Poached Salmon with Cucumber Sauce

Salmon and cucumber seems like a combination from a long time ago. I'm not sure if I come by this opinion from my own personal history, or obsessive reading of old cookbooks (it's hard to tease apart the two sometimes). Regardless, it pulls up thoughts of gelatin-set salmon molds, of cucumber slices made to look like fish scales, and other tropes that were the height of luncheon catering some twenty-five years past. But I clearly need to readjust my thinking. Because poached salmon with cucumber sauce is a timeless combination. It's what I had for dinner last night, and last week as well. And what I should be having once a week every summer.

The inspiration for this particular incarnation of the classic comes from the always-in-style Julia Child. And it couldn't be simpler. Salmon is slipped into a barely-simmering bath of water, where it manages to delicately set without overcooking (and, thanks to a generous helping of salt and vinegar, doesn't wash out but instead gains even more flavor). And then it is served with a cool, slippery sauce (if you could even call it that) of sour cream, Greek yogurt, cucumbers and dill. Pair it with a simple summer salad (I went with arugula, peaches and corn), maybe a chunk of leftover bread for sopping up the plate, and you've got a summer meal that's just about perfect. Timeless, even.

Poached Salmon with Cucumber Sauce

inspired by Julia Child's The Way to Cook
serves 4

Cucumber Sauce:
1/2 cup sour cream
1/2 cup Greek yogurt (not nonfat)
1/2 teaspoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt
1/2 teaspoon vinegar (cider or sherry work well)
1 cucumber, chopped in a 1/4-inch dice
~2-3 tablespoons chopped fresh dill

1 pound salmon, cut into 4 slices
salt and white vinegar (see below)

To make the cucumber sauce: In a bowl, stir together the sour cream, Greek yogurt, sugar, salt and vinegar until well combined. Taste, and adjust as needed. Stir in the cucumber and dill, and set aside to chill while you prepare the salmon.

To prepare the salmon: Pour water into a very deep-walled saucepan, or wide-bottomed pot, to a depth of three inches. For every quart of water this requires, add 2 teaspoons coarse salt, and 3 tablespoons vinegar. Bring to a boil, then slip in the salmon, and adjust the heat so that it is just barely about to simmer. Cook at this level until done, meaning it has a bit of internal firmness, and is thinking about flaking but not quite there yet — the exact time will vary depending upon the thickness of your fish, but start checking before 5 minutes are up. Remove with a slotted spoon (no need to rinse off), let drain a moment, and serve with cucumber sauce.

Romesco Sauce

Back when I was still trying to figure out what to do with my professional life, I was overwhelmed by the realization that many people chose their paths thanks to seemingly random accidents of history. Someone buys you a chemistry set at just the right birthday, or a beloved family member is stricken with a poorly-understood illness, or you check out a book of folk tales from one tradition or another, and suddenly your life course is set. Tens of thousands of hours will be spent in the lab, or on fieldwork, or wherever, just because of how things happened to shake out one day. Shouldn't the decision come from some deeper, internal place, so that you know it's the Real Right Answer? It all seemed so terrifyingly haphazard and fragile.

But as I got older (and as I let go of some of my anxieties), I realized that when you find things that speak to you, it doesn't seem to matter how they came to be. And if you love a particular professional path—or anything, really—because it reminds you of loving a particular time in your life or a particular person, well... that's really not the worst thing in the world. In fact, it's kind of great.

The other morning, I was downtown swapping out a bum computer charger, and saw the entire soccer (or, if you will, fútbal) team from Valencia inside the Apple store. And I ended up ridiculously, giddily excited, telling the story to everyone I talked to that day. Which was strange. Sure, there was the little bit of celebrity-worship, and the fact that these were some good-looking guys in really, really good shape. But when it comes down to it, I don't care much about sports. At all. My reaction was a bit of a mystery, until I realized—yeah, I could care less about soccer. But I have a friend in Spain.

To be more specific, it's the Basque Country that holds a special place in my heart. But it seems to extend to a fondness for all things Iberian. When I realized this, I was a little bit sheepish at my automatic reaction. But really, why not? Why should I chide myself for gushing over a sports team that I don't really care about? Why not just open myself to these warm fondnesses, no matter how they came to be, and go home and make some romesco?

To be fair, it's easy to have a love connection with romesco, even if you've never been close to Spain. This sauce is so, so good. It is the king of all sauces. Dried chilies, nuts, red wine, toasted bread, garlic, and (of course) olive oil are ground into a rich red paste. It tastes like nothing else, and pairs beautifully with everything from eggs to asparagus. In Spain (Catalonia in particular), it's made every year to eat with calçots, spring onions that are grilled and served, dripping with romesco, in an amazing festival called a calçotada. I haven't had the good fortune to attend a calçotada myself, but was able to create a reasonable approximation by pairing the romesco with some grilled leeks from a friend's garden. Did I enjoy it more because of my personal experiences? Probably. Because yes, your life is shaped by terrifyingly random turns and chance. And it can be delicious.

Romesco Sauce

yields ~2 cups 

Romesco can be made many ways, so feel free to play around. I've used fresh tomatoes (and even sun-dried, which worked surprisingly well), roasted the garlic in the oven, and tried a few different kinds of chiles. All were delicious, but this version here represents my sort of rich, perfect ideal of romesco.

5 dried chile, of the rich-yet-not-too-spicy variety, like anchos (I used the last of my Basque choriceros for this batch)
~1/2 cup olive oil, divided
8 cloves garlic, peeled and thickly sliced
1/3 cup mixed almonds and hazelnuts
1 slice crusty bread/baguette
1/2 cup tomato puree (or a slightly larger amount of grated fresh tomatoes)
1 Tbsp sherry vinegar
splash red wine
salt to taste

Place the dried chiles in a small bowl, and cover with boiling water. Let sit to rehydrate while you prepare the rest of the romesco, turning or pressing them down to make sure they are all submerged.

Heat 1/4 cup of the olive oil over a medium heat in a skillet. Add the garlic, and saute, lowering the heat as needed so they brown evenly, until they are a dark golden, ~15 minutes. Transfer the garlic from the skillet to a food processor.

Add the nuts to the skillet, and cook for a few minutes, until they darken and become fragrant. Add to the garlic in the food processor.

Place the bread in pan, and toast until golden on each side. Add to the food processor.

Add the tomato puree to the pan (be careful of spitting!), and cook, stirring occasionally, until it thickens considerably and the oil separates out, ~7 minutes. Transfer to the food processor.

Drain the chiles, remove the stems and seeds and add them to the mixture, along with the vinegar, wine, and remaining 1/4 cup of olive oil. Process until it is reduced to nubby-yet-relatively-smooth puree. Add more olive oil if needed (I sometimes will add a bit of water to adjust the consistency, which I'm sure the Europeans would scoff at, but I can't be quite that heavy-handed with the olive oil). Add salt to taste, and add more wine or vinegar if needed to bring out the flavors. Serve with grilled leeks, eggs, asparagus, or whatever else you desire.

Sloppy Sauce (aka Tahini with Miso and Almond Butter)

Several years ago, I left my dog alone at a friend's house for an evening, and returned to find that he had eaten all of the dog food in the house. All of it. When he came to greet us at the front door, he was noticeably larger. We rushed our barrel-shaped pup to the veterinarian, who pronounced him fine (and showed us an amusing x-ray, wherein you could still see all of the individual pieces of kibble in his overly-full stomach). In addition to piece of mind (and a hefty bill), we were given my absolute Favorite Diagnosis Ever: dietary indiscretion. Seriously. Dietary Indiscretion. It's sort of like diagnosis: bad decision-making. I suffer from that all the time.

For the most part, my diet is fairly healthy, full of fresh produce and whole grains and all that good stuff. But sometimes it's not. Sometimes I'm dining out, and the deliciously retro ice cream sundae on the menu calls to me. Or I'm catching up with friends over happy hour, and after a few drinks an order (or three) of fries suddenly seems like a phenomenally brilliant idea. Or I am eating something so addictively delicious, say these little cheese-filled puff pastry palmiers at my friend Sarah's house, and I just cannot stop. Dietary Indiscretion.

After such poor choices, we've come up with a recovery meal known around our household as Hippie Dinner. It's the best way to sop up booze, grease, and bad decisions, and set you on the path to dietary righteousness. There are three elements: whole grains (in the form of some brown rice or quinoa); protein (in the form of marinated tofu or a piece of lean fish); and a huge pile of steamed or sauteed vegetables. Actually, make that 4 elements: the whole plate is topped off with a tahini variation called sloppy sauce.

Sloppy sauce, inspired by a friend who needed to recover from a nearly all-pizza diet, is a great way to make a huge pile of steamed kale and sweet potatoes much more exciting. It starts off like a traditional Middle Eastern tahini sauce, mixing sesame paste with lemon juice and garlic. But it's given a bit of savory heft (and arguable health benefit) from a scoop of miso, and delicious nuttiness from almond butter. I like to further play up the East meets Middle East dimension by stirring in a bit of grated ginger, or a handful of scallions or chopped cilantro if you've got. And sometimes I emphasize the peanut sauce resemblance by using lime juice instead of lemon. As suggested by its name, sloppy sauce is a pretty informal affair, and can be easily adapted to your taste. And it can be enjoyed any time, whether you're recovering from a dietary indiscretion or not.


Sloppy Sauce (aka Tahini with Miso and Almond Butter)

yields ~3/4 cup

1 Tbsp miso (any type)
2 Tbsp tahini
2 Tbsp almond butter
1 clove garlic, crushed
1/2" ginger, grated
juice of 1 lemon
water
handful minced scallions and/or cilantro (optional)

Mix together the miso, tahini, and almond butter until well combined. Stir in the garlic and ginger, then the lemon juice. Add water, a little at a time, until it reaches a thick-but-pourable consistency (~1/4+ cup). Stir in the scallions and/or cilantro, if using. Taste, and adjust seasonings as needed. Pour over whatever hippie concoction you desire. The sauce will thicken upon standing, so just stir in a little additional water or lemon juice to loosen leftovers.

Tomato Chutney

My first experience with chutney happened in high school, and had little to do with India. I ordered curry from a small cafe, which came garnished with yogurt and Major Grey's Mango Chutney. Sweet with high fructose corn syrup, dark with caramel coloring, and mildly spiced to accommodate Anglo palates, it probably bore little resemblance to anything eaten in India (well, eaten by those other than the British imperials). But it had something that intrigued me, even though I'm normally a bit squicked out by the pairing of sweet and savory (I know). I looked around for recipes, landing on the equally Anglo Moosewood Cookbook. I followed the directions, cooking up a syrupy mass of fruit, honey, vinegar, ginger and garlic. For a while, I thought that that was all that chutney could be.

And then I discovered the true world of chutney. Pungent purees of fresh cilantro, hot with green chiles and rich with ground coconut. Sweet and sour tamarind sauces, savory stewed cloves of whole garlic, powdery peanut pastes. But one of my favorites is tomato chutney.

Tomato chutney has a warm richness from the sweet tomatoes and long cooking, and a fusty edge from the mustard seeds and curry leaves. And, of course, heat from the chiles and cayenne (which, admittedly, I tend to adjust down because I'm something of a chile wuss). I use this to fancy up my Indian meals (either homemade or *gulp* from a pouch), but it can also be substituted for catsup to put a whole new spin on burgers. I'm curious to see what other combinations it can inspire.

Tomato Chutney

I adapted this from a faded recipe I copied down years ago, and despite repeated googling I haven't been able to find the source. Any attribution appreciated. Even if you don't have the full rundown of the spices called for, you can try it with what you have, and still produce a stellar condiment.

1/4 cup high-heat oil, such as peanut, grapeseed or canola
10 fresh or frozen curry leaves
4 dried red chiles
2 tsp black mustard seeds
1 tsp cumin seeds
pinch fenugreek seeds
1 tsp cayenne
1 tsp paprika
1 tsp sambar powder (substitute ground coriander if you don't have this)
1/2 tsp turmeric powder
pinch asafetida
scant 2 lbs tomatoes, chopped
2 1/2 Tbsp tomato paste
up to 2 Tbsp sugar (depending on sweetness of tomatoes)
~1 Tbsp salt

Heat the oil in a heavy pan, over a medium-high heat. Add the whole spices (curry leaves, chiles, mustard seeds, cumin seeds, fenugreek). Cook, shaking the pan occasionally, until the spices are fragrant and the mustard seeds have stopped popping (just a minute or two). Add the remaining ground spices (cayenne, paprika, turmeric, and asafetida), and cook for just a half a minute to toast them. Add the tomatoes and tomato paste, stirring, and the salt and sugar to taste. Reduce heat to a simmer, and cook until the tomatoes break down, and the oil separates out. The time this takes will vary, depending on the liquid content of the tomatoes -- generally about 20-40 minutes.