Poisson en Papillote (Fish in a Bag)

Hello foodies!

Recently, I took a bistro classics cooking class at The Urban Element.  The class was taught by Patricia Larkin, the chef at The Black Cat Bistro, a restaurant specializing in French bistro fare. The class taught us to make a number of the items which appear on The Black Cat Bistro's menu, dispelling fears that all French food is fussy and demanding, and out of the reach of most home cooks.  While I don't see myself often throwing together a brioche here at home, one of the dishes I have put into regular rotation is the poisson en papillote.

This is my fish from the class:

There is much about this dish that appeals.  The vibrancy of the colours.  The gorgeous aroma as you open the packet.  The fact that it is really quite a healthy dish.  And, most of all, its versatility.  Every single pickerel en papillote made that night was a little different in the end because each person put their own together, based on their own preferences.  A dish that I can change based on my mood and on what ingredients are available appeals greatly to me.

Essentially, the dish is a piece of fish, generally a white fish, resting on a bed of vegetables and aromatics, then loosely sealed in a parchment paper bag and baked in the oven until the fish is just cooked.  Cozy in the parchment paper bag, the fish steams, taking on some of the flavours of what is sealed in with it, liquids are released from fish and veg, blending with the dab or oil and/or butter to form a heavenly broth/liquor in the bottom of the bag.

 

To start, you need small pieces of vegetables, something that will cook enough - but not overcook - in the 20 minutes or so it takes for the fish to cook.  If you want potatoes in your bag, you'll need to parboil them.  Using the julienne setting of my peeler (pictured), I made zucchini strings as my base.  (Momentary digression:  I LOVE this peeler.  I generally detest peeling vegetables and resist making any dish that will require me to peel.  This peeler is causing me to rethink my position on peeling.  Comfortable in the hand, it makes quick work of peeling, and has different blades for different effects.  The end.)

 

To the zucchini strings, I added fennel, spinach, arugula, shallots, cherry tomatoes, and a pinch of salt and pepper.  Right before laying the fish on it's bed, I added a couple of dill fronds.

 

I used halibut when making it at home.  A fairly thick filet, known for its firm, fine texture.  But pretty much any white fish would do.  A pat of butter (olive oil works, too, or even a bit of both), more salt and pepper, a squeeze of lemon or lime.

 

To seal, fold the parchment paper over, and start rolling and crimping to work your way around the open side.  You don't want it too tight, but you do want a decent seal so that the steam and liquid won't escape, letting the fish dry out.  350 degree oven for 20 minutes or so.  Thicker fillets may need longer time.  Something thinner, like sole, would not need as much.  If you're not sure, it is easy enough to cut a small slit in the back to check the doneness of the fish.  If it needs more time, pinch the slit closed and slide it back in the oven.

It is quite easy to slide it from the parchment packet onto a plate.  Or you can simply serve it in the packet and eat it from the bag.

As we head into summer, when vegetables are at their height, I imagine what delightful variations I can make on this dish.  I think sweet corn kernels may go quite nicely. Celeriac might work.  Baby carrots.  Ginger might work for some flavour, depending on what else I put in it.  A splash of wine or liquor instead of a squeeze of citrus.  The possibilities are endless.

For updates and observations, follow me on Twitter!  @culinarykira

Raw Meat

Hello foodies!

There is so much to write about!

In preparation for blogging, I transferred pics to my computer so they'd be poised for upload.  In doing so, I noticed a theme:  I like raw meat.  Beef, specifically.  Lots of people, of course, eat their beef medium, medium rare, or even blue.  Many say eating beef any more than medium is an insult to the animal that gave its life.  I don't completely agree with this assessment.  A rare boeuf bourguignon is not a good thing.  Lamb is also often enjoyed medium or medium rare.  Game birds as well - duck, goose, quail - also don't have to be cooked through.  Modern thinking even allows pork to have a trace of pink in the centre.  But there is a difference between the pink, or even reddish centre, and purely raw.

Steak tartare and beef carpaccio is where the line is drawn.  Tartare, finely minced (but not simply ground beef - best done by hand), wonderfully textured and beautifully seasoned.  Carpaccio, thinly sliced and cured with a hit of acid, like lemon juice.  These dishes have never seen a lick of heat.  This is where you get beef at its purest.  Its beefiest.  This is where you can't hide mistakes. Unimpeachable quality is required. Exemplary food handling is essential. And, if making it yourself, excellent knife skills are the starting point.

I feel at this point, we need a picture.

Isn't that pretty?  This is the tartare I made at a recent cooking class at the Urban Element, a local foodie hotspot where I have spent many a delightful hour learning new techniques and connecting with the local foodies.

Now, some exposition.

Steak tartare.  Minced beef, traditionally done by hand.  Seasoned with shallots, cornichons (gherkins, for those unused to French terminology), Dijon, capers, salt and pepper, Worcestershire sauce, oil, plus a variety of other seasonings dependent on the particular tastes of the person making it.  Chives.  Soy sauce. Tabasco.  Chili flakes.  Parsley.  It is really a flexible and forgiving dish.  Also essential to a proper tartare is egg yolk, which binds and adds a luxurious unctuousness.  Served with some delivery method that gets the beef from the plate to your mouth:  melba toast, toast points, potato chips, etc.

Beef carpaccio. Thinly sliced beef, artfully arranged, dressed simply.  An acid element, such as lemon juice. an oil.  Salt and pepper.  Shavings of parmigiano, or some other cheese with character.  Often a crunchy element is on the plate.  Chip, crispy onion strings.

This is the carpaccio from Brother's Beer Bistro.  The crispy elements are pie crust and mushrooms. Freshness comes from the cold, smooth root vegetable cubes and the sprouts.  Olive oil, lemon, and a beer based sauce round out the dish.

These dishes exist at the meeting point between creativity, excellent technique and quality ingredients. They are not out of reach for the home chef.

First, you need an excellent meat supplier. A mainstream, chain grocery store simply will not do, since you have no idea what has been needle tenderized.  Unless a meat is going to be cooked to a minimum temperature (not raw), you need to be confident that its structural integrity hasn't been compromised.  Many, if not most, chain grocery stores receive their meat pre-packaged from meat packaging plants.  Needle tenderizing, where needles are forced into the tissue, depositing whatever bacteria are on the needles or the surface of the meat, is widely used.  Labelling requirements are inconsistent.  If you are going to try a raw preparation, you need a purveyor you can trust.  In Ottawa there are several:  Glebe Meat Market, Saslove's, Aubrey's.  A hint:  if quality restaurants use a butcher as a meat supplier, it is a good sign that they are reliable. There may be others, but those are my go-tos.

There are a variety of cuts you can use, but in general, they are among the more tender.  Traditionally, tenderloin is often used.  But striploin, rib, or even heart are appearing on menus.

Second, an excellent knife.  Sharp.  German or Japanese. Many get suckered in to a butcher's block filled with mediocre knives.  There are few you truly need: a chef's knife, a paring knife.  If you're interested in your own butchering, maybe a boning knife, although, seriously, I seldom find myself reaching for anything other than my 8 inch chef's knife.  Where knives are concerned, you want quality over quantity. Personally, I go German.  Wustof, Henckels.  I look for balance.  Feeling right in my hand. A certain weight. I'd rather spend $120 on one awesome blade that I will use constantly than $120 on a panoply of crap that looks cool on my counter.  Invest in a proper sharpening steel to keep them honed between more formal sharpenings. Either learn how to sharpen yourself using a whetstone, or get your blades sharpened professionally on a regular basis.  Treat a good blade properly, and it will last you for decades.  From a safety perspective, though it is counter-intuitive, a sharp blade is safer than a dull one.  The sharper the blade, the truer the cut. The less likely it will jump, slide, or otherwise misbehave.  And it won't shred.  If you happen to cut yourself, you'll appreciate a knife that cuts cleanly rather than one that shreds your skin.

Third, the meat, when cutting, either the mince for a tartar or the thin slices for a carpaccio, should be very, very cold.  Putting it in the freezer for 20 minutes helps.  This helps it to maintain its structural integrity when cutting. As much as many don't like to think of it, the meat we eat is muscle tissue.  It breaks down and becomes mushy with excessive handling.  Working with very cold beef helps to protect the texture of the meat, which is a huge part of the appeal of either tartare or carpaccio.

After that...  It's up to you.  You need some acid.  You need some fat.  You need some crunch.  But the world is your oyster.  Or, your plate of raw beef.

When I do carpaccio, I sprinkle salt on the meat, wrap it tightly for an hour or so to impart flavour and cure while in the fridge.  Transfer to the freezer to firm up, slice thinly, and serve with lemon juice, walnut oil, shaved parmigiano, and thinly sliced onions dredged in cornstarch and dry fried.

The best tartare I ever had was at the Ottawa Wine and Food show a couple of years ago, an offering by the Wakefield Inn.  Then, it was a bison tartare, but what sticks in my memory were the little balls of soy sauce, created by molecular gastronomy wizardry.  As they exploded in my mouth along with the perfectly textured, flavourful bison it was a game changer for me.  The best bite of that particular food and wine show, and since then, when I make tartare at home, I include a splash of soy sauce to recreate that taste.

A couple more pics...

My own carpaccio at home.

Aperitivo's tartare

For updates and observations, follow me on twitter!  @culinarykira