Shellfish

I don’t know why people seem surprised by this one; it makes perfect sense to me! Lobster and potatoes have each been the starring ingredient in their own salads for ages—in this recipe, they share double billing, resulting in a dish that is infinitely better than either of the individual salads that inspired it. Besides the lobster, thin-skinned and buttery fingerling potatoes give the potato salad a major upgrade. The mayonnaise-based dressing features a blend of pungent horseradish, Dijon mustard, and bright lemon juice. I love anise-flavored tarragon with lobster; its delicate leaves are folded in along with lemony parsley right before serving.

This dish is Louisiana all the way. Crawfish are eaten in other states, to be sure, but no one is as passionate about these crustaceans as are Louisianans. And rightfully so; the state is responsible for producing more than 80 percent of the world’s crawfish! Crawfish look like tiny, clawless lobsters, and though they are not directly related, their taste is similar. The lobster stock in the rich, creamy sauce enhances that similarity. Sweet trout fillets get an old-fashioned cornmeal crust and are panfried to a light golden brown before being set down on a pool of the pink sauce.

One of the most popular seafood dishes in France must be steamed mussels with fries. You will find moules frites in every kind of restaurant, from beachside cafés to, yes, Parisian brasseries. The seasonings do of course vary, but the most traditional preparation (moules marinière) steams the mussels in a broth of white wine, herbs, and some form of onions and/or garlic. The same ingredients serve as the jumping-off point for the fragrant green chile broth in this dish. Mild in terms of heat but heady with peppery flavor, a puree of roasted poblano chiles bestows the flavorful broth with a south-of-the-border twist that’s further enhanced and enriched by creamy coconut milk. Serving these mussels with good crusty bread—as well as the fries—is a must. Once you’ve finished the succulent mussels and crisp, salty fries, you’ll want that bread to sop up every last delicious drop of mouthwatering broth from your bowl.

The dominant component of any good crab cake should always be crab—not breading. An extra finely milled flour such as Wondra is the perfect binder; it helps hold the cake together without adding its own texture or flavor to the mix—this is all gorgeous crab. The spicy-sweet tang of roasted piquillo peppers gives these crab cakes a kick of rich flavor. This gorgeous purple slaw, with ribbons of bright green basil running throughout, is slightly sweet and totally fresh. More than a garnish, it delivers crunch and taste that complete the dish.

This is my tip-of-the-hat to the picturesque city of Charleston, South Carolina. Each time I visit I am charmed by the city’s citizens, its architecture, and its Low Country cuisine, in particular the sumptuous shrimp and grits. Originally a humble breakfast made by and for the local shrimp fishermen, this dish of creamy grits and plump shrimp deserves a night out on the town. Sharp cheddar cheese and heavy cream enrich the grits with lush flavor. Thick matchsticks of smoky bacon are rendered crisp for a salty garnish, and the flavorful fat is used to sauté the sweet shrimp. Lemony thyme and chopped garlic season the shrimp to savory perfection.

Soft shell crab season is short and sweet. When it’s here, you want to make the most of it. Highlighting the flavor of the crab is what matters, and I employ a secret weapon to help me do just that. Wondra flour is a superfinely milled (“instant”) flour that creates a very thin, almost stealthlike coating around the crabs. What you taste is crisp soft shell crab unadulterated by any thick batter. Simply hit some nutty browned butter with tart lemon juice and anise-flavored dill (an herb that I think is too often forgotten) for an easy and delicious sauce. Soft shell crabs make their appearance in summer, so it’s only fitting to pair them with some of summer’s best: fresh lima beans, beefsteak tomatoes (I like local Jersey tomatoes, myself), and of course, corn. This succotash recipe should be considered a guide; try it with whichever fresh vegetables catch your eye at the market.

Miami! That’s where a bite of this lush crab cocktail takes me. The tropical touch of coconut milk and ripe mango enhances the natural sweetness of lump crabmeat. A good dose of lime juice and a healthy dash of habanero hot sauce keep the dish fresh, not cloying. Salty plantain chips—found at most grocery stores or Latin markets—further boost the Latin vibe.

Sharp pickled horseradish, savory Worcestershire sauce, anise-flavored tarragon, and peppery watercress bring a kick to creamy cubes of avocado and rich lobster. We serve this and our other seafood cocktails in glasses so that they can be appreciated from every angle; it’s a great way to stretch an expensive ingredient without sacrificing any of its luxurious appeal.

The legendary Louisiana chef Paul Prudhomme started the blackening craze; the method calls for coating seafood or meat in a spice mixture before cooking it in a cast-iron pan. The quick cooking over high heat really seals in flavor as it creates a fantastically flavored blackened crust. Redfish is the traditional choice, but I like the juxtaposition of the spicy rub against the sweetness of scallops. Their meaty richness really holds up well to the aggressive blackening. A simple vinaigrette of green onions adds a vibrant freshness to the dish, as does the smoky tomato relish.

This salad is a refreshing choice for an elegant lunch on a summer day. Succulent crab, creamy cubes of avocado, salty olives, and sweet grape tomatoes are folded into a mixture of cool mayonnaise and bright red wine vinegar. Cayenne pepper and Spanish paprika add a touch of heat and depth to the mix. Mesclun greens tossed in a sunny Meyer lemon dressing make the crab salad’s bed. Sweet blue crabs are found in the waters of the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico. Their silky texture and rich taste make them my crab of choice—no matter from where a dish’s inspiration may come.

Horseradish is the common link between the ketchup-based cocktail sauce you are used to and this, its Bar Americain reincarnation. Tart tomatillos are roasted and blended with garlic, red onion, jalapeños, and cilantro for a sauce indebted to the flavors of the American Southwest. The secret to its bright green hue is the addition of blanched and chopped spinach—the flavor isn’t noticeable, but the color certainly is.

There are many people out there who claim to be oyster lovers yet have eaten them only raw. It’s true that slurping down an oyster on the half shell is a great culinary experience, but to call yourself a true oyster aficionado you need to open yourself up to the glories of the cooked oyster. The meat is tender and even buttery, its fresh taste of the sea concentrated by the oven’s heat. A rich butter seasoned with the soft licoricelike flavor of tarragon and the sharp bite of black pepper melts over the cooked oyster, joining the oyster’s juices in the shell. Serving the oyster shells on a bed of salt is both an attractive and a handy presentation; the salt keeps the shells upright and keeps them from sliding around the platter.

Oyster shooters are a fun, tasty cocktail-hors d’oeuvre hybrid. Take a freshly shucked plump oyster, drop it into a shot glass, top off with booze, and tip it back. I started serving them at Bobby Flay Steak, where the mood is festive and the diners are often open to excess. This shooter adds a meaty coin of sweet lobster to the oyster to do the trick! The “shot” part of the dish is a smoky, vodka-spiked cocktail sauce, which is almost like a concentrated Bloody Mary. I thought these would be a perfect addition to the menu at Bar Americain too. I was right.

I have had this chowder on the menu since day one, and no one—neither the patrons nor the staff—will let me take it off. Roasted sweet potato puree thickens the clam broth and imbues it with intense sweet flavor and a vibrant orange hue. That sweetness plays perfectly against the astringent wine and briny clam juice in the broth; a “touch” of rich cream added at the end brings everything lusciously together. Of course, there are also lots of fresh clams, smoky bacon, and (sweet) potato cubes in this hearty soup. Fresh tarragon delivers a touch of delicate anise flavor and a spot of green in the otherwise sunset-orange soup.

The standard club sandwich layers turkey or chicken with bacon. Dressed up with lobster salad and thin slices of country ham, this sandwich is anything but standard. The fresh green onion dressing, both a component of the lobster salad and spread on the bread, has real impact in flavor and in presentation. The sandwich is amazing served on buttery, slightly spicy Chipotle Brioche, but a good-quality white Pullman loaf will certainly do in a pinch. Serve with a side of Barbecued Potato Chips (page 163) to complete the Bar Americain experience.

Chatham is a small town at the “elbow” of Massachusetts’ Cape Cod. As it is surrounded by water on three sides, fishing has historically been the major industry of the town. The sweet, mild-flavored cod caught off Chatham’s shores is the finest there is. Now, it might seem heretical for a Yankees fan such as I am to give a New England specialty equal billing with a Manhattan clam chowder, but even the Red Sox and the Yankees play on the same team for the All-Star game, right? This all-star dish surrounds creamy roasted potatoes and flaky cod with a tomato-accented broth-based clam chowder. Be sure to use Atlantic razor clams for the garnish. Pacific razor clams are larger and must be cleaned thoroughly and are cooked in a different manner, whereas the smaller Atlantic clam is ready to go!

I fancy myself to be part Cajun, not surprising since I grew up on the Texas-Louisiana border. When entertaining, I often include a little something with Cajun flair. My Shreveport-born friend Mary Cunningham feels the same way. She served these at a recent dinner party in her home and happily shared her recipe (once she figured out what she did and wrote it down, that is). Like many accomplished home cooks I know, Mary rarely measures, cooking by taste and feel. I’ve adapted her recipe and created a cornbread crust to go with it. Depending on where you live, it may be tough to find crayfish. It can be ordered online, but if necessary, substitute an equal amount of chopped, fresh shrimp.

My friend Yvonne and I tested my Bloody Mary oyster shooters and got lightly “toasted” at the same time. We kept draining our shot glasses and after each one we figured we needed one more, just to make sure the seasoning was right. And besides, each shot glass contained dinner (an oyster and a vegetable) and a drink (a spot of vodka), so why stop before our appetites waned? Before we knew it we’d moved from testing to party mode. We laughingly dubbed our oyster concoction a “party in a shot glass,” and the name stuck. One thing is sure: start slurping these and you’ve got a party whether it’s for just the two of you or for a crowd of your best buddies.

In my book, lump crabmeat spells luxury, and I can’t think of a better way to pamper my guests than starting off with a sumptuous serving. Offering my friends a mound of crab in crab or scallop shells makes me feel as if I’m bringing the sea to the table. Scallop shells are usually easier to find than crab shells, although I’ve seen both at kitchen supply stores. If you can’t find shells, use small ramekins. For a speedy main course, double the recipe and bake the crab in larger ramekins. Serve with a green salad and loaves of crusty bread.

A day of lazy dipping in Gulf Coast waters calls for a cold bowl of cooked shrimp dipped in a sweetsavory sauce. That’s what my mom thought, anyway, and she always had cold shrimp on hand when we stayed at the beach. I love it, too, and it’s a great do-ahead that lets you set out something for your hungry guests as soon as you step inside after a day of sand and sun. I cook the shrimp and make the dipping sauces the day before and stick ’em all in the fridge. When I pull them out, everyone thinks I’m an organized genius. (Naturally, I politely demur.) Snacking on shrimp, nobody notices if I disappear into the kitchen for a little main-course prep work. I usually figure about one-third pound per person. The shrimp usually runs out before anyone’s hunger does, but that works for me. I want my friends to have room for dinner and dessert. If I don’t feel much like cooking, I allow about one-half pound of shrimp per person for a hands-on main course. Of course, I always offer dessert, often as simple as cookies (like Vanilla Sand Dollars, page 83) and ice cream.