Fish Stock Musings

When I first moved to Gloucester, I had been a vegetarian – almost a vegan – for a decade or more. This was inspired by our son, Evan, who at six said that if we had to eat animals it would be ok, but since they weren’t necessary to keep us alive it was wrong to kill them. On occasion he would retrieve hamburgers from the lunchroom trash at school, on the theory that the damage had already been done, but more and more he became a strict vegetarian, and I learned to cook healthy meals for him. Once we went to a really fancy club in Newport with my dad (if I think of the name, I’ll go back and fill it in) and they made a great vegetable plate for him. Now, of course, they’ll do that for you almost anywhere.

I was an organic gardener and grew most of the vegetables we ate in the summer time. Shifting over to vegan cooking and eating seemed quite effortless. I learned to cook all sorts of whole grains with vegetables and seasonings. I baked bread so much that I could set out a dish of flour, sugar, and water in the kitchen and it would begin to bubble from the yeast in a few hours. I felt better too. I just about stopped eating meat and fish altogether, and ate eggs and milk only a little.

One of my most disappointing vegan moments was on a trip to France. We stayed in a converted abbey in Nantes for a week. We were served an elaborate beef dish for lunch on the first day; I told the waiter that I was vegetarian and he served me a replacement meal. For the rest of the trip I ate tomatoes and pasta. Waiters would place a beautiful dish containing fish or lamb or chicken under my nose and then sweep it away with an “oh, pardon madame. Vous etes vegetarian.” “Non, non” I wanted to shout, but in those days putting people out to serve your dietary needs had to be backed up with medical or quasi-religious claims, so I ate my meal. “Voila! Encore une salade de tomate!”

But when we moved to Gloucester, it seemed ridiculous to avoid fish. I began to cook more and more fish. Neighbors used to give us fish – usually bluefish, which most people don’t like and that I’ve learned to cook really well. I have even experimented with harvesting shellfish from the shores below our house. I don’t do it in the summer, though, when the kids are here. I don’t worry much about serving a bad shellfish and getting us sick, but to involve the whole family seems not quite right.

I soon found that the best place to buy seafood is at Connolly’s, a wholesaler that has a small retail shop. The cases are always filled with translucent, shiny fish very carefully marked as to type and source. The dish I want to memorialize here is fish stock. Connolly’s will give you fish frames – free – whenever they have them. They filet fish in the back room – from the retail store you can see them working in knee high black boots and yellow slickers – and they save the skeletons. Just today my brother Don picked up the ingredients for paella, along with a huge cod frame. I’m preparing fish stock for the paella as I write this.

The first thing to know is that fish frames usually have the gills intact, and that according to the Joy of Cooking the gills impart a very bitter flavor. So before you prepare your stock, find the gills (they are right where the ears would be, and bright pinky-red). Pull them out and discard them. Then check the frame over for anything else that displeases you. Usually Connelly’s frames are clean as a whistle. I just wash them off and put them into a big pot with water to cover. Today I added peppercorns, a few small carrots, garlic, leek tops (I’m saving the rest of the leeks for the paella), and a kind of bouquet garni from the garden of thyme, parsley, and marjoram.

I once read, I think in an Asian cookbook, that you should bring the stock to a boil and then turn off the flame and let the stock sit for a while, and repeat this several times. So that’s how I do it. It seems to make sense – the fish is so delicate, and each time you return the stock to a boil it smells more and more fragrant. That’s what I’m doing now – writing a few paragraphs and then going out to the kitchen to bring the stock back to a boil for a second or two.
After the stock has been brought to a boil three or four times I’ll let it sit until it’s cool. Then I’ll strain the broth and reserve the amount I’ll need for tonight’s paella. The rest I’ll freeze in 2 cup containers for later.

There’s usually enough flesh on Connelly’s frames to make it very worthwhile picking it out. I’ll do that when the whole thing is drained and cool, and use the fish in the paella along with the scallops, mussels, and two little lobsters that Don brought back. Tonight’s paella – which I’m going to cook with barley, not rice – will also include peppers and zucchini from the garden, a Chorizo sausage, a can of bamboo shoots, and a half a package of frozen peas.