Surf and Turf
Karen Barnaby
I’m remembering overhearing an obnoxious, sweaty,
medicine ball shaped man at a Toronto power party I
was catering loudly declaring that the best meal he
ever had in his life was a beef tenderloin stuffed with
lobster. This made me cringe. First, because I’ve
never liked or understood the combination, and secondly,
to like it would mean that I was like him. No way.
What I term the "Las
Vegas" interpretation of surf and
turf has always seemed to be an odd, frivolous and self-indulgent
combination of flavors and textures. The lobster never
seems to stand up well to the beef. Other combinations
that equally baffle me are ribs and spaghetti, steak
and lasagna, chicken and tortellini, and so on. Perhaps
the winners eat the steak and lobster and the losers
the chicken and tortellini?
I held on to my prejudice against surf and turf until
it began to dawn on me that there was more to Surf and
Turf than Mr. Medicine Ball’s moist description.
The particular combination that opened my eyes happened
to be Vitello Tonnato , the Italian dish of cold poached
veal smothered with a very lively tuna, anchovy and
caper mayonnaise. Loved the mayonnaise, but didn’t
like the combination much. What it did, was get that
light bulb in my head to switch on. Surf and turf was
now revealed in a new light. What about the shrimp and
pork wontons I would eagerly slurp back at my favourite
dumpy noodle hut? Or the food I cooked with my Thai
mentor? It all contained fish sauce or various funky
forms of fermented fish.
The next light bulb encounter was at a Portuguese restaurant
where I had braised pork mingled with clams. One bite
of this old and historically checkered dish convinced
me that I had to reevaluate my opinion of surf and turf.
Upon closer scrutiny, pork – particularly cured
pork products – with seafood were plentiful in
the Mediterranean. I’ve since fallen in love with
prawns and chorizo, chilled oysters and sausage, prosciutto
and clams, salmon poached in duck fat, trout wrapped
with pancetta...
One of the more recent interpretations which seemed
to be everywhere for a while was foie gras with seared
scallops. There have been many bad executions of this
dish, because to get it just right requires the perfect
scallop and the perfect technique. The raw foie gras
has to be seared into fatty firmness, and the scallop
seared in to the perfect state of translucent tenderness.
Quite a feat. Or, the easier to execute braised short
ribs with lobster ravioli, which became a personal favourite.
Robert Clark, chef of C
Restaurant took surf and turf (as well
as tongue in cheek) into a new realm by creating surf
and surf – scallops wrapped in his own octopus
bacon. And to further indulge, you can enjoy this dish
with turf – a slice of seared foie gras melting
over top.
Diva
at the Met’s Exec Chef Chris Mills
eyes lit up when speaking of pheasant breast with Dungeness
crab meat and a smidgen of Hollandaise sauce.
David Hawksworth from West
spoke glowingly of veal tongue with scallops. I am a
fan of veal tongue and had gratefully eaten –
it’s hard to find organ meat on menus here –
David’s braised interpretation of it in the spring
so I can imagine how well these two would partner up.
I have come full circle on surf and turf. It usually
happens that whenever I make fun of some food. I end
up becoming so intrigued by it that I have to start
cooking it—so with this combination, it was the
double whammy of surf and turf and steak and spaghetti.
In this case, the heady clam pasta can really hold its
own against the steak.
I like rib eye steaks and they have to be center cut
and at least 12 ounces each. Now you can split it two
or three ways if you want, but it has to be thick, thick,
thick. For flavouring the steak, I like to use a particular
and spicy Vietnamese saté sauce - Tia
Chieu Sa-té from Huy Fong Foods
Inc. It comes in a small plastic bottle with a rooster
logo. To several spoonfuls of the sauce I add several
spoonfuls of mayonnaise, right out of the jar and a
very large pinch of coarse sea salt - now you can laugh
at my preferences. Of course you can just use a generous
amount of Maldon Sea Salt, from the Gourmet Warehouse
pummeled into the meat. The steaks are grilled so they
get nice and crusty. This is where the mayonnaise helps.
Or if you’re using salt only, they can be seared
in a cast iron pan. The clam linguine is made and served
alongside the steaks on piping hot plates. So similarly
to the execution of the foie gras and scallop, the timing
has to be perfect.
___________________
White Clam Linguine
Serves 4 with a steak. Halve the recipe if serving two.
2 lbs. Manila clams
4 Tbsp. olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 Tbsp. finely chopped parsley
1 dried hot chili pepper, crumbled
1/2 cup dry white wine
1 lb. dried linguine
2 Tbsp. unsalted butter
1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
Wash the clams thoroughly, discarding any that do not
close. Place them in a large pot and cover tightly with
a lid. Steam over high heat until they open, shaking
the pot to redistribute them. Remove the clams with
a slotted spoon into a strainer over a bowl. Line a
sieve with a double layer of paper towels and strain
the clam juice as well as the juice from the draining
clams. Reserve.
Remove the clams from their shells and chop coarsely.
Place in a bowl and cover until ready to use.
In a heavy-bottomed pot, heat the olive oil over medium
heat. Add the garlic and sauté until it just
turns golden. Add the parsley, chili pepper and wine
and let it boil away for a minute. Add the strained
clam juice and boil for 1 minute longer. Remove from
the heat.
Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the linguine
to the boiling water and salt liberally. It should taste
like seawater. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the
pasta is very firm to the bite, about 8 minutes.
Drain the pasta and return to the cooking pot. Add the
clam juice mixture and the reserved clams. Stir over
medium heat until piping hot and the pasta has reached
its desired state of tenderness. Stir in the Parmesan
cheese and the butter.
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Karen Barnaby
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