Seafood

Using vanilla in savory dishes has become more popular, but don’t discount it as just a fad. The vanilla adds a depth and a fragrance that your guests probably won’t be able to peg right off the bat, but I guarantee they’ll love the combination. Sea bass has a clean, slightly buttery flavor that really works with the vanilla oil, while the peas add sweetness and texture and the mint brightens the whole thing up. The extra vanilla oil will last up to 2 weeks in the fridge, and makes a fabulous addition to vinaigrettes. Save the vanilla pod and bury it in sugar, or cover it in vodka to make your own extract.

Italians say that to ensure your octopus is tender, first you pound it on the dock as you bring it in from the boat, then you put a cork in the cooking pot. I don’t know what magical alchemic properties are supposed to be at work there, but I always put a cork in my pot, just to be sure. I like to use bigger octopi because I think they have more developed flavor. They’re a little chewier, but I don’t mind—that’s just part of the joy of octopus. Use the recipe as a guideline, and feel free to experiment with combinations of whatever aromatics you have on hand. As a variation, add 2 cups cooked corona beans to the octopus as it marinates.

If you simply can’t get past the idea that sardines are oily and fishy, let this crudo change your mind. The key to this dish is using sweet celery hearts—the tender, yellow, innermost bits of the head. You might think of this as the part of the celery that goes in the compost pile, but the truth is that the small yellow leaves have incredible flavor, and the pale stalks add texture without strings. As with all crudos, use your very best olive oil.

If you love fried clams or a nice bowl of clam chowder, then eating clams on the half shell will be a revelation for you. Serving clams as a crudo plays up their assertive, concentrated clam flavor and guarantees tender meat. It’s easy, delicious, and a little bit different. If you don’t have baby fennel, you can use finely chopped fennel bulb. For a less spicy dish, you can split the chile lengthwise and remove the seeds and membrane first, then dice.

This would make a lovely brunch dish, but you could serve it as an appetizer, too, with some toasted or grilled bread and a glass of sparkling. The quenelle of crème fraîche is made using two spoons like paddles to shape softer ingredients into an oval or a football. For a throwback to dot.com excess, pile some caviar on top if you like. If you aren’t feeling fancy, just dollop the crème fraîche on top instead.

In this fabulous crudo, baby fennel and radish offset the sweetness of the geoduck. This dish has an especially lovely texture to it, with the silken geoduck intermingling with the shaved vegetables. Serve with crusty bread to soak up all the goodness.

This dish channels the best of the clam shacks that dot the East Coast. Here, a crunchy cornmeal coating and a quick dip in hot oil render these soft-shell clams succulent and juicy. As an accompaniment, chopped sorrel gives aioli a lemony lift and gorgeous color for a nice twist on tartar sauce. For fun, serve them to your guests the way we do in the restaurants—in little paper cones. They’re not hard to fold, make for great oil-absorbing containers, and make you feel like you’re on the boardwalk.

Some people will tell you that it’s okay to make carne cruda, known as “steak tartare” in fancy French circles, in a food processor. Sorry, no go. You don’t chop it, pulse it, or otherwise mangle it. You freeze it, slice it, crosscut it, and dice it. Period. Yes, chopping the meat by hand requires patience, but it creates the perfect texture. Freezing the meat beforehand makes this job easier. This is one of those recipes where you must use the very best ingredients you can find—the best olive oil, the best imported anchovies—to take this crudo over the top. Buy the best New York strip or tenderloin you can afford, and tell your butcher how you’re serving the meat to ensure you get the very best. For a light meal, serve with plenty of crusty bread and a small salad.

I love broiling Kusshis not only because they have a lovely, delicate texture and a good brininess, but also because they have deeply cupped shells that hold both liquid and a lot of delicious breadcrumbs. Cherrystone clams would be a great substitute, and Totten Virginica, Barron Point, or Shigoku oysters would also work well, because they are the right size to hold up to the heat. Save tiny Kumomotos for eating on the half shell.

Yet another in the seemingly endless parade of hearty one-pot dishes from the Creole and Cajun traditions, jambalaya is a close cousin of Spanish paella (which comes as no surprise, given Louisiana’s earlier ownership by Spain). I love jambalaya, whether it’s made in the “red” Creole style, with tomatoes, or in the “brown” Cajun style, without, because even though it requires a little slicing and dicing, it’s actually a fairly fast and weeknight-friendly one-dish dinner—and it really sticks to your ribs. I often make mine with shrimp (as in this recipe), but jambalaya is sort of like gumbo in that it is made with everything from chicken, sausage, pork, and oysters to alligator, boar, venison, and turtle—basically, anything that swims, crawls, grazes, or flies in the vicinity of Southerners.

When I was in college I had a job waiting tables at the Half Shell, a little wood-paneled restaurant in Memphis that makes the best fried oysters I have ever eaten. They serve their perfectly crisp-on-the-outside, juicy-on-the-inside oysters by the half-dozen, with lemon wedges and tartar sauce, but you can also get them layered with slaw in a creamy po’ boy sandwich or sprinkled atop eggs Benedict. A few years ago the Half Shell moved across the street to a larger location, and while it’s never felt quite the same since they moved, I still drop by for their fried oysters every time I visit Memphis. My Half Shell–inspired version of basic fried oysters makes a perfectly good meal on its own, but check out the four easy serving suggestions if you want to take things one step further.

Étouffée is a traditional New Orleans one-pot dish whose name literally—and appropriately—comes from the French word for “smothered.” Like gumbo, étouffée is a highly seasoned stew of fish or meat and vegetables that is served over steamed rice. Also like gumbo, it has a big-hearted, homey quality that makes it one of my favorite dishes to serve to crowds (especially when they include friends who aren’t from the South). Although serious purists might disapprove, I never make étouffée the same way twice, and I don’t take sides when it comes to never-ending debates about the proper shade of roux or whether there’s room for tomatoes in a bona fide étouffée. For me, one of the joys of Cajun and Creole stews is their variability, so feel free to experiment.

With blue crabs, sausage, corn on the cob, and tender new potatoes, this lowcountry-inspired shrimp boil makes for a rustic and utterly delicious spread that is just the thing for impromptu summertime gatherings. I sometimes serve it in individual tins or buckets, but that’s about as refined as I ever get with this low-key dish, which is best eaten right out of the bucket or from a big pile on the table, with a crowd of friends, and always with your fingers.

I used to make crab cakes using all kinds of herbs and vegetables for added flavor and texture, but the ultrasimple crab cakes Peter and I enjoyed on a recent trip to the Maryland shore convinced me that in this case, less is more. I don’t add much more to this dressed-down version than is needed to hold the cakes together, so the only time to make them is when crab is in season and at the peak of freshness.

Soft-shell crab season, which generally lasts from May through June, is short and highly anticipated. That’s because soft-shell crabmeat is unbelievably tender and buttery-sweet, and the shell, which you eat along with the meat, is perfectly crunchy without being the least bit tough or chewy. True fanatics don’t let a moment of soft-shell crab season go to waste, eating them for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, in sandwiches or served solo. Ask your fishmonger to clean them for you.

I grew up on these tasty little fried cakes, which Granny Foster used to serve for breakfast with fried eggs and biscuits, or sometimes for supper along with mashed potatoes and coleslaw. Like most Southerners, Granny used canned salmon in her croquettes. I opt instead for freshly poached or grilled salmon, a move that allows the delicate, grassy flavor of the fish to come through. Crispy and satisfying (the name croquette comes from the French for “to crunch”), these easy treats are an excellent way to revitalize leftovers from last night’s salmon dinner, ensuring that the switch from canned to fresh fish does not necessarily sacrifice convenience.

I like to make this in early summer, when the first summer vegetables are coming in and the flounder, which can grow to as much as twenty-five pounds, are running small—what our fishmonger calls “plate size.” They are so fresh and dainty at that time of year that I usually budget one whole fish per person. I sometimes serve this simple dish with a green salad or fluffy steamed rice, but you don’t have to, as it’s really a complete meal in and of itself—the vegetable ratatouille, made with smaller-than-usual dice, doubles as both a sauce and a vegetable side.

Last time I was at the SeeWee, an old-school seafood restaurant outside Charleston, I had an incredibly good plate of grilled grouper with fresh tomato salsa. Not only was the fish superfresh and perfectly cooked, but the salsa, a rough mix of vine-ripe tomatoes, white onion, and cilantro, was so simple and bright that it enhanced the flavor of the fish perfectly without overpowering it. I was so fond of it that I’ve been re-creating it at home ever since. It’s just the sort of light, fresh supper you want in the dead of summer.

Despite its name, this traditional shrimp dish isn’t so much barbecue as a savory, saucy stew. It gets its full-bodied flavor from Worcestershire sauce and dark beer, and a dose of fresh lemon gives it a bright, clean finish.

It may not be deep-fried, but with a satisfyingly crunchy cornmeal crust, this skillet-fried catfish has all the flavors and textures that you would expect from fried fish. Most important, served with a healthy dollop of Herb Tartar Sauce or a heap of Roxy’s Grated Coleslaw (page 260), lemon wedges, and cold beer, it is just as sure to draw a crowd. This recipe can also be made with snapper, flounder, or any other flaky white fish.