Red Rock Crab

Call me naïve, but I really didn’t expect the fish smell to last that long. But with this morning’s shower, I have finally managed to remove the last olfactory remnants of chum and seaweed and fish guts lingering in my hair and on my skin from Saturday’s crabbing trip in Santa Barbara. The story I was working on for EdibleLA won’t come out until the fall, but I was starting to worry that the salty, slightly fermented perfume might last that long too.

Paul Chopping Chum

Saturday’s trip was far from a pleasure cruise, not that I expected or wanted it to be. The Sea Fever, my subject John Wilson’s boat, is meant for one thing—catching crab and lobster. There is no bathroom, just a bucket in the small cabin down below, no running water to wash your face if you’re stomach is pitching with the sea, and no comfy chairs to sit and watch Roxy the Golden Retriever bark at the dolphins and seals playing around the boat as John and his deckhand Paul haul in another trap clammering with crab.

Neal came with me, grimacing across the bed through the last of the moonlight being cast through our bedroom window when the alarm went off at 4 a.m. Fueled by a pot of coffee, we flew up the coast to the Santa Barbara Harbor, stepping onto John’s 45-foot boat just after 6, the pale grey dawn pushing through the mists settled over the calm ocean. As we pulled out of the harbor, I asked if there was anything I could do to help. My offer was met by silence. As the boat rocked across the waves to the first crab trap I had to bury my urge to give into the building seasickness. I was on assignment. I couldn’t spend the day looking over the side. I braced myself, snapping pictures of our two-man crew preparing for the day’s work.

John Examining Crab

Unfortunately, Neal wasn’t so fortunate. He spent the entire morning running between the makeshift bed in the cabin where he splayed out, noise canceling headphones on his head, trying to keep the world steady, and the side of the boat, Roxy licking his hand sweetly. Around noon, up near the Gaviota pier, John offered to drop Neal off. All he had to do was jump about two and a half feet from the boat to a rope, avoid a couple of baby seals, and climb to land. He did it willingly, smiling for the first time all day as he waved goodbye from the steadiness of the old pier.

In the meantime, John and Paul hooked buoys along an invisible line, looping them around an industrial-sized reel that assisted in pulling 150 to 200 pounds of vinyl-coated steel and crab to the surface. The duo moved swiftly and efficiently, John sorting through the crab, tossing pregnant females and specimens whose shells were too soft (crab are molting this time of year) with a pitcher’s arm back into the drink. As the last crabs landed in a bucket, Paul placed a container stuffed with chopped mackerel and a halibut carcass back into the trap. When John found the spot he wanted to drop it back, they heaved it over the side, the orange buoys skimming the rolling waves as the rest drifted slowly back to the ocean floor—150, 160, 180 feet below the surface.

Paul Waiting to Cast a Trap

Between traps we talked. We talked about crabbing and lobster catching, fishing and the bureaucratic b.s. that makes a life at sea at combination of hard physical work, loneliness and politics. But to get all that you’ll have to read the EdibleLA piece this fall. Until then, here are a couple of photos of the day to whet your palate.

Roxy the Seafaring Dog Never Gets Seasick

Note: You can pick up gorgeous Red Rock crab like these, as well as Santa Barbara Yellow Rock crab, line-caught halibut and red snapper from John Wilson at the Hollywood Farmers’ Market on Sundays. John will also have Spiny Lobsters this fall.

Bacalao

Nobody told me it was going to smell bad. Excited to try a new ingredient, I tore at the brown butcher paper like a six year old opening a present to reach the snowy white, stone heavy, rigid piece of bacalao inside. I gagged. I gagged again.

Now I’m used to describing aromas; I write wine tasting notes for a living. But the pungent, nay putrid, smell of the bacalao left me bewildered. Did it smell like a gym bag full of dirty clothes left undiscovered for a year? Or more like the science-experiment Tupperware found at the back of a bachelor’s fridge? Plagued by inadequate similes, I turned to my boyfriend, who came racing into the kitchen to respond to my “oh gods.” “It smelled like five-day-old road kill, like the kind I had to clean up when I worked for the department of transportation in high school,” he said.

Bacalao, is the Portuguese word for salt-dried fish, usually cod (the Italians call it baccalà and the French call it morue) eaten in European countries for centuries. Salt is used to preserve the fish, which will keep, it’s said, for an eternity. It’s been a staple protein for navies, slaves and Catholic peasants and part of Christmas Eve traditions stretching from southern Italy to Provence to Portugal. The fish needs to be soaked in water for at least two days before cooking, changing the water every 8-12 hours to reconstitute it and remove most of the salt. The repulsive smell dissipates with soaking, thank goodness, but there are also some markets that sell pre-soaked bacalao around Christmas-time, sparing you the visceral experience.

I’ve had salt cod before—Pizzeria Mozza used to make an amazing salt cod montecato bruschetta, whipping the cured fish with mashed potatoes and serving it atop grilled bread, garnished with dried olives and a drizzle of olive oil—and it was delicious. So I was quite excited when Kay Steffey Bouchard of Quinta do Tedo, a Port and olive oil producer located on Portugal’s Douro River, sent me a recipe for traditional Portuguese bacalao with bay and roasted peppers. It would be an excellent opportunity to try her olive oil, test a festive holiday recipe and drink some Portuguese wines from K&L Wine Merchants growing selection.

Bacalao with Bay Laurel and Roasted Red Peppers

1 ½ lbs bacalao, cut into four serving pieces and soaked in water for two days, changing water at least twice a day. Once soft, use a tweezer remove as many of the fish’s small bones as possible.
8 onion, sliced into half moons
6 bay leaves
1 cup Quinta do Tedo olive oil
3 roasted peppers, seeded and quartered
Dried black olives

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a large sauté, heat ½ cup Quinta do Tedo olive oil; add onions and bay leaves and season with salt. Stew for a half hour or until soft and translucent. Transfer to a large (9×12) baking dish.

In another sauté heat ¼ cup of the olive oil. Lightly flour softened bacalao and quickly brown on both sides. Place in baking dish with the onion mixture, creating a little nest for each piece of fish. Bake until flakey, about half an hour.

Garnish with roasted peppers and olives and finish with remaining ¼ cup of olive oil, cracked black pepper and a sprinkling of coarse sea salt, like Maldon.

The resulting dish was fantastic! Quinta do Tedo’s olive oil was soft and lightly sweet, with fruity tones that complemented the delightful, just-plucked-from-the-sea flavor of the fish. There wasn’t even a trace of the bacalao’s malodorous beginnings. The texture was remarkable, too. The rock hard piece of fish was surprisingly delicate and flaky with slight chew. The sweetness from the onions and the roasted peppers also served as an excellent counterpoint to the saltiness of the fish and they bay leaves added an earthy sweetness.

I paired the bacalao with two Portuguese wines, recommended by Chip Hammack at K&L Wine Merchant’s Hollywood store. First was an excellent non-vintage vinho verde from Broadbent ($8.99). The wine had a nice grapefruit-and-mineral-tinged sparkle that tickled your nose and tasted clean and refreshing, with great acidity and just a hint of grapefruit on the palate. The wine went wonderfully with the fish, which amplified its mineral, almost ocean air-like quality. Its lightness was a great textural compliment to the richness of the olive oil, too.

The second wine we tried was the Quinto do Crasto “Crasto”($15.99). A bit tight and overpowering for the fish when we first opened the bottle, a quick decanting made this wine another great pairing. Like the vinho verde, the Crasto, a blend of tinta rouriz and touriga nacional, had plenty of acidity to cut through the oily richness of the dish. Its briary-fruit-forwardness highlighted the roasted peppers and slight spice brought out the cracked black pepper that finished the dish.

So if you’re looking for a great dish for your Christmas feast and a couple of wines to pair with it, look no further. My only recommendation? If you can’t find the pre-soaked bacalao, hold your nose. At least you have been warned.