Local Flavor: Part III, the Fish

Finally, after a two week delay, NYCookery is back. Very, very sadly, my computer crashed two weeks ago and with it all of my interviews and photos. Luckily, I’ve been able to retrieve some of my lost information, including the conclusion of this post and the entirety of the one to come (sweet corn custard! It would have been a travesty to have lost that one). And with that, here is the conclusion of Local Flavor. For Part I, click here and for Part II, here.

While Steve cleaned up his salad chopping area, Surly, who had come outside with her own cocktail, told me about her decision to buy the building on whose patio we were now sitting. “Well” she said “I specifically moved to Williamsburg because of the zip code. 11211. I really like palindromes, and I figured, this place must have a good vibe.” I looked at her a little incredulously, but, when I realized that she was serious, I let out a loud gaffaw. Surly joined me.

As has become tradition with the people I cook with, Surly, of course had a bad apartment story to share with me. Her's though, might take the cake. Let’s just say the story involved a former roommate caught red-handed in a five-knuckle shuffle and apologizing by purchasing Surly a pair of used, dirty women’s work boots with a note clipped to them that said “sorry.” My jaw dropped and face reddened slightly. “That’s worse than any sort of infestation,” I said. Surly, being the good-natured person that she is, replied, “Oh, I don’t know, I guess sometimes these things happen.” Steve shot her a look that and said, "Surly, I hate to tell you this, but that shit just doesn’t 'happen.' We're talking nakedness and work boots here." He had a very valid point.

Steve got up and indicated for me to follow him. We worked our way back inside the apartment through the dark basement, and up the narrow staircase. Once in the kitchen, Steve searched for the blade belonging to the food processor, and told me that pistou, which was what he was about to make, can be differentiated from pesto by its lack of cheese. After locating all parts of the Cuisinart and assembling the machine, Steve produced a beautiful all-clad skillet and placed it on the stove, turning the flame below it on medium-low, and adding pine nuts to it and letting them roast until they were slightly browned and fragrant.


While the nuts cooled, Steve took out the bag of basil that we had bought at the farmers market. He removed the large bunch from its plastic sheath and exclaimed, “Shit! This is all pretty bad!” Indeed many of the leaves were yellowish and some beginning to brown. “We’ll have to figure out something else to add to the sauce.”


To the machine he added 1 ¼ cups of basil leaves, dumped in the pine nuts, and pressed the on button. As the mixture blended, Steve added virgin olive oil then extra virgin olive oil. Then, after searching through the refrigerator for a minute, he rather nonchalantly added a handful of bright-green scallion tops. “We’ll see how this works – we have to have something to thicken this up since the basil isn’t good. I mean it’s not traditional pistou, but, it’ll due.” Steve turned off the machine, removed the bowl, and headed back to the patio taking the sauce with him.


Once again in the backyard, Steve ignited the propane barbecue, rubbing it's iron grills down with a little oil. He placed three, white, red and fresh-looking swordfish steaks (also brushed with oil and sprinkled with just a pinch of ancho chili powder) on the hot metal and closed the lid, letting each side cook for only a few minutes - until the flesh was just cooked through, but not dry.


"So, I added the chili powder to this because the salad will be somewhat sweet. The chili powder will be a nice contrast." Steve said once the fish was done. Very carefully, he removed the flakey and delicate fillets and added them to the top of a scoop of the salad. He garnished the fish with some curly green onion fronds, carefully spooned pistou on the plate, and topped it all with freshly ground black pepper.


It was past 8pm and I was incredibly hungry. Before we dug in, I raised my glass and gave thanks for Surly and Steve's generosity. Then, I quickly dug in.


The corn was crisp and the salad sweet and tangy, well balanced by the oniony pistou, and juicy, spice-rubbed fish. A great summer dish. Fresh, easy, and mostly local.

"When I have meals like this," I said, "I already miss summer." Surly, teasing Steve added "Wow, this is good, you actually made something good." Steve gave her the bird and Surly laughed, "I better watch out, I wouldn't want him to actually stop cooking for me."

While we ate Steve told me about his experience in Boston (a chef at B & G Oysters, a cook at Number 9, managing and buying for a butcher shop, and more), also telling me that he never thought that his passion for food that he developed while an undergrad at Boston University would turn into a fruitful living.

We also talked fuel prices, jobs, and traveling, and then, quite out of the blue, Steve turned the attention to Surly by asking if her "man" was coming over. Surly slightly blushed and looked at my dictaphone. It was clear that the two roommates liked to tease each other relentlessly. "C'mon Surly, tell me, what can I blog about?" I inquired. Surly giggled, and asked me if I wanted more salad. I guess she didn't want me to write about her sex life... ah well. The ancho chile is as spicy as this posting will get.

After three helpings (yes, THREE), I thanked Surly and Steve and headed out into the warm late summer night. On my walk to the subway, a woman flashed me her bosom, and an old man (like 80 years old, old) asked me if he could have my number. A normal New York ending to yet another delicious meal in Brooklyn...