Pacific Moi with Fresh Soybeans, Scallion and Radish Salad, and Soy-Temple Orange Glaze

Oh people, I am in love. With a FISH of all things. Is that bad? I mean, I think I can find room in my heart for one more culinary luv-ah. Move over, bacon... slide a little to the right, bordelaise sauce.... Bloomberg, you stay put, honey. We'll slide that moi right there beside ya. Perfect.

I can't decide how much of my moi-love is about the fish itself, or the double-secret-probation covert ops it took to get this delectable fish out of the Hawaiian waters, onto a plane to the east coast, and into my hot little hands.

First, let's start with some background. Moi (pronounced "moy") is rare for home cooks to come by here on the east coast. In fact, now that I think about it, I don't think I've ever seen it on a restaurant menu here, either. The only place I've seen moi on a menu was in Maui 10 years ago; I didn't order it then, and boy am I kicking myself now. Centuries ago, it was the fish of kings -- and only the wealthy and privileged were able to eat it. Today, it's sustainably farmed in Hawaiian waters and enjoyed by all Hawaiians.

So, how did I get this rare little fishy in my kitchen? Back in February, when I was buying monkfish (ugh, THAT was a disaster of a dish), I told my fishmonger, Scott, that I needed to get my hands on some fresh moi -- not Cryovac™ed and frozen, but fresh outta the water. He laughed and laughed and "there-there'd" me until I snapped his ass back into reality and said, "No. Dude. I really do need some moi. Can ya help me out?" I think right after that he said something like "Fat chance, you crack monkey" and then suggested I book us two tickets to Hawaii to go pick some up -- and believe me, I was tempted.

Over the next few weeks and months, everytime I went to BlackSalt, whether to buy fish in the market or have lunch with friends, I'd pester Scott with my need for moi. He'd say, "Yeah, yeah, I'm workin' on it" which I bought hook, line and sinker (ha!) time and time again. Finally, I said, "Dude. I'm really ready for this moi. Can we get some, or do I have to *gulp* make a substitution?" His reply was: "You're not gonna believe this, but I think I can get us some."

Aw yeah.

There was much back and forth on how we were getting it: where's it coming from // I can't tell you // Are you just gonna hack up some catfish and tell me it's moi // No, really, I know this guy // Oh really; that sounds credible // He's a customer // But is he also a reputable fish purveyor // Not exactly, but he can have some moi flown in because he, like, knows some people // Are you serious and is this legal // Um, I think so // Oh boy, you think so; so when's it coming // I can't say; it will be kind of last-minute // But I'm a control freak and I need to know every detail or else I will have to pace the floor and brush my hair for six hours until it is even more shiny and perfect // Oh, can it, sister // Beep boop boo beep // What are you doing // I'm pressing the numbers on my phone to annoy you so you'll tell me when the fish will be here // Oh fer cryin' out loud, I promise, it'll be any day now // No really, when's it coming // The red dog flies at midnight.

After one or two false alarms and one delivery mishap by the lovely folks at Fed Ex, my phone rang early one morning with Scott on the other end of the line saying the moi had arrived. I jumped out of bed, showered and got dressed, and hauled ass over to BlackSalt to pick it up lickety-split. It was so pretty and lovely before he filleted it for me. Sadly, I do not have a photo of that because I suck and in my haste to get there so quickly, I forgot my camera. Sorry. However, thanks to the good people at the University of Hawaii, I can show you their photo of a whole moi, ready to be cooked and eaten with love:


Gorgeous. And, let's all give Scott Weinstein a big round of applause for providing me with the right fish for this dish so that I didn't have to use monkfish, canned tuna or some shit.

::: clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap :::

Nicely done. Now, let's move on to the dish.

The first thing I did was prepare the radish salad. Using my mandoline, I julienned some green onions (not the best-looking cuts you'll ever see -- whoops), carrot and radish:

I put the julienned vegetables in a bowl of ice water to hold them until I was ready to plate.

The next step was making the orange glaze. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this somewhere on the blog before, but I have carpal tunnel syndrome. I'm afraid to have the surgery to correct it (I've heard too many awful stories about how it actually makes things worse), so instead, I make concessions in my everyday actitvities to accommodate it. One of those concessions is buying fresh-squeezed juices instead of squeezing the citrus myelf. I've had the fresh juices from Balducci's before and they're really, really good, so I bought a small bottle of their orange juice to use in this dish. The idea of squeezing enough oranges to provide two cups of juice was painful enough in thought, let alone execution. So, I started with some orange juice, which I reduced over medium heat until it had gone from 2 cups to just under a half a cup:

I removed it from the heat and set it aside while I prepared the soybeans. Now, I suppose I could've driven all the way up Georgia Avenue to the Asian supermarket to find fresh soybeans, but the chance of them having any is usually slim-to-none, and I was driving right past my favorite Japanese restaurant, Murasaki, on the way home from picking up the moi, so I decided to just get the edamame from them so I didn't have to blanch them when I got home -- they were already steamed in salt water.

I removed them from their pods and put them in a small saucepan with some tomato diamonds, brunoise, and a little bit of butter and heated the mixture over low heat until it was warmed throughout:

I reheated the orange glaze to a simmer and whisked in two tablespoons of butter as well as the soy sauce, and kept it warm over low heat:

I removed the julienned carrots, radishes, and green onions from their ice-water bath, patted them dry and tossed them in a bowl with some minced chives and some lemon olive oil:

Last, but most certainly not least, it was time to cook that lovely, lovely fish:

The French Laundry Cookbook suggests serving pieces that are 3.5"x1", but I made my pieces a bit larger than that because this fish was expensive, and I wanted to make sure I didn't waste a single bit of it. I seasoned each of the pieces with salt and pepper:

I then cooked them, skin side down first, for about 3 minutes, then flipped them over to the fleshy side for just under a minute. To plate, I started with the orange glaze, on top of which went the soybean mixture. On top of that, the moi; and, on top of the moi went the radish salad:
Ooo, ahh... just a little bit... ooo ahhh, a little bit more... ooo, ahh... just a little bit, you know what I'm lookin' for.... baby, please... you're all I neeeeed.....

Nothin' like a little Gina G. dance-mix-love-ballad for my moi.

Let me talk about how full-bodied this fish is. I know that's probably a strange term to use when you're talking about fish, but I don't care. It had heft to it, but wasn't steak-y. It was heavy, but not too fishy tasting. It had enough fat in it that it was silky smooth, but it was also light on the palate and really, really delicious. The skin was crispy and perfect, and I couldn't have been happier. I also really loved the soybeans, but do you know what the hit of the night was? The orange-soy glaze. For as much as we loved the fish (and we all really did), the glaze took it waaaay over the top and turned a grand slam into... um.... a shut-out-filled World Series win, or whatever baseball analogy suits best (I'm crap at sports, so YOU figure something out). There was just enough soy sauce to cut the orangey-ness of the orange, and the consistency of it was perfect. And, the radish salad added a nice, sharp crunchy and cool complement to the dish that, when I read the recipe I though I might not like, but it tied it all together really nicely.

I think this dish is really easy to pull off. If you have your very own Scott, then have him or her pull out all the stops to get some moi. If you don't, TOO BAD FOR YOU. Kidding. (sort of) You could make this dish and substitute some halibut, or maybe some pompano... something with a fatty, almost buttery texture and you'll be set. It is soooooo worth trying, even for the orange-soy glaze on its own. You won't regret it, I promise.

Up Next: Q&A with Carol, Part Deux... and my dinner at Alinea

Resources:
Moi from BlackSalt
Edamame from Murasaki
Produce from Balducci's
O Meyer lemon olive oil
365 organic butter and canola oil
Fresh-squeezed orange juice from Balducci's
Kimlan soy sauce (even though its name makes me think of ChemLawn - boooo)

Music to Cook By: The Little Ones; Lovers Who Uncover. Another KCRW find and a CD from Red Light Management (thanks, guys!). I love their pace and their musicality, and there's just something about these guys that makes it fun to cook to AND fun to clean up to. They recently worked with the guitarist from the Mighty Lemon Drops, which is the band I was seeing at the old 930 Club the night that paragon of virtue Marion Barry was arrested for smoking crack with Rasheeda Moore at the Vista Hotel. Good times.... good times.... anyway, they have a great sound and remind me of Echo and the Bunnymen, which is maybe why I like them so much. I think you will, too.

Read My Previous Post: Hearts of Palm with Purée of Marrow Beans and Field Greens

French Laundry at Home Extra: Meet Scott Weinstein, Fishmonger

How do you go from being law school-bound to becoming a renowned fishmonger? Ask Scott Weinstein. He's the fishmonger at BlackSalt in Washington, D.C.

(From L to R: Keith, Scott, and a happy customer)

Having lived in the Mid-Atlantic region all my life, I realize how lucky I am to have fresh fish and seafood at my disposal every day. Having shopped around quite a bit over the past few years, I now buy all my seafood at BlackSalt, not because it's close to my house or convenient (it's not), not because it's inexpensive (it's not), but because the quality is outstanding, and because Scott knows his stuff and has never steered me wrong.

Having a good relationship with any food purveyor (or a plumber or electrician, for that matter) is critical to experiencing consistent quality coupled with those little extra special pointers or products. I've gotten to know Scott over the past year and a half and find him to be not only charming and funny, but incredibly knowledgeable, resourceful, and savvy.


It's my nature that when I find a great service, product, or person, I like to share it with only the people closest to me. However, when it comes to food I'm a huge advocate of spreading the word far and wide, because I think it's important to learn from the best and buy product from the best. And in this case and in this region of the country, Scott is the best. So, in the spirit of The French Laundry Cookbook's stories about the restaurant's purveyors, I thought it only appropriate that I introduce you to some of the folks who have made French Laundry at Home such a joy to do.

With that then, today, instead of reading about a dish, I'd like you to read about fish, and the man who has almost become a curator of sorts when it comes to all things from the sea: BlackSalt's fishmonger, Scott Weinstein.

* * * * *

A Washington, DC-area native, Scott grew up in Bethesda, MD, graduated from Churchill H.S., and left town to go to college in Vermont. Not really loving life in Vermont, he soon transferred to University of Maryland in College Park, MD and graduated in 2001. Having majored in political science and sociology, and hailing from a long line of lawyers, Scott figured he'd spend a year or two after college traveling and working, and then head off to law school.

Instead, he took a job cooking at Addie's in Rockville, and enjoyed cooking so much there that he then did a year-long stint at Le Cordon Bleu in Ottawa, Canada. Having learned proper French technique, he came back to the DC area and worked as a cook under David Craig at Black's Bar & Kitchen in Bethesda for a year. During this time, he perfected his skills, learned how kitchens and restaurants were run, and quickly rose up through the ranks. When Jeff and Barbara Black were in the final stages of preparing to open BlackSalt in 2004, their fishmonger backed out and Scott, who was already planning to be BlackSalt's lead cook, was asked to take the job. Here's where I let Scott take over the story, and where I share the interview I did with him a few days ago...

Scott Weinstein: I grew up loving seafood, and I knew how to prepare and cook fish, but I didn't have any experience as a fishmonger. So, I spent the six months prior to the restaurant opening traveling, meeting vendors, going to markets, learning from other fish experts, and basically teaching myself how to do this job.

Carol: So, when the restaurant and the market finally opened, had you sufficiently prepared?

SW: Well, it was hands-on from that moment forward, and it's been great. There were some bumps in the road getting started -- I learned early on I had to perfect my cutting techniques, which I did, because we were bringing in this great product, and I wanted to do it right. But it's been an amazing three and a half years.


C: What kind of budget do you have?

SW: That's the great thing. I have carte blanche, with the only directive really being 'bring in the best you can find.' Obviously, I have to make sure we make money, but as long as the numbers match up, I can focus on bringing in the very best I can find.


C: Let's talk about a typical day for you -- what does that look like?

SW: I get in between 6 and 6:30 every morning and spend the first two hours of the day ordering, taking phone calls, doing inventory. Most restaurants in DC put in their orders the night before, but I do mine in the morning, which means these guys are champing at the bit to get me on the phone to get me what I need. It also means I'm getting the freshest possible fish. I love talking to my vendors every day, and seeing what they have. I've gotten to know these guys really well over the years and they're really great to work with. They know I have really high standards, and they want to get me the best stuff.


C: Okay, so you spend the first two hours of your day "in the office." When the fish market opens, do you spend the rest of the day on the floor? Then, when the restaurant opens, does it get even busier?

SW: Yeah, from the minute the doors open, I'm in the market serving customers and supporting the kitchen. On any given day, I've got 6 or 7 people working in the market with me, and I'm there with them until we close up shop, usually between 7:30 and 8:30 every night. Sometimes, I leave around 6:30, but most nights, I'm here along with everyone else.

C: Do all of you work just in the fish market side of the business, or do some swing over to help out the restaurant?

SW: We handle all the purchasing, receiving and fabricating for the restaurant, too. One of the other things I do before opening the market in the morning is write up the food guide for the kitchen so that the chef knows what we have available for use.


C: Legend has it that at Per Se, 75% of what's brought in on any given day to the receiving area gets turned away. How much do you have to turn away every morrning?

SW: I look at every piece of fish that comes in. That's very important to me. I've built great relationships with my vendors, and they know exactly what my standards are, so I rarely have to look at anything that's substandard. That said, every now and then, a fish will come in that looks great, but when we cut it open, there are dark areas, which means it's bruised. It's certainly nothing the vendor could've spotted, so it's not his fault, but I can't sell it or use it in the restaurant, so it has to go back.



C: Sustainability is a big buzzword when it comes to seafood. What does that mean to you?

SW: It's definitely a big part of our overall business philosophy, because we buy as locally as we can and rely on wind power for our restaurants. But, we also look at the whole picture when it comes to product. We put pressure on our vendors to source responsibly.

C: What does that mean?

SW: When buying domestically, we only work with fisherman who are working within strict quotas and state and national management plans. That way, we can still serve good wild-caught product responsibly. We carry swordfish, but do it responsibly. We only sell shrimp that's been wild-caught by domestic fishermen who are using turtle-safe gear. We're not bringing in stuff from China or who knows where. That's important to me. I have brought in organic farm-raised salmon from Ireland and Scotland because the EU has developed strong organic guidelines, which the U.S. and Canada have failed to do at this point.



C: It seems like there are so many studies, articles and opinions on this issue. What should people do to better educate themselves?

SW: It's important to not just read one article or listen to only one point of view. Every day, I try to learn more about changes in netting, bi-catch issues, and who is doing their catching properly. But I have to go to more than one source to learn about the issue as a whole. And people should make decisions based on a wide variety of information available to them, not just one thing.

C: What fish do Washingtonians eat the most of?

SW: Salmon, for sure. We sell as much salmon as anything else combined. But we also work with a lot of private chefs, really experienced cooks, and people who love to try different things, so I like to stock and sell things that no one else carries.

C: Any advice for my readers on how to buy a great piece of fish?

SW: Sure. You can poke, prod, and smell it -- all those tips you read about -- but really, it's most important to know the person you're buying the fish from. Develop a relationship with that person. Talk to them about the fish, make an effort to learn from them and know that it's all about trust. Let them take care of you, because when you build that relationship, we end up looking out for you and making sure you get what you need.

C: Many of my readers don't live as closely as we do to the water and great seafood resources. For people who don't have access to fresh fish, is frozen okay?

SW: Fish is always best fresh. However, if the fish is vacuum-packed-frozen right away, it's good for about two weeks and the taste won't suffer all that much when you do cook it. It is important to thaw it properly, though -- and that means letting it thaw slowly and naturally in the refrigerator. Never in the microwave. Never.

C: What's the biggest mistake home cooks make when preparing fish?

SW: Underseasoning and overcooking. Most people are afraid of salt, so they don't ever use it, and then wonder why their food doesn't taste as good as it does in a restaurant. It's important to learn how to use salt throughout the cooking process because it makes a huge difference in the final product.



C: What do you do on your days off?

SW: Well, I don't cook. Usually, I go out to eat -- sushi, Thai, Vietnamese. Here in DC, the best food is either high-end or ethnic. It's kind of difficult to find a great middle-of-the-road type of place that's worth the time or money. I'm also into sports, so I play and watch on my days off, when I'm not hanging out with friends.

C: When you do cook at home, do you make fish?

SW: Sometimes I see a piece of fish in the case in the morning when we open, and I think of all the different ways I want to cook it when I take it home at the end of the night. Then, I end up getting sushi on the way home instead. But when I do make fish, I like it grilled, with a little salt and pepper, maybe some fresh lemon juice. I like fish to taste like fish, not something else.

C: If you weren't a fishmonger, what else would you do?

SW: Probably go back into the kitchen... be a chef or a sous chef... maybe someday have my own place.

C: I always end each one of my posts with a little blurb about what music I listened to when I cooked that particular dish. So, let me ask you, if I were to turn your iPod on right now, what would be playing? Anything particularly embarrassing?

SW: I'm probably the only person in the world who doesn't have an iPod.

C: I'm not letting you get out of answering this question, but nice try. What CD is in your car's player right now?

SW: (semi-sheepishly) Okay, fine. I kind of have a thing for 80s music.

C: So, you got some Phil Collins goin' on? Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam?

SW: The Breakfast Club soundtrack.

... which was, for me, the perfect way to end this interview. Because really, when your fishmonger can go from talking about sustainability and bi-catch prevention netting technologies to The Breakfast Club soundtrack, you know you're working with someone pretty damn fantastic.

* * *

Up Next:Île Flottante (I know I promised this earlier, but the electrical system in my house is experiencing some technical difficulties and I had to adjust my cooking schedule to accommodate repairs. Sorry.)

Read my previous post: Citrus-Marinated Salmon with a Confit of Navel Oranges, Beluga Caviar and Pea Shoot Coulis

Citrus-Marinated Salmon with a Confit of Navel Oranges, Beluga Caviar and Pea Shoot Coulis

I'm not even gonna try to be coy or playful, or make you guess what I thought of this dish or make you wait until the end to find out, because I can't hold it in that long.

This dish freakin' rocks.

I almost don't even want to write about it because I'm not sure there are words that can accurately convey how good this was. Let me start with these caveats, too: I really, really don't like salmon (I know, I'm strange), and I mostly detest citrus. The only citrus I like is limes, because you need fresh-squeezed lime juice in a Sidecar. I can't eat grapefruit because it tastes like hot tar smells. Lemons make me gag, and oranges make me sneeze and the pulp feels squeaky on my teeth.

I was dreading this dish for a long time, but figured I'd get it overwith and not worry about eating it because I'd let my friends enjoy every last bite. I'm glad I got over myself (hey, there's a first time for everything) and took a bite because this dish is a keeper.

I'm going to shut up now, so you can see how the dish came to be.

The first thing I did was make the citrus marinade for the salmon.


I zested one orange, half a lemon, half a lime, and a third of a grapefruit:

I mixed it in bowl with some salt, white pepper, and sugar:

Done. Wasn't that easy?

Next, I removed the salmon (skin already removed) from its wrapping and made sure all the pin bones were removed and it was ready to be marinated:

I spread part of the marinade on a sheet of aluminum foil, placed the salmon on top, sprinkled the rest of the marinade on top of the salmon, wrapped it up, and put it between two baking sheets and put it in the fridge for about three hours:

While the fish was marinating, I made the orange confit. This involved sectioning four navel oranges, removing all the membranes and pith so that it was just the orange sections, then confit-ing them in a mixture of simple syrup and white wine vinegar:


Next up? The pea shoot coulis. Wanna see my pea shoots? Do ya?

And, here's an extreme close-up ("Extreme close-up!! Whhooooaaa, wwwhhhhooooooaaaaaaaa"):

They're almost too pretty too cook, aren't they? Too bad. I blanched them, cooled them off in an ice bath, strained them, puréed them, pressed the purée through a tamis, then added some butter and salt to the coulis... keeping it warm on the stovetop while I cooked the fish:

Just before I started the pea shoot coulis, I took the salmon out of the refrigerator, rinsed off the citrus marinade patted the fish dry, cut it into six servings, and let those six servings sit at room temperature for about 30 minutes.
I know it looks like the pieces in the back still have their skins on -- they don't. It's just a weird shadow.

I warmed the orange sections in their syrup. Next, I brought a pot of olive oil up to 110 degrees Fahrenheit, added the salmon pieces to it, and poached them in the oil -- in all, it took probably 15 minutes (5 minutes for the oil to heat and 10 minutes of poaching). The fish was flaky, but still orange-ish/pink. I took the salmon out of the oil and let them drain for a minute on a paper towel-covered plate.

Then, I plated the dish. Salmon in the center with chives and osetra caviar on top (I went for the good stuff this time), surrounded by orange sections, and some pea shoot coulis on the side:

You may recall reading about one of my regular tasters, Grant, of the famed Grant Tipton Day. He looooooooves salmon. He's actually quite the connoisseur, even though he's only eleven years old. He likes his salmon smoked, grilled, broiled, poached, in gravlax form... the kid loves salmon. So, I knew he'd be my toughest critic. He was a little squicked out by the fact that it was poached in olive oil, and thought it would come out all oogie and drippy. But, he took one bite, chewed it thoughtfully, then proceeded to stab at the rest of the fish, mixing all the flavors and devouring that dish like I've never seen before. When I asked him what he thought of how the salmon went together with the taste of peas and oranges, his response was, "Blllhhhhssrrsssh," to which I replied, "Um, what?"

He chewed some more, swallowed, and repeated his answer: "Bliss."

And you know what?

He's right.

The pea shoot coulis, even though it looked like the Jolly Green Giant had a case of the squirts, was really and truly outstanding. That's the element that tied everything together, for me. The oranges were gorgeous, the salmon was perfect, the caviar was divine, the chives were just crunchy enough.... I haven't been able to stop talking about this dish since I made it. It's really hard to describe how good it is -- because it's that good. If you have The French Laundry Cookbook, step away from the computer, go buy the ingredients and make this dish immediately. That's an order. Because when you make it, you will end up with a table full of these:

This dish gets added to the permanent repertoire. It's the only way I'll eat salmon from now on, I'm pretty sure. This, or some form of it, will be a "go to" dish for me for dinner parties or just whenever the mood strikes. In fact, next Sunday can't get here fast enough for me to get more pea shoots and make this again. Who wants to come for dinner?

Up Next: Île Flottante

Resources:
Salmon and caviar from BlackSalt
Pea shoots from Calvert's Gift Farm
All other produce from the Safeway on MacArthur Blvd. in DC

Music to Cook By: Madonna; Hard Candy. I'm kind of obsessed with "4 Minutes" and the fact that Madonna is 50 and still churning out decent music. Who cares if she has a fake British accent? She's MADONNA fer cryin' out loud. She can do whatever she wants.

Read my previous post: "Peas and Carrots" -- Maine Lobster Pancakes with Pea Shoot Salad and Ginger-Carrot Emulsion

"Peas and Carrots" -- Maine Lobster Pancakes with Pea Shoot Salad and Ginger-Carrot Emulsion

First, let's start with some good news: I got my wallet back! Woo-hoo!!!!! It was found and turned in at the Metro station four blocks from where I was robbed. All the cards (including a whopper of a Williams Sonoma gift card) were still in there, and the only cash that was left was one quarter. Hey, big spender.

Anyhoo, I couldn't be more thrilled, because now I'm a two-wallet girl. My old wallet for the regular stuff, and the new bacon wallet to hold all my gift cards and store credits in one place (because right now, they're scattered everywhere and it's annoying).

But enough about me and my accessories. Let's talk about something really important and very official and that is the fact that I am a giant nerd.

Why (this time)?

Because at the Farmer's Market on Sunday, I acutally said, "Oh yay! Pea shoots!"

OUT LOUD.

Not just OUT LOUD, but also kind of loudly -- enough so that people actually turned to look at me as if I were some sort of who knows what. So to that, I say "turn back around people and pay attention to what you were doing before and let me be happy about pea shoots, or else I might have to TUSK you or something."

Actually, I'm sure the reason they turned and looked at me so strangely is because allergy season is kicking my ass, and with all this pollen my exclamation about pea shoots resembled a Harvey Fierstein stage whisper, so they probably thought they had a celebrity in their midst. What a disappointment that they turned around and it was only me. C'est la vie....

I have been dying to do this dish and the salmon dish (coming soon to an Internet near you) because they both involve pea shoots -- which, in case you didn't get it from the words I so lovingly typed above for your viewing pleasure, I love so much.

I made this dish over the course of two days. It could be done all in one, but I have a life, people. Well, not really. I just felt like spacing it out.

The first thing I did was head down to BlackSalt to pick up three lobsters:


I steeped them in boiling water, took them apart, removed the meat for use later, and was left with three lobster bodies:

I cut up the lobster bodies into about 6 pieces each, and put them in a sauté pan with some canola oil. I had them in the pan for about 5 minutes, and then added some tomato, carrots, thyme, and water.



I let this simmer for about an hour and a half. Then, I strained it into another pot, pressing against the solids to make sure all the liquid was released.


I strained the liquid again into a smaller pot, which left me with nearly 2 cups of liquid.



I put the pot o' lobster liquid over medium heat and brought it up to a lively simmer, and reduced it until I had about 2 tablespoons of a thickened glaze.



I noticed there were some solids still in the liquid toward the end, so I strained it again into a smaller pot and finished the reduction (the smell of which was so intensely wonderful, I kind of wish I could afford to do this everyday):

While this was reducing, I prepared the lobster filling. I cut the lobster meat (minus the claw tips, because the texture would detract from the rest of the meat) into a small-ish dice, and minced some shallots and chives:


I mixed this in a bowl, and added a half-cup of mascarpone, some salt and pepper, then added the 2T of the lobster glaze I'd just reduced:


I covered this and put it in the refrigerator overnight. Wanna see a close-up? Of course you do:

The next day, I set out to finish the dish. The French Laundry Cookbook suggests juicing 3 pounds of carrots for the ginger-carrot emulsion, but I don't have a juicer. And, I wasn't going to shell out $200 for one, since I know I would never, ever use it (I generally don't like juice; I'd rather just eat the fruit or vegetable on its own). So, I bought carrot juice and "infused" (infauxed?) it with some fresh, shredded carrots, as well as some fresh, shredded ginger:


I brought this mixture to a boil, then reduced it to a simmer for about 15 minutes.


When it had reduced from 2 cups to about a half a cup, I poured it through a strainer into another saucepan, then whisked in some cream and 12 tablespoons of butter (one by one), then poured it into a blender. I know that the book says not to skim or strain at this point, but I wasn't really making the "correct" version anyhow, so I kind of had to wing it and make it my own from this point on.

I blended it for about 30 seconds and kept it in the glass vessel until I was ready to plate.


The last big step was making the crèpes. Even though I was psyched about this dish because of the pea shoots, I was equally as annoyed about making crèpes. Why? Because I have a history of bad crèpe making. I never seem to get the batter done right, or they're too thick or too thin, or they just end up tasting rubbery and awful. It's really depressing, because I love crèpes. Always have. I went to France for a few weeks after graduating from college, and because we were so poor, my friends and I lived on crèpes. They were about a dollar, and you could get them from these great little crèpe carts on the streets of Paris, filled with whatever you wanted -- ham, cheese, fruit, nutella... the possibilities were endless. The heat would permeate the thin paper they were wrapped in, but on a cold and rainy afternoon, it was an added bonus. Every time I've tried to make crèpes since then has been a disaster. I expected this time to be the same, and was already concocting different final-plating plans for this dish just in case.

I mixed all the ingredients as instructed, poured the batter through a strainer, added the chives, and heated my non-stick sauté pan over low-medium heat.



I poured my first crèpe, ever so gently and tilt-ily rotated the pan and let it cook for less than a minute (probably 30-40 seconds). Then, I lifted one little bit with a small offset spatula, picked up the crèpe with my fingers, and flipped it over:



Not perfect, but not too shabby, eh? This is usually the point at which I find out they're too thin, so they fall apart... or too thick, and they plop like pancakes. This first one looked like maybe, just maybe, I knew what I was doing.

I banged out eight of these, and stacked them in between paper towels as I went:


Right before I started the crèpes, I took the lobster filling out of the fridge, so it could come closer to room temperature before I used it to fill the crèpes.

I laid a crèpe flat on a cutting board, put about 2 T of lobster filling in the center, then folded the edges of the crèpe up over the top until I had a neat, little lobster package. I made eight of them, and placed them on a baking sheet brushed with melted butter, and brushed some melted butter on the tops of the crèpes, then put them in the oven for 10 minutes until they were heated all the way through.





While they were in the oven getting warm, I made sure my ginger-carrot "emulsion" was still warm (it was), and I dressed the pea shoots with a bit of lemon olive oil, salt and some minced shallots.

To plate, I poured a little mini-pool of the ginger-carrot goodness onto the plate, topped it with a lobster-filled crèpe, then topped that with the pea shoot salad.


And, a closer look:

Guys. Gals. And everyone in between. This was freakin' fantastic. Let's start with the ginger-carrot foamy-ish extravaganza. I want soap made of this, and I also want to eat this every day for the rest of my life. If the way I did it was this good, I can't even imagine how amazing it would be to do it Keller's way. Wow. It's hearty and mellow and sharp and strong but smooth and luxurious. Paired with the lobster crèpe? Beyond amazing. Then, a bite of pea shoot along with the lobster-filled crèpe that I slathered with ginger-carrot sauce? So so so so good. Really.... I don't want to sound all haughty and obnoxious, but I was so proud of being able to make something this good.

We all gobbled it up in near-silence, with one of my most finicky tasters chowing down like there was no tomorrow.

While everyone else sat around the table getting caught up on the events of the day, I snuck into the kitchen, took the one remaining crèpe off the baking sheet and debated offering it to whoever wanted seconds. Then, I thought better of it and saved it (along with some of the ginger-carrot sauce) for myself to eat for lunch the next day. Except that I ate it at 11 o'clock that night because I just couldn't fall asleep knowing it was in my fridge, waiting to be enjoyed.

I slept 10 hours that night.

I haven't slept for 10 hours (in a row) in years.

Thanks, lobster crèpe with ginger-carrot fauxmulsion.

Up Next: Citrus-Marinated Salmon with a Confit of Navel Oranges, Beluga Caviar and Pea Shoot Coulis

Resources:
Lobster from BlackSalt
365 canola oil and butter
Produce and most herbs from Whole Foods
Thyme from my garden
Crave Bros. mascarpone
Lakewood organic carrot juice
Organic Valley heavy cream and whole milk
Pea shoots from Calvert's Gift Farm
Eggs from Smith Meadows Farm
King Arthur flour

Music to Cook By: Rodrigo y Gabriela; Rodrigo y Gabriela. It's mesmerizing. Absolutely outstanding. I have the CD in my car and their music on my iPod in the house. It's Mexico and Central America meets Nordic-Irish-Europe with some help from the Gipsy Kings and the steady rhythm of heavy metal. I know I'm not doing it justice. Just get the album and see for yourself. I can't stop listening to it. I was so entranced listening to it in the car the other day, I missed my exit on the Beltway. Doy.

Read my previous post: French Laundry at Home Extra -- Trussing and Roasting a Chicken