Seafood

Though the fish industry is more factory oriented than ever, you can still grab a few heads and racks (skeletons) from fishmongers for free, even at supermarkets. All you have to know is that usually you want white-fleshed fish, without their guts (which are strong tasting) or gills (which are bitter). Once you have those, you can make good fish stock in less than an hour.

One of those wonderful from-the-pantry pasta dishes that can be prepared in the time it takes to boil the water and cook the pasta. Canned tuna is not only acceptable but necessary; but the ideal tuna here would be that taken from the tuna’s belly, the fattiest part, and cured (preferably by your Sicilian grandmother) in great olive oil. Assuming you don’t have that, buy tuna packed in olive oil from Italy or Spain. (In a serious specialty store, you might find belly tuna—probably labeled ventresca—packed in olive oil. It’s dynamite.) What you’re looking for is dark, soft meat that will flake nicely and add its rich flavor to the sauce.

If you love octopus, this dish will satisfy your cravings. Just be sure to allow enough time for the octopus to become fully tender. (You can also use squid, which will cook much more quickly.) This dish employs the unusual but excellent technique of completing the cooking of the pasta in its sauce, something done throughout Italy.

There are several types of pasta sauce based on walnuts in northern Italy, including the one on page 550; this is among my favorites. It also happens to be the easiest. If you like, you could throw in a tablespoon of capers, too.

A Ligurian specialty, usually made with “stamped” pasta—pasta that is rolled out and then cut with dies in special designs. You can use any cut pasta for this, though perhaps it’s best with fresh pasta like malfatti (page 542). If you have Tapenade (page 604), simply stir it into any tomato sauce to get the same effect.

Udon noodles are generally made with softer wheat than Italian pasta, giving them a more tender texture. You can find them at Japanese markets and many supermarkets. Like Chinese noodles, they’re great stir-fried. And, as in any stir-fry, you can substitute for the pork, shrimp, or vegetables if you like.

These curried noodles are a standby, and can be prepared much more simply: stir-fry the noodles with onions and curry powder, for example, or with a bit of egg. This is a relatively elaborate version, and can be made more so with the addition of bean sprouts (with the basil), sliced Chinese sausage (with the pork or chicken), egg (as in the Pad Thai on page 536), or vegetables like broccoli or asparagus (parboil it first), or tomato. Information on Asian fish sauces like nam pla is on page 500.

A different kind of noodle dish, one in which the noodles are fried crisp and then topped with a simply made stir-fry. Of course, you can use any stir-fry you like on top of a bed of noodles like this one; the noodles are essentially taking the place of rice.

Though there are similar rice-and-squid-ink dishes throughout the northern Mediterranean, I was introduced to this dish by a Croatian, so it is that country that gets the credit; Spaniards and Italians will no doubt be offended. The origins hardly matter, however; this is a wonderful and intensely flavorful dish. It’s unusual, too, for a few reasons: it’s a no-stir (or, to be more precise, a low-stir) risotto; it’s jet black; and it combines cheese and seafood, which is not exactly common and, for many of us—usually including me—a no-no. But it’s also easy, delicious, and striking, a perfect dish for entertaining. Serve it with a simple salad, a white wine from northeastern Italy, Austria, or, if you can find one, Croatia, and fresh fruit for dessert. You can find squid ink in small packages at fancy fish markets or European specialty shops (or, of course, on the Internet); it’s shelf-stable though it must be refrigerated and relatively inexpensive. And though its taste is pure squid, it’s the dramatic color that matters most.

This soup has become popular in the kitchens of Chinese Americans in the past few decades. It’s best, of course, when you start by making creamed corn (see the second variation), but canned creamed corn—a concoction that Americans of various ethnicities and generations have long enjoyed (sometimes in secret)—allows you to make this tasty soup quickly at any time of year. See page 500 for information on Thai fish sauce (nam pla).

Non-Japanese may think of this as Japanese paella. Like paella, it may be made with or without seafood. Like paella, it relies on good ingredients, including rice and stock, and, like paella, it’s pretty straightforward to prepare and easy to vary. (You can make the recipe below not only with chicken but with almost any combination of seafood. You can also make it with vegetables; see page 510.) There is, however, a critical difference. Whereas paella usually relies on chicken stock, wine, and tomatoes, Kayaku Gohan (along with, it seems, about a million other dishes in Japan) uses dashi. This isn’t a problem, since dashi is easily made, as long as you stock kelp, a dried seaweed also known as kombu, and dried bonito flakes (bonito is related to tuna). Fortunately, each of these ingredients keeps forever, and each is readily available at Asian markets.

Every seaside culture has its own fish stew, but in the West, bouillabaisse is the best known. Older recipes are quite specific about the kind of fish and the technique, but in my experience bouillabaisse, no matter how wonderful, is neither more nor less than a highly seasoned soup made with the day’s catch. So vary this recipe according to what you find at the store (or what you bring home from a day’s fishing).

I didn’t understand paella well until I had this dish in Spain. Rather than a major production, it’s a simple combination of rice and shrimp, a terrific weeknight dish, as it has been in coastal Spain for centuries.

A simple version of Bouillabaisse (page 138) that uses only one type of fish and is thickened by aïoli, the wonderful garlicky mayonnaise of Provence and Liguria (also called “the Italian Riviera”). Ask your fishmonger to gut and fillet the fish and to give you the head and bones for the stock, which of course can be made in advance. (Within limits you can use as many heads and bones as you like. See Fish Stock, page 161.) Serve this stew with crusty bread and a salad.

Unlike the viscous and peppery Chinese version of this soup on page 145, this one is brothlike and derives its heat from chiles and its intriguing sour flavor from lime and lemongrass. It’s the Southeast Asian equivalent of chicken soup, often eaten to treat a cold. See page 500 for information on nam pla.

This soup is incredibly simple and quick and as different from American clam chowder as it could possibly be. Rather than overwhelming the flavor of the clams with cream or tomatoes, here the seaside flavors of the clams are accented subtly with a seaweed-based broth. More on seaweed on page 483. Use the smallest hardshell clams you can find (do not use steamers) and, before cooking, discard clams with broken shells or shells that are not tightly closed. Be sure to wash the clams thoroughly—no trace of sand should remain on their shells. Any clams that do not open during the cooking process can be pried open with a dull knife at the table.

This is just about the best crab soup I have ever tasted, and it’s also the easiest. (One of the messiest, too; you must eat the crab with your hands.) At its base is miso, combined with go chu jang, a red pepper paste mixed with beans, kind of a spicy version of hoisin sauce. If you live anywhere near a Korean market, you’ll find it; if not, use hoisin mixed with Tabasco. Buy the crabs live and have them cleaned and chopped up by the fishmonger. Or follow the directions for cleaning them in step 1.

This delicate soup is classy yet simple, and leaving the mussels in their shells makes for a beautiful presentation; a touch of cream is a nice addition but an optional one. Serve this with a loaf of good, crusty bread; soaking the bread in the broth is one of this dish’s great pleasures. You can transform this into an entree, using pasta; see the variation.

Quite similar to the beef soup recipe on page 145, except at the outset, when shallots are browned to give the soup a little extra color and complexity.

This is the sambal traditionally served alongside Nasi Lemak, usually at breakfast; you might prefer these as a cocktail snack. For more about dried anchovies, see page 25.