You think you know a lot about something. Salmon, for instance. You make gravlax. You developed your own technique for salmon rillettes. You know how to pan-sear it. And poach it. And bake it. En papillote, even.
And then you experience this fish in a completely new way, while eating at a local restaurant. You have an epiphany.
"The salmon was transcendental," said one of my co-workers the next day. "It made me rethink fish," said another. It looked normal enough when the waiter set it down: a light pink rectangle of meat surrounded by beets and topped with a creamy beurre blanc. But as soon as we touched our forks to the salmon, we knew something was different. It didn't flake; it melted like pudding. Succulent, tender, heavenly. It had a mild, buttery taste. I asked about the technique. "Oh, we just cooked it for a long time at low heat," said our waiter.
I wanted to reproduce the dish at home, and the waiter's clue was sufficient to find recipes. I decided to start with this one from Charlie Trotter because it uses the lowest temperature for the longest time.
Friday night was my first trial. Instead of the fillets he suggests, I used steaks, because that's all that was left at my fish market. I also didn't build his little rack o' celery or douse the fish in thyme. Even my first attempt at recreating this dish was astonishingly good. I want to tweak things a bit, but this is now my default cooking technique for this fish: Season meat with salt, cook at 225° for 17-20 minutes. Ensure the correct oven temperature with an oven thermometer, and use a good-sized spatula to get the jiggly salmon onto a plate.
Harold McGee offers some insight about the technique. "Because the fish surface is simultaneously warmed by the oven air and cooled by evaporation of its moisture," he explains, "the actual maximum temperature of the fish surface...may be just 120-130°F" He mentions the "custard-like texture" but cautions that the appearance "is often marred by the off-white globs of solidified cell fluid, which is able to leak out of the tissue before it gets hot enough for its dissolved proteins to coagulate." This wasn't a problem with the Chez Panisse version, but I noticed it in mine. I'm surprised he mentioned it as a general fish-cooking technique: I assumed the fatty flesh was a crucial component.
I topped my version with a beurre blanc, a corn salsa, and fried bitter melon (about which, more on Tuesday). At the restaurant, we drank a 1999 Burgundy with their dish. The fish is so delicate that you'll want a wine with subtlety and finesse rather than assertiveness and power. Look for a silky texture and a light body so you don't overwhelm the meat.