Five Salt Dinner 4 -- Salt-Crusted Red Snapper

Hi blog readers, this is Victoria.

As you know by now, my husband is a city boy who shrieks like a sissy when confronted with a harmless one-pound fish. Fortunately for him, I spent years working on living history farms; plowing with a team of oxen, milking cows and goats, stuffing sausage casings, and plucking and gutting ducks. I have never cleaned or gutted a fish, however, so I was relieved to hear that he had bought one that was already prepared. I got home from work, still amused by the panicked phone call in which he begged me to “deal with the fish.” I was even more amused to realize that it was basically a large red minnow.

Gross? Definitely. Scary? Not even a little. I showed Mr. Snapper to our nine-month-old son, Benjamin, and he just laughed.

Unfortunately, Aaron hadn’t realized that although the vendor at the fish market had assured him that the fish was cleaned and gutted, it hadn’t had the scales removed, and our recipe called for a cleaned and scaled fish. Aaron hadn’t been able to bring himself to look closely at it (or to bring himself close enough to the fish to take a look) and he assumed it had been scaled. I picked it up and realized instantly that it hadn’t. So task one was learning how to scale a fish.

Fortunately, the internet gave me instructions.

The instructions included: “You will want to do this outside, or in a place where you can clean up easily -- scales will fly everywhere. I learned this the hard way: I scaled many fish in an old apartment of mine, only to find scales attached to the ceiling when I moved out, years later.”

After reading these instructions, I took Mr. Snapper out to the balcony, placed him on some wax paper, and started scraping firmly from tail to head, i.e. against the direction of the scales. The internet was not kidding about scales flying everywhere – they literally went flying in a four-foot range and in many random directions. If you ever try this, remember to keep your mouth closed! Also, wear a high-necked shirt. I was itchy later that evening and discovered that a fish scale had flown down my shirt and lodged under my bra. Uncomfortable as well as yucky!

The important thing when scaling the fish is to achieve full coverage (or uncoverage, really). Run your fingers over the body of the fish to make sure you haven’t missed anywhere, like behind its ears or under its little armpits (finpits?). Any stubborn scales can just be plucked out with your fingers. I didn’t get too picky about the part closest to the head, which I had no intention of eating anyway.

 Success!  I feel like a pioneer woman!

Once I realized how easy this process is, I resolved to go to the fish market and buy whole fish on a regular basis and to learn how to clean and gut them as well. My husband is going to be SO happy!

Now that the fish was finally ready, I cut some slits in the skin, rubbed olive oil on both sides, and sprinkled it liberally with Old Bay seasoning. I equal my husband in general over-enthusiasm, and used far too much Old Bay, but it didn’t matter because it wasn’t hard to scrape it off before eating the final product.

 












The second challenge was adjusting the proportions and the timing. The recipe that Aaron found online was for a bulky (I almost wrote “beefy”) 6.5 pound fish, and our Mr. Snapper was a classic one-pound weakling. I bet the other fish picked on him in school.

Ha! “in school” -- get it?

I prepared the salt crust, which called for mixing a large amount of kosher salt with chopped fresh parsley, basil, tarragon, freshly-ground black pepper, orange zest, lemon zest, a little orange juice, and some lemon juice. Since this was just flavoring the salt crust, I figured the portions didn’t matter too much.

The timing was more of a problem, and I resorted to looking for recipes for salt-encrusted fish that were much smaller than the one in the recipe Aaron had recommended. I decided that 20 minutes would probably work.

Unlike the recipe for the salt crust for the roast, this recipe did not call for egg whites – probably because the fish is flat and could be easily coated with a top and a bottom, without worrying about the sides standing up on their own. The recipe assured me that I could leave the head and tail uncovered, which made me feel like I was tucking Mr. Snapper into a little bed. Time for Goodnight Moon . . .

Goodnight little fishie...

After 20 minutes, we pulled Mr. Snapper out of the oven. He looked pretty much the same. 

I gingerly tried cracking his salt crust with a hammer, hoping for the same dramatic effect Aaron had achieved with the roast. There was an unresounding smush as the hammer sank slightly into the salt, and I realized that the egg whites turn the crust into, well, a CRUST. Sigh.

If I ever salt encrust a fish again, I will use egg white just for the gratification of being able to crack the crust open with a hammer.

Anyway, I was able to lift the salt crust off mostly in large-ish pieces, and to sweep off the remaining salt with a pastry brush. Then I was faced with a whole fish, apparently cooked.

Um, what next?

Since we’ve never cooked a whole fish before, I wasn’t sure what to do next . . . Well, actually I knew that I needed to cut it apart in some special way that would leave the bones behind and preserve the meat for serving. To the internet again!

The internet said: “To serve, slide a spatula under a section that had been scored and simply lift it out and onto a plate. For the section closest to the head, move the spatula into the top of the fish over the ribs, which start below the backbone, then around the top and down toward the ribs in a semicircular motion. This ensures a boneless piece.”

Sound great!

Only, it turns out that was one of those “easy to describe, difficult to do” things. I ended up with a lot of pieces of fish, and quite a few of them still had bones in them. Grrr. I love fish, but I HATE fish bones. Obviously, this will take more practice.

This is not easy.

The internet also said: “Oh, and don't forget the cheeks of the fish, which are my favorite part. They will be orbs of yummy fish right under each eye. And the tails, if not burnt black, are crunchy and nutty-tasting. You can also pick at the meat between the ribs, as well as in the belly.”

To which I responded: “No frickin’ way am I eating fish cheeks!” Now I’m grossed out too! Maybe Aaron had a point after all.

On a happier note, the fish was delicious: flaky, moist and perfectly cooked. I shredded the leftover pieces onto a salad for lunch today, and discovered that the spiciness of the Old Bay was a great complement to the lettuce and spinach.

But the result was pretty tasty!

My conclusion: it was a lot of work for a good, but not spectacular, dish o’ fish. Maybe I wouldn’t have felt that way if I hadn’t been learning so many new skills at the same time. I’ll try cooking and serving whole fish a few more times, then try it again.