Mise en Place: Salmon Snobbery

Further Confessions of a Food-o-phile: Salmon Snobbery, Or How I Stopped Hating and Learned to Love Pink Salmon

If memory serves (and it does decreasingly so) it all started at Albertsons, the one out at Westgate off of Pearl Street. It was July 1990 and my wife and I and our two angry cats had just moved to North Yakima Avenue from the Twin Cities. Predictably, one of my first ventures forth was to find a grocery store. This being just a few scant months after the end of the dark ages, Metropolitan Market was not yet a glimmer in this food-o-phile’s eye, and I was under the mistaken impression that “Tacoma Boys” was a different kind of meat market altogether.

So, I ambled into Albertson’s, got behind the wobbly wheels of a crusty cart and commenced to shopping. When I got to the meat market at the back of the store, I was flabbergasted by my discovery. Whole salmon on sale for $1.99 a pound! $1.99! Holy $%!#, I thought, I have apparently expired and been granted salvation. Salmon salvation, but salvation nonetheless. I procured myself a three-pound specimen, a bag of Kingsford, lighter fluid, butter, lemons, and garlic and was on my way.

What did I know? In Minnesota, walleye reigns and salmon comes in a can. Believe me when I tell you, in the summer of 1990 I wouldn’t have known a Hoh River coho from a Hostess Ho-Ho. Of course, then, as now, the only salmon going for $1.99 are the inferior, biannual pink salmon.

Twenty years later I understand that pink salmon are, shall we say, less desirable among the anadromous species. It’s flesh tends toward the mushy side of the spectrum and if you are going to eat it at all you’ll want to be sure it is minty fresh and bright. Nicknamed Humpie, the male of the species grows an alarming humpback once it hits freshwater. Not far upstream on their sex/death march, pinks literally start to rot on the bone. Zombie fish. Quasimodo with gills.

My enthusiastic evangelization of the $1.99 a pound fish was predictably met by natives with wrinkled noses. “I guess you can eat those,” commented one. “My dog does.” Said another, “they’re OK if you smoke them.”

It wasn’t long before I learned better. Now, it pains me to admit it, but I am guilty of salmonoid discrimination.

So sue me. I lay the blame for my piscatorial prejudice squarely on the shoulders of my Vashon Island neighbor John De Groen. When we lived next door to the De Groens, John owned and operated a commercial fishing boat that he ran out of Alaska, although you would never mistake him for one of the grizzled captains from Deadliest Catch. Hardly the stereotypical wheezing old-salt, John is mild of manner, a man of few words. One afternoon, when just back from one of his months long trips, John knocked on my door with a flash-frozen fillet as long as his arm and perhaps 4 inches thick at the shoulder. “Here,” he said. “Yukon River King.” And then he was gone.

Little did I know it at the time, but that was the beginning of the end for me of eating random salmon. Flaky and fatty, Yukon is indeed the reigning King of salmon. These days, a flank of salmon like the one John dropped in my lap has a “street value” somewhere well into the hundreds of dollars. My first experiment with Yukon King went sideways when I did not realize the flammability of its golden-orange omega 3’s. Blackened salmon is an acquired taste, but this was downright sooty. Soon though I mastered the art of cooking it over indirect heat, a few wine-soaked alder chips from the woodpile giving it that Northwest touch. You don’t mess too hard with Yukon River king – salt, pepper, a little butter, that about does it. I liked to serve it with a black bean and corn salad, dressed with lime and cumin and a bottle of St. Innocent Pinot Noir. Simple is as simple does.

Of course as humans we are always want to ruin a good thing and if your neighbor isn’t dropping you off a diving board-sized slab, Yukon River King will require a second mortgage on your house. Just as bad, if not worse, is the ruination that is the Copper River run. This is a perfectly good salmon, every species of them, from King and sockeye on through to coho. And, once upon a time, us old-timers will tell you about when we used to be able to procure 2 lbs of Copper River filet and get change back from a Franklin.

Ha-ha. No longer. As with most things, evil marketing “geniuses” have ruined life as we know it and sent the price of Copper River all skyrockets in flight. Like I said, it’s good fish and all, but pushing $40 a pound it is as over the top as Blanka Vlasic (extraordinarily leggy female Croatian high jumper who must be seen to be believed). I’m still fence sitting on my boycott of Arizona, but I’ve been off Copper River on pure principle now for a good decade. The price of that fish is simply a sad abomination. When it’s back to half its current bounty, I may get back in the game.

Fortunately there are many other ways to satisfy one’s salmon jones and my recommendation is that you keep it simple and go fresh, local, and line caught whenever you can. Oh, and Wild, that bears mention. Phooey on the farmed stuff. Bad on the table, bad for you, bad for the environment. Look for that pearly sheen on the flesh and you are in business, regardless of its river of origin.

Of course, being a salmon snob (or any kind of snob for that matter) has its benefits, one of which is that warm fuzzy feeling of smug superiority. But, it has its burdens too. The down-side is, every snob eventually gets her or his comeuppance. Last fall I was fortunate to visit that cathedral of culinary priggishness, the Herbfarm in Woodinville. The Herbfarm consistently sets the bar at world record heights, so it’s almost as much fun to watch the misses as it is to see them scale the heights. No doubt, this is high-wire dining, best done on an expense account.

Our five-hour extravaganza included nine food courses, innumerable wines and culinary invention that wavered from the sublime (venison loin) to the ridiculous (bacon-oatmeal ice cream, no lie). One of the dishes was ostentatiously titled “A Study in Pacific Salmon” which of course inflated my expectations to epic proportions. The “Study” turned out to be three different types of salmon done three ways: a roasted king salmon with King Bolete mushrooms, sockeye with a sorrel puree, and (you guessed it) Pink! The pink salmon was half-cooked (OK, practically raw) and served simply with a fresh herb salad and crisp pickled Walla Walla sweet onions. Yum!

It almost pains me to say it, but, while each of these preparations was mouth-watering, the lowly mi cuit pink was easily my favorite. Savoring each bite, I reflected with regret on the two mint-bright, un-humped pinks I had caught the summer previous for sheer sport, tossing them back to the Sound without so much as a second thought. Had I only known! Regets, I have a few. And now, two to mention.

Ah, but is that not life? Do it or don’t, you’re bound to regret it either way. Albertsons, here I come.

Salmon Fillet with Asian Marinade

I wouldn’t necessarily recommend using this recipe with Yukon River King, but it puts a nice asian flair to just about any other fish. Works nicely with halibut as well. Some braised boy choy or other asian vegetables would be good with this. Due to the asian flavors, a crisp, dry white wine would be in order.

Fresh salmon fillets, cut into 6-8 oz individual portions, skin left on.

Marinade

2 tbs canola oil
1 tbs dark soy sauce
1 tbs grated fresh ginger
2 tsp black bean sauce
1/8th cup rice wine or dry sherry
Minced garlic
1 tsp chili paste
Chopped fresh cilantro

Mix all the marinade ingredients and let the flavors combine 30 minutes or so.

Pour the marinade over the fish for no more than 20-30 minutes. Remove filets from marinade and place on a pre-heated gas or charcoal grill using indirect heat. Cover. Do not flip. Cook until just barely medium. Depending on thickness of filets and heat of the grill this might be 5-10 minutes. Half-way through, baste with some of the reserved marinade.