Swedish Fish

I have my doubts that words can express the awe and excitement of all those present at the dinner I attended last night. Actually, it was more of a spectacle than simply supper; it was Hakan Martenson applying the artistry and precision that he usually uses on chocolate to several slabs of raw fish. It was Sushi Night.

Sushi is visually impressive by nature: jewel-toned cuts of fish resting on pearly rice, black bands of nori encasing intricate arrangements of avocado, cucumber and more fresh fish. But to watch the tiny delicacies take shape from beginning to end, in the very same kitchen where you regularly snack on pop tarts and pretzels, is humbling. After arranging his radiant cuts of tuna, salmon, and scallops in an enormous sun pattern, Hakan wilted leeks in boiling water and used them to create beautiful green-and-white-striped serving platters. Once a huge pot of rice was ready, he began assembling long strips of cucumber and green mango for the maki, along with more surprising ingredients like teriyaki chicken strips and cream cheese, and dabbing a grid of perfectly formed ovals of rice with wasabi.

As the leek-lined surfaces filled up with sushi and maki, those of us who weren't Swedish chefs watched and salivated. The whole place had that good-sushi-is-served-here smell found in the best sushi restaurants, a strangely refreshing sweetness, which I've figured out is a combination of wasabi and pickled ginger. When everything was complete (and after a well-deserved round of applause), we readied our chopsticks and soy sauce receptacles, and faced the challenge of being the first person to take the first perfect piece of sushi off the first perfectly configured platter, of bringing ourselves to eat something too beautiful to eat.

The challenge was quickly overcome, and was worth it since everything tasted as good as it looked. For me, the highlight of the spread was an oblong ribbon of nori stuffed with scallop ceviche and black roe. The chicken-cream cheese maki was also a surprising favorite; the teriyaki seasoning added a deep flavor that you don't usually expect in sushi, but it worked well with the smoothness of the cream cheese and sticky rice.

The sense of astonishment at what we had just experienced lingered after the platters had emptied. Hakan had turned the apartment into a garden of tastes, textures, and colors, a Willy Wonka figure with a buzz cut and a hachimaki headband. I suppose this means that sushi is like candy for 20-somethings – not too surprising. I just hope he's willing to give many repeat performances.

Hot Food

Not only have we begun a new year, but a new decade as well, and media sources everywhere are telling us What’s Hot and What’s Not for all imaginable arenas of interest. Naturally, commentators on the culinary world have had a lot to say about it – I’ve read that while 2009 was the year of bacon, duck fat will be much more important in the coming year. My experience with duck fat does not qualify me to weigh in on this statement, but I am always searching for new and entertaining ways to stock my cupboards and refrigerator. So I’ve come up with five things that have impressed me recently, that I think will be key figures in 2010. Here they are, in no particular order.

1. Herring. While at home for Christmas, my cupboard excavations turned up a number of tins of this stuff, and their slim pocket-size and eternal shelf life made them a smart addition to our supplies for a weekend at Stinson Beach. I’ve made a lot of excellent meals with anchovies and sardines, but I discovered that these kippered fillets don’t need much accompaniment at all to constitute a satisfying dish. People who eschew canned fish citing cat food comparisons need to get over themselves. A piece of crispbread topped with herring chucks is a beautiful thing.

2. Roasted chestnuts. The kind that come in colorful air-tight packages sold at Asian convenience stores are nothing new, but personally roasting them in their shell over an open fire (like a fireplace – that counts, right?) is new for me. And lots of fun. Cutting slits in them gives you something to do as the fire gets started, and engineering a roasting receptacle out of two pie tins and a wire hanger produces a rustic and resourceful feeling that really compliments the fire. Actually, I'd recommend any kind of cooking over a fire – the chestnuts were done after about 50 minutes of sitting under the grate that held the fire, and we moved on to marshmallows and hot dogs and a number of creatively constructed heating devices. Burning chestnut shells and course catalogs also provided a lot of entertainment. I predict fires will be very hot in 2010.

3. Grapefruit. My mother always served us grapefruit halves sprinkled with brown sugar and heated in the microwave for a few seconds until the juices started to seep out and form a syrup on top. Until recently I thought grapefruit was inedible without this coating of sweetness, but I learned better when my sister encouraged me to peel the whole thing and eat the segments plain, like an orange. Of course, my orange-eating technique produces an incredible mess, as I like to peel off most of the membrane around each piece to reveal the juicy jewels of pulp inside, but my grapefruit addiction has gotten to the point that I’m willing to undergo the humiliation of performing this process at work.

4. Hazelnuts. From Sahadi’s, whole, roasted, and unsalted. These were discovered in late 2009 but aren’t going anywhere. It may be an illusion due to my considerable nutella consumption over the last two decades, but I swear these things taste strangely like chocolate.

5. Roasted cacao beans. I got a box of these a few months ago, but only just realized their potential for adding unexpected flavor to both sweet and savory dishes. I had been snacking on them occasionally, but if eaten plain their bitterness builds up and coats the mouth with a unique, but not entirely pleasant, flavor of soot. On the basis of an Alice Medrich recipe I happened to see, I added a few crushed cacao beans to some haricots verts with feta and balsamic vinaigrette. The sweetness of the balsamic and the creaminess of the feta dampened their intensity and allowed the nuttiness to come through, creating a sort of smoky green beans almandine. I plan to try them out in some dinosaur cookies soon, possibly combined with coconut and an earthy sweetener like maple syrup.

Closer runners-up were cauliflower, tomato jam, and Hot Toddies. And an honorable mention goes out to the block of quince paste that my mom made over a year ago. It started as a sticky mess and was abandoned in the fridge for 15 months, and during that time matured into an aromatic and toothsome slab that's much easier to slice and pairs perfectly with hard cheeses. 2010 is sure to be its year. As for What’s Not Hot, frozen pizza from Trader Joe’s could probably use a rest; I’d like to see their 99-cent raw pizza dough make a comeback in my kitchen. Also, 2009 saw a few too many carrots – sure, they’re undeniably tasty and ridiculously cheap, but if you want some vegetables to use as vehicles for dip, endive leaves and fennel slices are a nice change. Lastly, apples are out (of season). It’s a tragedy, but I’ve had too many disappointing apple experiences recently to risk many more. In the meantime, I’m sticking to pears, and citrus of all kinds.

Haggis in the New Year

While in California for Christmas I had the opportunity to check out another gem hidden in the El Cerrito Plaza, a German and English specialty foods shop called the Junket. The store’s shelves were stocked with all the classic favorites – lemon curd, Marmite, digestive biscuits – and the prepared foods looked appetizing too, particularly the potato salad and the ham sandwiches. Wandering the aisles of specialty food stores can be exciting and inspiring, but the prices of imports usually mean that an item has to be especially worth purchasing. Lemon curd and potato salad I can make myself, but I did come across one thing at the Junket that I couldn’t resist paying for: a can of haggis.

I had never tried haggis before, and I realized that even though it's an icon of Scottish cuisine that people love to "ew" at, I didn't have a good idea about what it was. I knew that it's usually cooked in a sheep's stomach, which, I'll admit, does give the impression that the Scottish are purposefully trying to gross people out. But canned haggis is (obviously) skinless, and its contents remained a mystery to me. From reading the ingredients, it seems like there's nothing not to like: lamb heart, pork fat, oats, lamb liver, port, salt, and dehydrated onions. I suppose some people might be turned off by the lamb heart, but a slightly open mind would recognize that those are reasonable ingredients to combine.

I was eager to try it, but unsure about preparation and presentation. Wikipedia and the can label offered a variety of instructions, like heating individual servings in the oven with a teaspoon of whiskey poured on top, or spooning it over fries, or scrambling it with eggs, and all sources were clear that it should be consumed either with brown ale or Scotch whiskey. In the end I spooned some out of the can and heated it in the microwave, which created a surprising amount of steam and caused it to render a fatty, bubbly liquid. When the steam had subsided, I tried a cautious forkful. As you might have predicted from the ingredients, haggis is incredibly rich. Its combination of internal organ flavor, fat, and salt triggers the primal human compulsion to eat as much protein and lipids as possible, but something about the taste and texture made me think I didn’t want to keep eating it much longer. It's delicious, but it's also the epitome of "a bit much." The texture is smooth and creamy like pâté, and I think the best way to serve it is on a piece of crunchy dry toast.

There’s a lot of haggis left in the can, but even though it’s only January 2, I may have reached my haggis quota for the year. It’s definitely worth trying, so I invite anyone who’s interested to come have a taste.