Archived Article By Tom Fitzmorris
Originally published December 14, 2007
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Bouillabaisse
Bouillabaisse, and dishes like it, have become hot items almost everywhere they're served. It's a dish that satisfies every diet. It's low in fat. Low in carbs. High in protein--but it's all fish protein. And for those whose main criterion is taste, it's hugely flavorful.
Bouillabaisse is somewhere between a stew and a soup. Which might bring up the image of gumbo. But nobody could mistake bouillabaisse for gumbo. The broth--a fish stock--lacks the roux and other thickeners in gumbo. Its color tends to the red end of the spectrum. And although it can be a bit spicy, the other top flavors of anise and saffron are distinctive.
The French port city Marseilles claims bouillabaisse as its own. They also claim that a true bouillabaisse can't be made without the same near-trash fish that's used there. Disregard this; in New Orleans, we've developed a local version of bouillabaisse, using the likes of shrimp, crab, redfish, squid, and even crawfish.
We aren't the only ones with a local variant on the dish. Almost every country bordering the Mediterranean makes something like bouillabaisse. In Spain, it's called zarzuela. Portuguese chefs call their very spicy version cataplana. In Italy, it becomes cacciuco. The Italians in San Francisco reworked it about a hundred years ago and rechristened it cioppino.
Perhaps we owe the new popularity of these things to the mussel. Mussels were not easily available in New Orleans until about ten years ago. And mussels fit into a bouillabaisse perfectly, contributing some wonderful natural juices and blending their flavors ideally with the broth. The black shells even look great in the big bowl.
The most beguiling flavor in a good bouillabaisse is that of saffron. This aromatic spice is in a horse race with white truffles for the office of World's Most Expensive Ingredient. Fortunately, a little goes a long way, and you'll smell the unique aroma of saffron and see it's orange yellow color even if only a few threads of the stuff are present.
The fennel also makes for the distinctive flavor. It looks like celery, but tastes like anise--a subtle flavor in bouillabaisse, but that little indescribable element that makes the dish what it is.
The fish is the most flexible element of the dish. Most chefs slice off the thin, tapering ends of fish fillets, using the thick parts for fish entrees and the trimmings for bouillabaisse. There's nothing wrong with this, and indeed plugs into the dish's history as being made from secondary fish.
In the classic serving of bouillabaisse, a dish of a seasoned, garlicky mayonnaise called "rouille" comes with some round croutons. You spread this on the croutons and drop them into the soup. That picks up the spice level as the croutons dissolve in the soupn.
Bouillabaisse is nothing new in restaurants around New Orleans. Galatoire's and Antoine's have served it as far back as anyone can remember, usually requiring that you order it a day in advance. This was (and is) not really worth the effort. Both versions were distinguished more for containing a staggering amount of seafood than for their flavor, which tended to the bland side. The same was true for the version at the Old Vieux Carre Restaurant, which had the bravery to subtitle itself "The House of Bouillabaisse." The fact that it's no longer around should tell you something about that image's effectiveness.
The first restaurants to do something serious with bouillabaisse opened around the same time. One of them was Chef Gunter's Versailles. The other was Christian's, where Chef Roland Huet--a classical French chef if ever there was one--nevertheless turned it out with a Creole flavor.
My own taste for dishes like this has become so avid that my wife is surprised when I don't order it everywhere I find it. And I am finding it in many more restaurants these days, to my great pleasure.
© 2006 Tom Fitzmorris. All rights reserved. news@nomenu.com