MY FAVORITE LEAST AND MOST EXPENSIVE FISHES

I cannot think of disaster without contemplating its incestuous relationship with success.

As for calamity, so far I have been lucky enough to have barely avoided terrorists, cockaded revolutionaries, winds above hurricane force, politicians in cowboy boots, tsunamis, and more than one wolf at the door.

But in Hong Kong I once came close. But first there was a fish. When I was invited to put on one of the parties at the then Regent Hotel for the “hand-over” in 1997 from English domination to Chinese. I had a trip to the hotel to look at the logistics of that future event. Sitting in my private pool high up overlooking the harbour, I had a call from the chef. He had finally fulfilled a promise to find and cook me some soh mei, 蘇眉, the world’s most expensive fish other than the tingling-near-death-when-eaten blow fish in Japan.

I dried off and rushed down to the kitchen. Asking him what he was going to do with it. “Nothing! Steam with a little scallion, perhaps.”

Out came the whole fish that was not very beautiful, but with the first bite, beyond enthralling. In taste a cross between Patagonian toothfish and foie gras. It is not always that paying $450 a pound for fish can set a benchmark for complete satisfaction.

It was on my return to the hotel for the “handover” that we experienced that incestuous relationship.

From Stars in San Francisco, we set off to put on the first day party of an English theme. The second day (after the handover) would be Chinese. Having done the wildly successful Peak Café there earlier in the decade (naturally with its kissing relationship with disasters like typhoons blowing away the heavy wrought-iron garden furniture and hundreds of rioting Filipino maids) I was confident that we could handle 300-500 people for the whole day. After all, we had to ourselves the entire new fish restaurant that I had helped design, with its walls of tanks full of fish, crabs, lobsters and a few unrecognizable things.

The day of that first party with food for 400 (600 just to be safe) 1,800 people showed up in our line our the front door. 

The word had gone out.

For several of the later and most dire hours of service I had eyes thievishly for the very expensive fish (one so mei cod cost $800), shellfish and crustaceans in the tanks, but raided the Chinese kitchens that were contiguous to ours instead. No guest knew that the entire day’s supply of Peking ducks was piled high upon California-style salads and black bean cakes, or that the Chinese chefs were looking for me with their cleavers out. But the next day it was killing time. I had had one hour of sleep, having been up all night cooking hundreds of pounds of frozen New Territory chickens, had ruined 3 pairs of Italian loafers in the process, and was in no mood for mercy. When, as threatened, another 1,800 people showed up, it was tiger prawn time. And lobster salad time. Well, it would be cruel to go on. 

The reason I know the event was incestuous is because what was quickly a disaster in the making turned into a huge success; the only loss of life was all the fish in the tanks around me in the restaurant of the hotel. By the end of the two-day party, they were all gone. 

The General Manager turned pale at the prospect of having to explain on his monthly report the missing $15,000 worth of live seafood. We, on the other hand, took our eleven pm bow to the cheers of thousands, pulled the cork on magnums of chilled Cristal, and went out to see the world’s biggest display of fireworks from my Regent Suite balcony overlooking Hong Kong harbour.

Photo Courtesy of www.lifestyleasia.com

The hotel had placed two barely clothed mermaids on an ice display at the entrance to our restaurant, and whenever customers stopped ogling enough to grab a plate, they helped serve. At first, they handed out raw fish, but that got everyone too excited, so they picked up this finger food and plopped the little mussels into yawning Chinese and English mouths.

Mussels Cooked on Pine Needles in the Wood Oven, Garlic-tomato Toasts

You will need Mussels, fresh pine needles, fresh white breadcrumbs, Pernod, butter, shellfish stock, white wine, shallots chopped, fresh thyme, mustard, chopped garlic, fresh basil, bread for toasts, multi-colored concassee, extra virgin olive oil and Sonoma fresh Crescenza cheese.

The mussels are steamed with the stock, white wine, Pernod, shallots fresh thyme.  Opened and the mussels placed in the biggest shells. The juices strained and added to the breadcrumbs mustard, and butter. Stuff the mussels. Place on the pine needles on an oven-proof dish and bake in the wood oven. Serve with the warm toasts (wood oven) spread thinly with the Crescenza and then the mixture of the concassee, chopped basil and the olive oil.

Anyone who made it past the mermaids to the back of the restaurant found:

Hong Kong Garoupa with Mushroom Hash, Lobster Remoulade, and Tobika Caviar

Serves 4

16 oz            Fresh filet of garoupa, red snapper, or sea bass, cut into 4 oz portions

4 sprigs        Fresh tarragon, stemmed, save stems, chop leaves

½ cup           Red lentils, soaked for 30 minutes, drained

2 large          Portabella mushrooms, or 8 brown mushrooms, cooked in the oven until tender

1 tsp.            Cardamom, ground

4 oz              Butter

Sauce

½ cup           Fish-shellfish stock

2 oz              Butter

2 tbs.            Coarsely chopped parsley

2 oz              Tobika caviar

Method:

Marinate the fish pieces with the tarragon stems, salt, pepper and a little olive oil.

Cook the lentils in boiling, salted water until tender, drain, and heat up with the cardamom and butter. Keep warm.

Coarsely chop the mushrooms, and heat with a little fish stock. Season. Keep warm.

Sauté the fish pieces with olive oil, tarragon, and fish stock.

Boil the remaining fish stock, whisk in the butter, and add the chopped tarragon leaves.

Put the heated lentils in the center of a hot plate, the fish pieces on top, put some of the mushrooms on top of each piece of fish, spoon the sauce around the fish, and sprinkle the Tobika caviar around the plate. Garnish with an herb salad or edible flowers.

BOQUINETE OR HOGFISH

After having escaped from Cozumel devasted by Wilma, the strongest hurricane ever recorded in the Atlantic-Caribbean, I landed in Merida and quickly went to the beach for cold beers and the contemplation of near escapes. I asked what fish they had for deep frying. Robalo (Black Snook), Red Snapper (of course it was not – the wrong sea), Mero (Grouper), and Boquinete. The last one I had never seen on a menu, but the waiter winked a me. An invitation, or letting me in on a secret? Hogfish my Mexican guest explained and also winked at me. Now I was intrigued and went back to the kitchen to smell the oil. We wanted it deep fried. Pescado frito. I explained that the oil had to be fresh, no smell, and the fish not overcooked. I searched for words and came up with suave and that word seemed to do the trick. I winked at the chef, hoping that would work as well.

Soft, gentle, smooth. I was hoping it meant also not dry. Not cooked too much.

After a couple more cold Modelo Especiales, the fish arrived.

The first bite was sublime. The fish was suave and the oil fresh. I fought off the urge to eat the best bits (the collar and the nuggets at the top of the head) and went for the crisp tail. More sublime.

The secret to its deliciousness? The hogfish eats clams. Think of the little clams in Italy, in Venice, and you have the flavor of hogfish.