Poaching Fish

Dear readers, raise your hand if you eat two servings of omega-3 rich fish a week. Well, don’t feel bad – neither do I. But I’m starting to think that we should change our ways. After all, fatty fish is not only lovely and nuanced, it’s also easy to cook.

I usually bake or braise fish, which requires minimal effort. But with the summer heat, I’ve been poaching salmon and other fatty fish to eat it warm or chilled over a bed of sprightly greens. Like other moist-heat cooking methods, poaching locks in moisture and practically gives cooked salmon the texture of butter. I know it sounds crazy, but I am not making this up. The truth is you can easily make a five-star meal in your own kitchen, however humble it may be. Looking to comfort yourself after a long day of work or to toast the summer sunset with friends? Then, why not poach some fish.

How to Poach Fish

Fill a sauté pan or shallow pot with enough water to cover the fish.

Add a handful of your favorite herbs and spices to flavor the water. I threw in carrots, celery, cilantro, and peppercorns for this version. I also like to create a broth of sorts with lemongrass, garlic, and onions. Get creative here as the possibilities are endless (and surely you know how variety spices up life).

Heat the water to a gentle simmer so tiny bubbles form along the rim of the pot. Let it simmer for 5 minutes to flavor the water.

Lower the fish into the water using a slotted spoon.

Cook the fish until it turns opaque and is heated through -- this will take about 3 to 5 minutes, depending on the density of the fish.

Carefully remove the fish with the slotted spoon, and serve warm or chilled. 

Kerala-Style Fried Fish

(Susan Pachikara COPYRIGHT 2011)

The first day I was in Kottayam, Iyshakochamma and I went in search of a meen chutty – an earthenware pot dedicated to cooSking fish. We walked to the main thoroughfare to flag down an auto rickshaw. Tatas, Suzukis, and the pod-shaped three wheelers zipped by us, like twigs travelling downstream. After several minutes of futile waving, a rickshaw swung off the road and abruptly stopped in front of us. We slid in back. Iyshakochamma asked the driver to take us to the main business district and he strong-armed the steering wheel back towards the charging traffic.

As the driver dodged harried taxis, barreling buses, and whole families on scooters, we jerked left and right, up and down. Flocks of school children, street side temples, and white washed churches where Syrian Christians worship shot by on either side. Our hair tossed and flipped in the gritty, open air and our noses perked as the smell of fried fish, exhaust, and jasmine ebbed and flowed. After several minutes, we pulled behind a truck transporting a towering heap of green bananas and we followed it to a large open market.

(Susan Pachikara COPYRIGHT 2011)

We slipped out of the rickshaw and into a zig-zag of commerce being carried out of storefronts, off carts and curbsides. A lemon vendor gave way to a man selling fresh fish. A purveyor of coconuts segued into a woman peddling bananas. We passed concord grapes with skin that rivaled fine velvet and sunset yellow papayas. Hawkers beckoned us to try their lanky beans, which sat within eyesight of ruddy tomatoes and pineapples topped with fountains of green. 

The Portuguese who were the first to find a sea route to India brought much of this bounty. Their most pivotal contribution to India, and other parts of Asia, was the introduction of the chili. The spice is so integral to everyday Kerala cooking that nearly every family has a hot pepper plant (and when I was charting out my plot in the community garden, miles away, my mom insisted that I plant hot peppers, which I did.) At the market, we saw an array of chili – red, green, fat, lean. 

(Susan Pachikara COPYRIGHT 2011)

As we navigated the bustling market, Iyshakochamma continued sleuthing for the meen chutty. Each vendor directed us to walk a bit further. About an hour into our search, we came to a narrow alleyway. An elderly woman in a faded cotton sari stood in a doorway. Around her feet, sat an army of clay red and charcoal black meen chutties, their straight sides giving way to a slightly rounded bottom. These pots conduct heat more evenly than their aluminum counterparts and are ideal for gently cooking fish. The woman turned over my selection, and tapped the bottom, testing its craftsmanship in front of us. She handed me the pot shrouded in newspaper and we headed home. 

KERALA-STYLE FRIED FISH

(COPYRIGHT CARDAMOM KITCHEN 2011)

This recipe demonstrates how gorgeous cayenne pepper tastes when it is part of a simple, well-balanced spice mixture. Here it adds dynamic flavor rather than overpowering heat. (When a dish is really hot, it can be because the spices are poorly portioned. Items that are meant to be hot-hot, such as pickles and chutneys, tend to be eaten in small portions.)

I love making this recipe with salmon, but you can substitute just about any other fish from catfish to pampano. It's glorious with sardines, but they'll leave a fishy odor in your kitchen for days. Also, this recipe is very delicious broiled or grilled if you prefer a more heart heathy dish.

Serves 4 to 6

INGREDIENTS

1 pound salmon fillets

2 1/2 teaspoons cayenne pepper

1/2 teaspoon garlic powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

Dash of turmeric

2 tablespoons shallots, finely minced (optional)

2 teaspoons water

Canola oil for deep frying

(Susan Pachikara COPYRIGHT 2011)

INSTRUCTIONS

Wash the salmon and slice it into roughly 2 inch x 3 inch pieces. Cut 1/2 inch diagonal slits into flesh.

Mash the shallots in a mortar and pestle.

In a small bowl, mix the cayenne, garlic powder, salt, turmeric, and shallots. Add the water and mix to form a paste.

Rub the fish with the paste. Marinate it in the refrigerate for at least two hours.

Heat the oil in a pot over medium high heat. Add the onion slices. Add a few pieces of fish, skin side down to oil. Lower the heat to medium and cook until the fish browns, about 5 minutes. Turn the fish and cook other side.

Remove the fish from the oil with a slotted spoon and place it on a paper towel to cool.

(Susan Pachikara COPYRIGHT 2011)

Homemade

Soon after I moved to Chicago, I attended a culinary tour along Devon Avenue. Indian retailers began settling on the street in the 80s, and over the years, it's come to resemble a Bombay side street. Toward the end of the tour, a local grocer guided us through his store.  As we passed the freezer section, he pointed to rows of frozen dinners featuring perfectly plated Indian meals.

“Just like mom’s,” he pronounced. 

Unable to help myself, I blurted out, "Not my mom's."

Unfazed, he pulled open the freezer door, picked up two of the sleekly designed packages, and handed them to me.

“You’ve really got to try these.”

After stepping out of the store, I handed the dinners to a woman who have clearly been coveting them.

Growing up in southern Illinois, I envied kids who sat down to Swanson's TV dinners.  I longed for a bite of the All American meals (country fried chicken, oven roasted turkey, salisbury steak) neatly compartmentalized in aluminum trays.  On occasion, my mom made pizza or pigs in a blanket from scratch. When she really let her creative juices go on Valentine's day, we divvied up a heart-shaped meatloaf.  But on most nights, we ate homemade South Indian dishes.  Dinner was one of the few things my mom could recreate from the old country. And, for the most part, the menu like our curfew and the policy on dating, were nonnegotiable. To cope, I created a disdainful jingle, "Rice is for mice..." 

Now when my mom cooks for me, I recognize it as a unique gift. The flavors are pure, not formulaic or masked by preservatives buzzing in the background. More importantly, her dishes possess a human touch forever missing in frozen dinners, including "Home-style" versions.  And If I’m dining by myself, eating her food makes me feel less alone. 

I know I’m not the only one who craves the comfort of home cooking. It becomes abundantly clear when I walk around with my cake carrier. The top is translucent enough to let passersby see the frosted cake nestled inside. I encounter a wide range of reactions from strangers, from shy glances to looks of desperation. The latter are often accompanied by passionate inquiries like, “Did you make that?” or “Is that for me?”  I’ve never sensed such longing in the frozen food aisle. 

So this Valentine’s day, if you’re searching for a unique gift, consider making heart shaped salmon patties for your loved one. They're sure to appreciate your unique human touch.

Heart-shaped Salmon Patties

Makes 6 patties

INGREDIENTS 

1-14.75 ounce can Alaskan Pink Salmon

2 large eggs

1/2 cup bread crumbs (preferably panko)

1/4 cup finely minced green onion

1/2 teaspoon finely minced garlic

2 teaspoons grated fresh ginger

1 tablespoon soy sauce

Freshly ground pepper to taste

1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce 

Drain the salmon.  Place it in a bowl and mash with a fork until very flaky.

Beat the eggs and mix with the salmon.  Mix in the remaining ingredients. 

Heat a cast iron skillet to medium high heat.  Coat with 1 teaspoon olive oil.  

Place a heart-shaped cookie cutter on skillet. Spoon some of the salmon mixture into the cookie cutter and press to shape along edges.  Gently remove the cookie cutter.  Cook until the patty browns on the side touching skillet (about 8 minutes).  Carefully flip the patty and cook until the second side browns. Repeat with the rest of the salmon mixture.