Cooking for One: Salmon with Lentils
We had our first kiss of spring in the northeast this weekend. The season’s first buttercups raised their new yellow heads to a few hours of golden sunshine before being joined, by the end of the day, by the navy blue heads of bachelor’s buttons that had just opened. I took advantage of the nice day to open the windows – I have often written about what are, to my mind as well as my grandmother’s, the proven benefits of a cleansing breeze. For the first time since last autumn, I didn’t need a heavy coat for a trip into Manhattan to pick up a few provisions to send to John out west. California has a lot to recommend it, but it doesn’t have Bagels on the Square, McNulty’s, Century 21 or J & R. With my new portable DVD player, my upcoming flight to Los Angeles will pass a little quicker, and a hot cup of Gotham Blend, rationed as if it was wartime chocolate, will be waiting for me in the kitchen of our west coast urban home – as will, as the night progresses, a glass of that inarguable California contribution, pinot noir.
My journeys took me homeward around dinnertime, so I decided to stop into my favorite pub. When the Sparrow Tavern opened around the corner from our apartment in Astoria a few years ago, they instantly won my admiration for having the chutzpah to open smack dab across the street from the Bohemian Bier Garten. Like a diner, to which it is more than passingly related, a pub succeeds when, as an anchor of a neighborhood, it is also a reflection of it. It’s in the etymology of the very word: “pub” comes from “publick house,” a place, typically an inn, where locals gather but travelers also feel welcome. Publick houses embody the sacred obligations of hospitality: food, drink and camaraderie conspiring to create welcome. Welcome becomes familiarity and at a pub, whether it’s your first time there or your umpteenth, you feel as if you’re home. Everyone needs a pub to call their own, and along with Tavern on Jane, I call the Sparrow mine.
Food and drink are the backbone of any pub, and while they don’t have to be fancy – in fact, to many, fanciness in a pub is a serious infraction – they must be good. The Sparrow’s kitchen turns out such good fare it has been featured on the Food Network. The hamburger is the measure of any American pub’s kitchen, and the Sparrow’s is very good, but the star of the menu is the fries, which are tossed with fried herbs and finished with duck fat. At the bar, the wine list is curated with an eye and a mouth towards California reds. I always have a pour of Wyatt, a deft red blend in which the muscle of cabernet sauvignon and the sinew of merlot dance gracefully together and duet beautifully with food.
This is another service pubs provide, for without them, solo diners would be consigned to a lot more nights of eating out of a box, a cereal bowl, a paper wrapper or not at all than we already are. I’m slightly ashamed to admit it and as a lifestyle writer I probably shouldn’t, but there have been nights where if it hadn’t been for a pub, I wouldn’t have eaten dinner at all. This is one of the reasons why a pub’s menu is varied. The menu is designed not just to offer the obligatory calories that, theoretically, tone down drunken hijinks but to appeal to solo diners by selection, portion and, again, camaraderie. In a pub, even if you’re eating alone, you are not eating alone.
It also offers talented chefs a chance to express their talent and their acumen. Though a pub’s menu is designed around basics, it is also designed to have character. Chefs working in pubs can expect to employ the basics of deep frying and grilling, but they also get to introduce dishes that cooks in a focused restaurant do not. Often this takes the form of highlighting a local ingredient, preparation or technique, and often the justification is simply that the chef likes it. We who are washing our beer down out front are the beneficiaries of this practice. The best slab of lasagna I ever had in my life didn’t proceed from an Italian home- or restaurant kitchen; it was in a pub in SoHo so old it still has gaslight. That same pub rolls its own pumpkin ravioli and mixes from scratch the cream sauce in which these are served. Another pub, unfortunately long since shuttered, served exemplary plates of both napa cabbage slaw and bleu cheese popovers. And another I can think of is known for its fried chicken.
One pub meal I never tire of is salmon with lentils. You encounter salmon on menus because it is a fish that almost everyone likes, but chefs can have a limited imagination with this fish. Simple grilling is the standby, usually as the crown on a main dish salad, and on the west coast, planked salmon is not uncommon. There is justification to the classic approach, as the rich character of this fish does not demand fuss and, in fact, is harmed by it. To illustrate this we turn, as our beloved pub chef does, to the masterful cooking of the French. In French cooking as in many other cuisines – notably, American – for key ingredients, there is often a city dish and a country dish. Whereas the city preparation of salmon might involve poaching in vermouth and a drizzle of mustard sauce, the country preparation is to serve salmon, simply roasted, over a bed of lentils. Roasting brings out the rich, satisfying character of salmon that is, in turn, an expression of French country cooking and an important skill for both home cook and chef to master. Here is a recipe for salmon with lentils, easy enough for those nights you didn’t make it to the pub and find yourself cooking for one. Serve your salmon with a crisp green salad and either a glass of chilled rosé or a good beer.
SALMON WITH LENTILS
The best salmon will be found at the fish counter. Look for rich pink flesh with ivory marbeling and no rosy or red spotting. Don't be shy about asking the fish monger where and how the fish was caught; you only want wild-caught Alaskan salmon.
1 8-ounce boneless salmon fillet
½ cup green or red lentils or a combination of the two
1 cup low sodium chicken stock
1 cup cold water
1 medium shallot
1 rib celery
1 small carrot
1 clove garlic
1 dried bay leaf
1 bunch fresh flat leaf parsley
½ tablespoon sherry or red wine vinegar
Extra virgin olive oil
Butter
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1. Heat the oven to 300 degrees.
2. Remove the salmon from its packaging. Place the fillet on a plate, silver skin side down. Use a clean paper towel to blot the fillet of excess moisture if any. Sprinkle the fillet with salt and several grindings of fresh black pepper.
3. Rinse the parsley and set aside to drain on a double layer of paper toweling.
4. Place a medium saucepan on the stove top. Add a two count of olive oil and a pat of butter to the saucepan.
5. Peel the carrot and rinse under cool water. Cut off and discard the top and bottom tip of the carrot.
6. Lay the carrot on a clean cutting board devoted to vegetables. Cut the carrot in half lengthwise; halve each half. Align the four quarters on the board and cut across them, forming tiny wedges. Cut across the larger wedges to form tinier pieces. Scrape the carrot into the saucepan.
7. Rinse the celery rib under cool water. Place the rib lengthwise on the cutting board. Cut across the top and the bottom of the rib; discard the calloused top and bottom of the rib. It is okay if some leaves remain. Cut the rib lengthwise in half; halve each half. Align the quarters and cut across the quarters to form dice. Scraped the diced celery into the saucepan containing the carrot.
8. Sprinkle the carrot and celery with salt. Turn the burner on medium to start melting the butter and cooking the carrot and the celery while you prepare the shallot.
9. Remove the root and stem ends of the shallot; remove the papery outer skin. Halve the shallot from root to stem; halve each half. Cut each quarter into crescents and then cut across the crescents to form dice. Scrape the diced shallot into the pan with the carrot and the celery.
10. Peel the garlic and remove the root end. Half the clove; remove and discard any sprouting from the center. Press the garlic through a garlic press into the mixture in the sauce pan. Use the tip of a knife to get all of the garlic into the pan.
11. Use a silicon spatula to mix all of the ingredients in the pan together. Use the spatula to stir the vegetables until the carrots and celery begin to express their liquid.
12. Once the carrots and celery begin to express their liquid, measure the lentils into the sauce pan. Use the spatula to incorporate the lentils into the vegetable-garlic mixture. Slowly measure the chicken stalk into the pan, and then slowly measure the water into the pan. Use the spatula to stir the lentils and the vegetables into the liquid. Add the bay leaf to the mixture in the pan.
13. Cover the pan and cook the lentils until tender, approximately 15 – 18 minutes. Check the mixture at 10 and 15 minutes.
14. After you cover the pan containing the lentils, line a small baking pan with a length of aluminum foil, shiny side up. Spray the foil with non stick cooking spray. Drizzle the sprayed aluminum foil with a three-count of olive oil.
15. Gently place the seasoned salmon, flesh side down and silvery skin side up, into the baking pan. Make sure the flesh contacts the olive oil. Place the pan containing the salmon into the oven.
16. Cook the salmon until the fleshy top is crispy, approximately 15 minutes.
17. While the salmon and the lentils are cooking, place the cleaned parsley on the cutting board. Cut the leafy ends of the parsley into small pieces.
18. Once the lentils have absorbed the cooking liquid, turn off the burner and remove and discard the bay leaf. Measure the vinegar into the pan containing the lentils. Add a generous handful of chopped parsley to the lentil mixture. Use the spatula to stir the mixture together.
19. Once the salmon is cooked, turn off the oven and remove the pan from the oven.
20. Gently layer a generous portion of lentils onto a plate or bowl. Gently place the roasted salmon, flesh side up and skin side down, on the lentils. Garnish with fresh parsley and several grindings of fresh black pepper. Serve immediately.
My journeys took me homeward around dinnertime, so I decided to stop into my favorite pub. When the Sparrow Tavern opened around the corner from our apartment in Astoria a few years ago, they instantly won my admiration for having the chutzpah to open smack dab across the street from the Bohemian Bier Garten. Like a diner, to which it is more than passingly related, a pub succeeds when, as an anchor of a neighborhood, it is also a reflection of it. It’s in the etymology of the very word: “pub” comes from “publick house,” a place, typically an inn, where locals gather but travelers also feel welcome. Publick houses embody the sacred obligations of hospitality: food, drink and camaraderie conspiring to create welcome. Welcome becomes familiarity and at a pub, whether it’s your first time there or your umpteenth, you feel as if you’re home. Everyone needs a pub to call their own, and along with Tavern on Jane, I call the Sparrow mine.
Food and drink are the backbone of any pub, and while they don’t have to be fancy – in fact, to many, fanciness in a pub is a serious infraction – they must be good. The Sparrow’s kitchen turns out such good fare it has been featured on the Food Network. The hamburger is the measure of any American pub’s kitchen, and the Sparrow’s is very good, but the star of the menu is the fries, which are tossed with fried herbs and finished with duck fat. At the bar, the wine list is curated with an eye and a mouth towards California reds. I always have a pour of Wyatt, a deft red blend in which the muscle of cabernet sauvignon and the sinew of merlot dance gracefully together and duet beautifully with food.
This is another service pubs provide, for without them, solo diners would be consigned to a lot more nights of eating out of a box, a cereal bowl, a paper wrapper or not at all than we already are. I’m slightly ashamed to admit it and as a lifestyle writer I probably shouldn’t, but there have been nights where if it hadn’t been for a pub, I wouldn’t have eaten dinner at all. This is one of the reasons why a pub’s menu is varied. The menu is designed not just to offer the obligatory calories that, theoretically, tone down drunken hijinks but to appeal to solo diners by selection, portion and, again, camaraderie. In a pub, even if you’re eating alone, you are not eating alone.
It also offers talented chefs a chance to express their talent and their acumen. Though a pub’s menu is designed around basics, it is also designed to have character. Chefs working in pubs can expect to employ the basics of deep frying and grilling, but they also get to introduce dishes that cooks in a focused restaurant do not. Often this takes the form of highlighting a local ingredient, preparation or technique, and often the justification is simply that the chef likes it. We who are washing our beer down out front are the beneficiaries of this practice. The best slab of lasagna I ever had in my life didn’t proceed from an Italian home- or restaurant kitchen; it was in a pub in SoHo so old it still has gaslight. That same pub rolls its own pumpkin ravioli and mixes from scratch the cream sauce in which these are served. Another pub, unfortunately long since shuttered, served exemplary plates of both napa cabbage slaw and bleu cheese popovers. And another I can think of is known for its fried chicken.
One pub meal I never tire of is salmon with lentils. You encounter salmon on menus because it is a fish that almost everyone likes, but chefs can have a limited imagination with this fish. Simple grilling is the standby, usually as the crown on a main dish salad, and on the west coast, planked salmon is not uncommon. There is justification to the classic approach, as the rich character of this fish does not demand fuss and, in fact, is harmed by it. To illustrate this we turn, as our beloved pub chef does, to the masterful cooking of the French. In French cooking as in many other cuisines – notably, American – for key ingredients, there is often a city dish and a country dish. Whereas the city preparation of salmon might involve poaching in vermouth and a drizzle of mustard sauce, the country preparation is to serve salmon, simply roasted, over a bed of lentils. Roasting brings out the rich, satisfying character of salmon that is, in turn, an expression of French country cooking and an important skill for both home cook and chef to master. Here is a recipe for salmon with lentils, easy enough for those nights you didn’t make it to the pub and find yourself cooking for one. Serve your salmon with a crisp green salad and either a glass of chilled rosé or a good beer.
SALMON WITH LENTILS
The best salmon will be found at the fish counter. Look for rich pink flesh with ivory marbeling and no rosy or red spotting. Don't be shy about asking the fish monger where and how the fish was caught; you only want wild-caught Alaskan salmon.
1 8-ounce boneless salmon fillet
½ cup green or red lentils or a combination of the two
1 cup low sodium chicken stock
1 cup cold water
1 medium shallot
1 rib celery
1 small carrot
1 clove garlic
1 dried bay leaf
1 bunch fresh flat leaf parsley
½ tablespoon sherry or red wine vinegar
Extra virgin olive oil
Butter
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1. Heat the oven to 300 degrees.
2. Remove the salmon from its packaging. Place the fillet on a plate, silver skin side down. Use a clean paper towel to blot the fillet of excess moisture if any. Sprinkle the fillet with salt and several grindings of fresh black pepper.
3. Rinse the parsley and set aside to drain on a double layer of paper toweling.
4. Place a medium saucepan on the stove top. Add a two count of olive oil and a pat of butter to the saucepan.
5. Peel the carrot and rinse under cool water. Cut off and discard the top and bottom tip of the carrot.
6. Lay the carrot on a clean cutting board devoted to vegetables. Cut the carrot in half lengthwise; halve each half. Align the four quarters on the board and cut across them, forming tiny wedges. Cut across the larger wedges to form tinier pieces. Scrape the carrot into the saucepan.
7. Rinse the celery rib under cool water. Place the rib lengthwise on the cutting board. Cut across the top and the bottom of the rib; discard the calloused top and bottom of the rib. It is okay if some leaves remain. Cut the rib lengthwise in half; halve each half. Align the quarters and cut across the quarters to form dice. Scraped the diced celery into the saucepan containing the carrot.
8. Sprinkle the carrot and celery with salt. Turn the burner on medium to start melting the butter and cooking the carrot and the celery while you prepare the shallot.
9. Remove the root and stem ends of the shallot; remove the papery outer skin. Halve the shallot from root to stem; halve each half. Cut each quarter into crescents and then cut across the crescents to form dice. Scrape the diced shallot into the pan with the carrot and the celery.
10. Peel the garlic and remove the root end. Half the clove; remove and discard any sprouting from the center. Press the garlic through a garlic press into the mixture in the sauce pan. Use the tip of a knife to get all of the garlic into the pan.
11. Use a silicon spatula to mix all of the ingredients in the pan together. Use the spatula to stir the vegetables until the carrots and celery begin to express their liquid.
12. Once the carrots and celery begin to express their liquid, measure the lentils into the sauce pan. Use the spatula to incorporate the lentils into the vegetable-garlic mixture. Slowly measure the chicken stalk into the pan, and then slowly measure the water into the pan. Use the spatula to stir the lentils and the vegetables into the liquid. Add the bay leaf to the mixture in the pan.
13. Cover the pan and cook the lentils until tender, approximately 15 – 18 minutes. Check the mixture at 10 and 15 minutes.
14. After you cover the pan containing the lentils, line a small baking pan with a length of aluminum foil, shiny side up. Spray the foil with non stick cooking spray. Drizzle the sprayed aluminum foil with a three-count of olive oil.
15. Gently place the seasoned salmon, flesh side down and silvery skin side up, into the baking pan. Make sure the flesh contacts the olive oil. Place the pan containing the salmon into the oven.
16. Cook the salmon until the fleshy top is crispy, approximately 15 minutes.
17. While the salmon and the lentils are cooking, place the cleaned parsley on the cutting board. Cut the leafy ends of the parsley into small pieces.
18. Once the lentils have absorbed the cooking liquid, turn off the burner and remove and discard the bay leaf. Measure the vinegar into the pan containing the lentils. Add a generous handful of chopped parsley to the lentil mixture. Use the spatula to stir the mixture together.
19. Once the salmon is cooked, turn off the oven and remove the pan from the oven.
20. Gently layer a generous portion of lentils onto a plate or bowl. Gently place the roasted salmon, flesh side up and skin side down, on the lentils. Garnish with fresh parsley and several grindings of fresh black pepper. Serve immediately.
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