and mix of harissa spices, there may be darker individual specks; this is normal. Rouille is the French for "rust" and the hearty sauce is called this for the color. Keep adding oil in small dollops until it reaches a spreadable consistency, short of stiffness.

  2. Scoop the finished sauce into a small serving bowl, scraping up the mortar with a silicone spatula. Set aside the rouille, to be served alongside the stew for diners to spread on individual slices of toast.

Finish the stew – Adding the fish

  1. Take the cover off the simmering broth, if you have not already done so, and turn up the heat slightly to bring it to a more vigorous simmer. Adding the fish, which is done more or less in very short order, will lower the overall temperature significantly and it will take a few minutes once again to reach the simmer.

    First, before the fish, add the chopped tomato, stir, and then allow the broth to return to the simmer.

  2. Add the shrimp to the broth before the other fish. Then add the finny fish chunks in small lots (rather than trying to add all the fish at once). The squid bodies are added last.

  3. Watch the stew from this point fairly carefully. It will taste best if served when the fish are just done. Aside from not allowing the fish to cook in broth that is simmering too vigorously (it should absolutely not be allowed to boil), the other caution is not to allow the fish to cook for too long a period, even if the temperature is kept low. Cooked too long and the fish will at once fall apart, and the shrimp and squid, as well as certain species of fish, will toughen.

    Once the stew has once again achieved the simmer, you can let the fish cook for another three or four minutes. Then remove the pot from the stove and place, covered, on the dining table on a trivet or hot pad. Have a small ladle ready to serve the guests in turn from the bowl.

Recipe Notes

Fish Notes – Fish Fumet / Stock

As far as the high value protein portion of this dish is concerned, your best friend will be either the local fish monger, or the regular counter folks at a larger urban supermarket fish department. Most local sellers will prepare things like fish stock in their own kitchens and pack it and freeze it for sale in standard units, usually pints. You should expect to spend about $7 a pint for this ambrosia.

I used to make my own fumet, when fish mongers and larger fish markets and supermarket fish departments still butchered their own whole fish and could offer trimmings, mainly the heads, tails and whole fish frames to the first person to ask, or for some very nominal amount. But those days are gone, and the only way to get these invaluable fixings is buy several whole fish from these sources, and ask them to pack the trimmings—all the trimmings—separately. It's only fair, as you're paying for them by weight anyway. Making fish fumet is a wholly separate subject, and likely the topic of at least another stand-alone blog essay.

In the meantime, find a retailer that sells fish stock, and stock up. Most likely it's already frozen, and if you love seafood, it isn't a bad idea to keep two or three units in your freezer, ready for defrosting.

In a pinch, there are packaged fish stocks and broths available from a few different brands. The one that I've used with some reliability is Kitchen Basics brand "Seafood Cooking Stock," and it will do in a pinch, especially in this recipe, which calls for diluting the stock at the intermediary cooking stage. The problem with all commercial preparations, pre-packaged for retail shelves, is they are laden with far too much salt, so the sodium level is too high (Kitchen Basics is not too bad, in that 1 cup has 600 mg of sodium, which is about 1/3 the absolutely sane maximum any adult can afford to eat daily. Choices dwindle rapidly however, when you consider that most other fish stock commercial products appear on the shelves as bouillon cubes, and the less said, the better.

In another pinch you can engineer a pretty good substitute playing with bottled (not canned) clam juice, which is what the vernacular styles as the liquid produced by steaming whole clams (and other bivalves) and capturing the brine and steaming liquid. Unfortunately, the steaming liquid is highly salted fresh water, and you're stuck with how to reduce the sodium, without so diluting the flavor that it adds nothing.

The best alternative to retrieving fish trimmings, heads and frames is to save all the shells you remove from your steamed shrimp and lobster dinners, and packing these in freezer bags, freezing them, and breaking out the lot and making a stock from scratch—the flavor is different, but it is genuine and it is seafood. But, as I indicated, this is the subject for a whole dedicated piece on preparing your own fish/shellfish stock.

Find some fish stock at the fish monger's and then proceed with the recipe.

The Fish

The recipe here specifies the fish I used the last time I made it. I don't mean to suggest you go hunting up these particular species of fish. At least one of them, if not all of them, is seasonal and hard to come by.

The chief recommendation I make is that you use mainly non-oily fish. If you use three (or more) varieties, it's possible one of them can be, for example, tuna or salmon. The problem with the non-white, ocean fish that tend to have a higher fat content is that they are very distinctively (and more importantly) strongly flavored. They are certrainly hardy enough, that is, firm-fleshed, not to fall apart even with the minimal cooking time the recipe calls for.

I recommend, if you can find them, fresh (or, at worst, previously frozen) wild-caught ocean species of fish. There are not, as yet, a large number of essentially ocean-based species, but there are some, that are being farmed. Issues of genetic modification aside, I find the fish that are now being exploited for their qualities that make them more easily suitable for farming – species like tilapia – is that they are too bland (and I do make a distinction between delicate and bland) and many of them too chewy, both of these being qualities making them suitable for cuisines that call for fish in highly spiced native dishes, or for battering and deep-fat frying, techniques that call for fish that will withstand the stresses of these kinds of methods of preparation.

Unfortunately, the best fish for this stew are also the most expensive species, being in increasingly short supply, and also harder to fish in open water. Game fish, like halibut and swordfish are always a good choice. But there are other sports fishing targets that are excellent eating and will work nicely, being firm-fleshed. A fish like striped bass is a perfect example.

Certain species, not only dwindling in supply while remaining highly popular, because of their mild flavor and their high adaptability to several methods of cooking – I'm thinking particularly of cod and haddock - are not wholly suitable, at least for esthetic reasons. They cook quickly and then, in a word, disintegrate. One feature of this stew is that the fish bits are cut bite-size and remain whole in the stew, providing a sophisticated quality of toothsomeness to the dish.

Some of the native variants of this stew, the dishes on which, in part, this recipe is based (at least in spirit) like the Ligurian ciuppin traditionally were made from the spiny species of fish that abound in the Mediterranean, and which are less popular because of the innate difficulty of getting at the flesh of the fish. In a manner similar to the Provençal soupe de poissons or, as I've seen it called, soupe de pêcheurs, a lot of otherwise less marketable fish, either for their size or their physiognomy (they are bony and/or spiny), the fish are cooked to tenderness along with the vegetables used to flavor the stew or soup and then the whole mess is forced through a food mill and the bones and spines and other inedibles are discarded. For this more robust kind of dish, less desirable species, usually also cheaper (though in France, the species used for soupe de poissons have also become immoderately costly) and with a coarser texture when the flesh is whole.

Options & Supplements

I made mention of adding some of your favorite pasta or a grain to this stew. It's certainly permissible, and entirely a matter of personal taste.

I do tend to give myself more work than many other people in similar circumstances feel is absolutely necessary. So, with that proviso, I would recommend cooking the pasta (maybe spaghetti, or linguine – probably the thinner types – broken into bits about ½ or ¾ of an inch long), separately, draining and rinsing the pasta (presumably al dente) and then adding it to the finished stew with a stir, just before serving.

I certainly do recommend cooking any grains, and by grains I mean the whole grain varieties that are more and more available these days, like farro or barley or wheatberries ahead of time. I would cook them to chewy doneness, rather than very soft, as this helps retain a nutty flavor and is a nice counterpoint to the more yielding flesh of the fish.

Cooking the grains ahead of time is a logistical necessity, as they generally take longer to cook to a finished state (and even the type that has been "pearlized," that is, parboiled to diminish the cooking time) that make the time to add the grains to the broth particularly tricky given the workflow of the rest of this recipe. Cooking the pasta ahead of time, for me, is an esthetic decision, as the cooking pasta, no matter what, will release starch into the liquid in which it is cooking. This will make the broth cloudy and will change the consistency of it.

Finally, be advised that as there is saffron in this broth, which gives a wonderful distinct flavor note to the broth and renders the fish in this recipe a wonderful golden hue, any starchy additions, like paste or grains, will also be highly colored by the spice. Not a bad thing, but some people might consider this not a good thing, necessarily.

Nutrition Facts
Marmite de la Mer (Seafood Stew), with toasts and rouille
Amount Per Serving
Calories 630 Calories from Fat 153
% Daily Value*
Fat 17g26%
Saturated Fat 3g15%
Cholesterol 369mg123%
Sodium 1972mg82%
Potassium 1383mg40%
Carbohydrates 45g15%
Fiber 4g16%
Sugar 4g4%
Protein 62g124%
Vitamin A 5715IU114%
Vitamin C 15mg18%
Calcium 282mg28%
Iron 5mg28%
* Percent Daily Values are based on a 2000 calorie diet.

some references for further research:

Certainly all of the countries that have a coast on or near the Mediterranean offer many variants of their own versions of seafood stew. These suggestions for further reading online are just a start.

About ciuppin the Ligurian fish soup, which sort of combines features of the soupe de poissons discussed in the recipe and the San Francisco seafood stew, invented at the start of the 20th century, with its name derived from the humbler native dish and called cioppino: https://berthamag.us/ciuppin

And while you’re at it, you should check out cioppino, just mentioned, as it’s a cousin to this recipe that I’ve concocted. One major difference is that cioppino is a tomato-based broth (and there’s a nod to this origin in my recipe), whereas this marmite is, obviously, fish based, hence lighter and more delicate. Cioppino also traditionally has a far greater number of shellfish, especially bivalves. These can of course be added optionally, as additions, to the marmite recipe. See here: https://berthamag.us/2gf0pxI

For even deeper research into the whole subject of stews, soups, and other large pot melange main dishes made from seafood, you should check out cacciucco, from Tuscany, which is related to ciuppin (above), combining its milled component to create a thicker base for whole chunks of fish and other ingredients: https://berthamag.us/2gf0pxI

The Italian versions of these seafood stews are served over bread or toast, which is placed in the bowl first, and the soup added. Cioppino, the San Francisco adoption of these dishes, is served with the bread alongside. There is, I understand, a Calabrese version, served over toast which is garnished with fresh garlic (in France, garlic cloves are served with the toasts, and the diner is expected to rub the clove on the sharp edge of the crust to their liking).