When the Sea Reaches for the Sky [redux]

This first posting is dedicated to friends who organized a wonderful day of birthday events and a party for me. Such thoughtfulness could not go unrewarded, and there was only one dish I considered, the plateau de fruit de mer.

Although I had heard about the plateau de fruit de mer, I never had thought seriously about it until I read what has become my favorite article by Amanda Hesser in the New York Times “When the Sea Reaches for the Sky”:

“There is no precise definition for a plateau de fruit de mer... There is no recipe. It is more abstract than that. Think of it as an expression of the sea, a display of the best shellfish and crustaceans a restaurant can find that day, put forth in their purest form… All are arranged on deep aluminum trays that are filled with ice. A great plateau de fruits de mer gives a sense of excess, with the seafood coming off as if they were jewels nestled in the ice. Like a wedding cake, the bottom layer is largest. It is typically dotted with oysters, clams and scallops… This is so the diner can see that they are fresh and plump, and immersed in their liquor. (If they were placed on a higher layer, you would risk spilling the precious liquor as you lifted each shell.) The second layer, and sometimes the third, each smaller and supported by steel pedestals, are decorated with richer shellfish, like shrimp, mussels and razor clams. Sometimes, periwinkles and seaweed are slipped among them, as if they had washed up on the ice. If there is lobster, it is usually placed on top, crowning the plateau with a flash of red to catch diners’ eyes as it passes from raw bar to table. A plateau de fruits de mer is not so much a dish as an experience.”

Her descriptions are so invoking that I could not shake the idea of having my own plateau de fruit de mer. It also makes my own post difficult to write. But for some reason, even in this seafood town I never saw it on menus. Only recently did I see and order the Peruvian version frutos del mar at Andina in Portland--the other tables not only "looked on shamelessly," but each table down the row asked us what we were eating. The woman next to us obviously preferred to be eating with us, rather than with her lackluster date, who ordered the most pedestrian items on the menu

So on a rainy Saturday morning, I purchased three deep round cake pans of graduated diameters, five bags of ice chips, and hit three of Seattle’s best seafood stores. By lunch I had a makeshift tower of cake pans, a disassembled French coffee press, and a chinois stand, all ready to be covered with ice and Neptune’s best. (Years later I would learn that the real stands were right behind me when I bought the cake pans at Sur La Table.)

Minutes before the guests arrived, I assembled the tower: the tiny and little known Olympia Oysters, Kumamoto Oysters (I think), boiled red crayfish and prawns, seviche, uni, raw scallops, sashimi (toro, wild king salmon, and hamachi) on shiso leaves, and two Dungeness crabs. Bright yellow wedges of lemon added a little visual order to the unrestrained bounty, and seaweed draped over the platters of ice as if they were rocks or driftwood.
After hors d’oeuvres and Taittinger, I led everyone to the dining room, which was illuminated only by a few candles and two tiny spotlights that shone on the glistening ice and flashes of color. A single prawn tail enticingly dripped melted ice onto the tier below. Now, I know the guys were impressed by the oohs and aahs, and protests of “you shouldn’t have, but so glad you did,” however, I knew that I had done the job right when one guy whipped out his cell phone and snapped a picture.

Then we sat down to eat. I served a bottle of iced sake in glass vials, embedded in ice. Glass bowls with condiments, glass candlesticks, white flowers, and white plates and white hand towels continued the ice theme. But who cared? We had serious eating to do, and nothing shows appreciation like watching people eat with their hands. Hands flew over the three tiers, grabbing and cracking crab legs, squirting lemon onto an oyster before tipping it back and slurping it down, peeling prawns, snatching a piece of fatty tuna.

After the shells, tiers, and ice were removed, I served dessert, the last bit of “seafood,” chocolate sea urchin.

To keep with theme of seafood, albeit not iced, I pulled out my version of Patina’s Chocolate Sea Urchin. This dessert was so rich, so chocolaty that at the end of dinner at Patina, Mom said she never wanted to see a piece of chocolate again. No one has ever said this about my recipe, but then, they didn’t have a five-course meal at Patina, plus the chocolate petit fours.

I wish I could find the section drawing I made of this as I tried to figure out how it was made--it was a handsome colored pencil and ink drawing. The chocolate sea urchin is basically a hard hemisphere shell of bittersweet Vahlrona chocolate. Almond slivers dipped in melted chocolate protrude from the shell, which sits on oozy passion fruit. A slice into the shell reveals a filling of dark bittersweet mousse, with a center of caramel. Incredibly rich, with a variety of textures, and flavors (but always dominated by chocolate), the sea urchin is the bazooka of desserts.

It was as good as a meal as the best of friends, food and drink can make, and a fitting conclusion to and beginning of another year of my life.

A few words to Chew by, if not live by

Back in Art School, after I dropped out of Economics, I realized that my artistic talent rested in not rendering or sculpting, but in cooking. Why I didn’t just stop then and head off to the Culinary Institute of America, I don’t know, since even back in junior high I had written away for its brochures when the other kids were dreaming of high SAT scores, a preppy lifestyle, and beer bonging. And while other kids purchased Sports Illustrated, Tiger Beat, I picked up Cook’s Magazine and Bon Appetit. Years later, at architecture school, I was fortunate to have instructors who considered the food on the table as important at the table setting, the table and chairs, the room finishes, and the room itself. All seemed reconciled.

But now as a professional in the construction industry, I yearn for the immediate and sensual gratifications of the culinary world. While I am likely to read an article about how construction in China affects the price of steel in Colorado, I’ll print and save an article on making my own bacon. To paraphrase Brillat Savarin: “The discovery of a new dish does more for human happiness than a new shopping center.”

This blog, then, attempts to reconcile (again) these conflicting passions without falling into the pathos of a self-help journey. I hope there will surprises, a reasonable amount of stability, a ramble and a rant now and then, but most all, an inspiration for good food on the table and in conversation.