The Scallop Hunter
Last week I was whisked away to Martha's Vineyard by JChef. Yes, mom, I realize we've only been dating for one month (!), which makes for a rapid boil, but isn't that part of the fun? Heartbreak be damned!
Day 1 we traveled and unpacked; day 2 we found ourselves rained in for a movie marathon. Since we're both naturally fidgety people, by sunset we needed to go somewhere, anywhere to break up the monotony of staring deep and falling hard.
We drove to Oak Bluffs. It is in (thank god) one of the two "wet towns" in the Vineyard. For those of you who haven't been, MV is primarily "dry", and yes, please do that double-quote finger gesture to emphasize the sarcasm in my tone. An island created for Bostonians to get away from it all, and pretend they aren't fans of booze by putting a bit of a challenge in between them and their martini. As a result, one can't order a pint of Sam Adams at the Black Dog, but in private homes, you will find some of the most generously stocked liquor cabinets this side of Ireland.
We found a place to shoot pool called The Ritz. The place was filled with local men, no younger than 40, which meant we'd have the opportunity to see if JChef was cool or if he was a jealous man. I sashayed to the chalkboard to sign us up for winners, and encountered Guy, a French-Canadian, who took my hand, kissed it, and cooed, "Enchanter." I reconnected with JChef at the bar, grabbed his hand, and two others introduce themselves as only town drunks can. JChef laughed.
We watched the table to size up the competition. We were going to have our urban tucchuses handed to us, no matter how many Makers Marks we bought these guys. Eric, an Islander who ran Ben David Auto Refinishing, in Vineyard Haven, was waiting for the next game. We exchanged a few pleasantries, and I told him that we were cooks.
When I drop that I'm a cook, there's always a response. With city women, it's often "I hate cooking. We order in." With grandmas, there are usually stories, and if I play my cards with a modicum of intelligence, a recipe. With an island man like Eric, there is often a shared secret; a great fishing spot, a guy he knows who just bagged a deer, perhaps a friend with exceptional homebrew.
In Erics case, I hit the generosity motherload. He had gone for bay scallops, just that morning, and had a fresh catch sitting in his "cah", just outside the "bah". My eyes widened, and I licked my chops. He told me where we could go to get some, I said that we were leaving tomorrow. He looked me up and down; my city boots and skirt, my soft hands. There was no way I was passing this guys appraisal as a woman who could cook.
Think fast! Fresh caught scallops are near, and I'm not getting any. I caught JChef's eye, and motioned him over. I introduced the two men then shared, "J, guess what Eric was just telling me? He went out this morning for scallops. J, what kind of scallops is it that you serve in your restaurant? Chilmark?" I cleared out and let Guy show me how to hold a pool cue.
There was gesticulating, stories of Islanders they knew in common, and yes, fishing hole locations were exchanged. I returned to the menfolk and Eric asked me if I might want to take home some of his scallops for dinner that evening. I demurred. He went out for a smoke, and returned with a coupla pounds of cleaned scallops. He presented, then had the bartender keep them on ice.
We lost two out of four games, then JChef told the men he had to get me home and make me dinner. By what divine intervention was it that I was finally dating a chef, an honest-to-god chef, who had the ability and inclination to cook for me?
We drove home, debating about the ways in which we could prepare our lovelies. We walked in the door, kicked off our rain boots and scrubbed up for cooking. He picked me up and sat me on the counter, where I could watch everything but not get in his way. He opened his favorite Oregon pinot to breathe, and handed me a Brooklyn Lager for right now. I sat, pacified. The scallop hunter had brought in the catch, and the cook would reward me.
The true beauty of this story, and the only thing here worth retaining really, is the way he cooked the scallops. He did as little to them as possible. He let them be what they were, without burdening them with too many additional flavors. Cooking with authentic ingredients is like a beautiful young woman applying makeup; there's nothing to cover up, and anything added should let the natural shine though.
He finessed the home kitchen like a restaurant chef, turning on the oven and setting a pot of water to boil before he even decided what he would do. There was linguine, oil, some garlic and the scallops. Then there was kale, linguisa, rack of lamb, truffle honey, and demi glace. There was that pinot, and there were few words. There were two cooks in the kitchen, and one knew well enough when to sit back and let the stove be manned.
Linguine with Vineyard Scallops
Created by The Wooden Spoon
Serves 4
1 pound fettucine
a few turns of tasty olive oil
pinch of red pepper flakes
2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
2 pounds best quality bay scallops
chopped parsley or other herb, if desired
1. Bring a pot of salted water to a boil. Add fettucine and cook according to package directions for al dente texture (the lesser of the two cooking times). Or better yet, cook until it's a little bit firmer than you'd like to serve it. Get in there and taste, dammit! Drain.
2. Heat a wide skillet over medium heat. Add the olive oil and don't be stingy. Add the red pepper flakes and the sliced garlic. Saute until soft, but do not brown. Remove with a slotted spoon and reserve. Increase heat to high and add the scallops (in batches if needed, do not crowd the pan). Cook for no more than 1 - 1 1/2 minutes per side, or until just cooked.
3. In whichever vessel is larger (the skillet or the pot), combine the garlic, the scallops and oil and the pasta. Toss; add some fresh herbs if desired. Serve amorously.
An interesting sidenote: after we returned from our trip, JChef decided to offer bay scallops as a special. Homemade linguine this time, more herbs, and crisp-tender sweetbreads, because this is a restaurant after all.
Day 1 we traveled and unpacked; day 2 we found ourselves rained in for a movie marathon. Since we're both naturally fidgety people, by sunset we needed to go somewhere, anywhere to break up the monotony of staring deep and falling hard.
We drove to Oak Bluffs. It is in (thank god) one of the two "wet towns" in the Vineyard. For those of you who haven't been, MV is primarily "dry", and yes, please do that double-quote finger gesture to emphasize the sarcasm in my tone. An island created for Bostonians to get away from it all, and pretend they aren't fans of booze by putting a bit of a challenge in between them and their martini. As a result, one can't order a pint of Sam Adams at the Black Dog, but in private homes, you will find some of the most generously stocked liquor cabinets this side of Ireland.
We found a place to shoot pool called The Ritz. The place was filled with local men, no younger than 40, which meant we'd have the opportunity to see if JChef was cool or if he was a jealous man. I sashayed to the chalkboard to sign us up for winners, and encountered Guy, a French-Canadian, who took my hand, kissed it, and cooed, "Enchanter." I reconnected with JChef at the bar, grabbed his hand, and two others introduce themselves as only town drunks can. JChef laughed.
We watched the table to size up the competition. We were going to have our urban tucchuses handed to us, no matter how many Makers Marks we bought these guys. Eric, an Islander who ran Ben David Auto Refinishing, in Vineyard Haven, was waiting for the next game. We exchanged a few pleasantries, and I told him that we were cooks.
When I drop that I'm a cook, there's always a response. With city women, it's often "I hate cooking. We order in." With grandmas, there are usually stories, and if I play my cards with a modicum of intelligence, a recipe. With an island man like Eric, there is often a shared secret; a great fishing spot, a guy he knows who just bagged a deer, perhaps a friend with exceptional homebrew.
In Erics case, I hit the generosity motherload. He had gone for bay scallops, just that morning, and had a fresh catch sitting in his "cah", just outside the "bah". My eyes widened, and I licked my chops. He told me where we could go to get some, I said that we were leaving tomorrow. He looked me up and down; my city boots and skirt, my soft hands. There was no way I was passing this guys appraisal as a woman who could cook.
Think fast! Fresh caught scallops are near, and I'm not getting any. I caught JChef's eye, and motioned him over. I introduced the two men then shared, "J, guess what Eric was just telling me? He went out this morning for scallops. J, what kind of scallops is it that you serve in your restaurant? Chilmark?" I cleared out and let Guy show me how to hold a pool cue.
There was gesticulating, stories of Islanders they knew in common, and yes, fishing hole locations were exchanged. I returned to the menfolk and Eric asked me if I might want to take home some of his scallops for dinner that evening. I demurred. He went out for a smoke, and returned with a coupla pounds of cleaned scallops. He presented, then had the bartender keep them on ice.
We lost two out of four games, then JChef told the men he had to get me home and make me dinner. By what divine intervention was it that I was finally dating a chef, an honest-to-god chef, who had the ability and inclination to cook for me?
We drove home, debating about the ways in which we could prepare our lovelies. We walked in the door, kicked off our rain boots and scrubbed up for cooking. He picked me up and sat me on the counter, where I could watch everything but not get in his way. He opened his favorite Oregon pinot to breathe, and handed me a Brooklyn Lager for right now. I sat, pacified. The scallop hunter had brought in the catch, and the cook would reward me.
The true beauty of this story, and the only thing here worth retaining really, is the way he cooked the scallops. He did as little to them as possible. He let them be what they were, without burdening them with too many additional flavors. Cooking with authentic ingredients is like a beautiful young woman applying makeup; there's nothing to cover up, and anything added should let the natural shine though.
He finessed the home kitchen like a restaurant chef, turning on the oven and setting a pot of water to boil before he even decided what he would do. There was linguine, oil, some garlic and the scallops. Then there was kale, linguisa, rack of lamb, truffle honey, and demi glace. There was that pinot, and there were few words. There were two cooks in the kitchen, and one knew well enough when to sit back and let the stove be manned.
Linguine with Vineyard Scallops
Created by The Wooden Spoon
Serves 4
1 pound fettucine
a few turns of tasty olive oil
pinch of red pepper flakes
2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
2 pounds best quality bay scallops
chopped parsley or other herb, if desired
1. Bring a pot of salted water to a boil. Add fettucine and cook according to package directions for al dente texture (the lesser of the two cooking times). Or better yet, cook until it's a little bit firmer than you'd like to serve it. Get in there and taste, dammit! Drain.
2. Heat a wide skillet over medium heat. Add the olive oil and don't be stingy. Add the red pepper flakes and the sliced garlic. Saute until soft, but do not brown. Remove with a slotted spoon and reserve. Increase heat to high and add the scallops (in batches if needed, do not crowd the pan). Cook for no more than 1 - 1 1/2 minutes per side, or until just cooked.
3. In whichever vessel is larger (the skillet or the pot), combine the garlic, the scallops and oil and the pasta. Toss; add some fresh herbs if desired. Serve amorously.
An interesting sidenote: after we returned from our trip, JChef decided to offer bay scallops as a special. Homemade linguine this time, more herbs, and crisp-tender sweetbreads, because this is a restaurant after all.
posted by Allison Fishman Task at 7:45 AM
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