Cooking Creations: Jen Carroll's Salmon with Squid Ink a la Me

The original dish

When I taste a truly incredible meal at a restaurant, it's not enough for me to enjoy it once.  I challenge myself to recreate it at home. Some people call this "extreme."  I prefer to think of it as "inspired."   I understand the limitations on the final product: my apartment-sized kitchen, lack of equiptment, and self-taught skills, but I find the self-ordained mission exciting nonetheless.  It is a test of my own ability and an homage to the chef who created the original dish.

I woke up the morning after the Top Chef dinner with a strong desire to recreate Jen Carroll's salmon with squid ink vinaigrette.  The night had been my first encounter with the ingredient, and I wanted to see what it was like to cook with it myself.  I had a suspicion that it might be difficult to find, but I figured I'd had experience tracking down unusual items in the past.  I've driven across state lines to get beef cheeks, located Achiote seed at an ethnic food market, and harassed Whole Foods employees until a bottle of pomegranite molasses turned up in the back.  How hard could this be?

Very hard, it turns out.  Almost impossible.  To better illustrate the situation, I have provided an approximate timeline below.  (And I would like to preface said timeline with a disclaimer: I am not crazy- I hope- but I totally admit to being stubborn.  When I have my mind set on something, I see it through to prove to myself that I can do it.)

9:00- Wake up and ask myself what I want to do that day.  Hit with the urge to conjure up aforementioned dinner.

9:20-9:50- Research the ingredient over breakfast, including usages.  Devise a general recipe for using it once I get it in my possession.

12:00- Begin search at Whole Foods.  No luck at seafood counter.  The grocery stockers look in the aisles and in inventory to no avail.  Customer service offers to make some calls.  They are unable to offer any insight.  I leave empty handed.

12:45-1:45- Stop & Shop sweeps.  I go the three closest to me, as each has its own unique clientele and selection.  Nothing.

2:00-2:45- Frustrated, I start driving up and down the main street of my city, which is a diverse area, pulling over at every small ethnic market I can find.  One woman literally laughs me out of her store when I state what I'm looking for.

2:45-3:45- Drive back down the street (it's a long one!) in the other direction pulling over at restaurants with an Asian or seafood theme.  I explain my issue and ask if they have any dirty squid or ink on hand for their menus that I could purchase from them.  Although some genuinely wished they could help, most were just perplexed.  I admit to feeling downright silly at times.

3:45-4: Return home.  Call area fish markets and other restaurants.  Nothing.

I thought I'd finally met my match, that for once I'd actually not be able to see my vision through to fruition.  I was just about to curl up on my couch and admit defeat when my computer flashed with a message from a friend that contained the name of a fish market I had not heard of before.  I decided to call them, even though I doubted that they would have anything to offer.  Remarkably, they had an abundance of whole, dirty squid.  In fact, they often sold the ink, but were out at that particular moment.  Ecstatic, I picked up 3 medium-sized squid.


One of the whole squid

Thank God for YouTube.  A few clips of people harvesting squid ink combined with a written tutorial from ehow.com taught me how to make use of the three whole cephalopods I had acquired.  The task proved tedious.  The squid were hard to grip and the ink sacs were delicate.  Ultimately, after much time and painstaking effort, I managed to collect just under 4 tablespoons of ink, enough to proceed.  It must have been a comical image: me posed over a squid trying to follow a youtube video without actually touching the machine (no contamination!)

My vinaigrette came from a permutation of a recipe I found online.  Even though I harbor deep skepticism for the commercial aspects of the Food Network, Mario Batali offered the most straightforward version.  The recipe called for the ink, white wine, shallots, olive oil, and sherry vinegar.  Due to my stomach sensitivities, I significantly decreased the amount of oil and replaced it with a few splashes of broth.  I also removed the shallots before serving because I did not recall any shallots in Carroll's dish.  (I did saute them with the liquids though to impart the flavor.)  The product was downright hedonistic.  It was exotic and earthy, reminscent of black truffles.

Once the squid ink vinaigrette was finished, I still had to complete the plate.  Jen's salmon sat atop a puree of my favorite type of squash- and one of my favorite foods in general- kabocha.  This root veggie is almost more pumpkin than squash.  It has the squash's earth notes, but has a sweeter profile overall.  I planned to make a smooth puree with the squash and broth (as opposed to dairy), but as you can tell from my picture it did not turn out so smooth.  My food processor hit the fritz, and in true Top Chef fashion, I was forced to think on my feet.  I decided to shove my hard cubed squash in my giant pink Cuisinart, which I usually use for baking.  It yielded more of a mash, but I decided that was acceptable given the latening hour.

Jen had two small potatoes on each plate as well.  Hers were the gourmet cousin of the humble tater tot.  They had the small cylindric shape, but contained carefully crafted flavor rather than greast breakfast goodness.  I used a white sweet potato I had already purchased earlier in the week to make my potato component.  (I'd never tasted a white sweet potato and was curious when I came across it, so I bought it to experiment with.)  As a playful touch, I cut them to resemble lemon slices because lemons might be found on a plate with fish.  I seasoned them with salt, pepper, and sweet paprika.  They looked like the citrus in most regards except for the touch of red from the spice.

Jen used thin, curled scallions as a garnish for her fish.  Before tasting it, I incorrectly thought it was Japanese seaweed because of the size, color, and appearance.  When I made my version, I decided to have fun with my mistake.  I took green scallions and shredded them, but then I marinated them in the samemarinade used for the green seaweed salad at Sushi restaurants.  I added a few toasted sesame seeds to bridge the gap between the flavors in the soak (soy, sake, sugar, etc.) with the fish.  It turned out to be a subtle, yet successful, addition.

My rendition

Lastly, I added the proverbial cherry on top: the wine.  I chose one of my coveted bottles, the Contadino 4 by Frank Cornelissen.  The bottle is a personal treasure not because of the price point (which is surprisingly modest), but because of its utterly unique nature.  Frank Cornelissen heralds from Sicily and grows his vines in some of the highest vineyards of Mt. Etna.  The wine is literally reminiscent of tasting a volcano.  It continously evolved on the nose; it whisps by with changing whifs of sulphur, ask, and dark fruit.  Texturely, it is smooth with a touch of beautiful velvety sediment.  Its sultrly notes provided the perfect compliment to the evocative squid ink.



Volcanic wine

I finally sat down for dinner around 8:30 pm.  Preparations took longer I thought and were more intensive than I expected, but I felt euphoric.  Even though my plate only resembled Jen's in spirit, I felt strangely accomplished.  I had tracked down squid.  Learned how to harvest the ink.  Created a vinaigrette.  Thwarted an angry food processor.  And the product was edible- dare I say delicious.

Since then, I also purchased a bottle of squid ink.  Admittedly, it makes everything exponentially easier.  However, I am still pleased that I had to go through the process I did.  I suppose my adventure proves that the cliche is true: it's not about the destination, but the journey.