Home › The Principles of Cookery › Fish

Fish

We will next proceed to discuss the general principles to be borne in mind in cooking fish. Before fish is cooked it is of the utmost importance to see that it is perfectly fresh. Fortunately, fish when not perfectly fresh soon tells its own tale. Now, some kinds of fish will keep far better than others, just like meat. For instance, a piece of silver-side of beef will keep perfectly good where a shoulder of mutton or, still worse, a shoulder of lamb would get bad. So, too, with fish: a solid fish like turbot or salmon will keep much better than fish like whiting, eels, or whitebait. There is one fish--viz. red mullet--that is absolutely better for being kept. We will begin with boiled fish, and run through the general principles to be observed in boiling. First, a very common fault with cooks is that they omit to put sufficient salt into the water in which the fish is boiled. In boiling large fish, such as cod, salmon, etc., where the backbone is exposed after the fish has been cleaned, it will be found to be a good plan to rub the bone with a piece of salt. The fish should then be placed gently in a large fish-kettle, with sufficient cold water to cover it. Salt should be added in the proportion, for large fish, of nearly half a pound of salt to a gallon of water; the minimum of salt should be six ounces to a gallon. In the case of small fish, such as mackerel, small plaice, etc., a quarter of a pound of salt to the gallon will be sufficient. Most fish should be placed, as we have said, in cold water, unless it cooks very quickly or the fish is very small and intended for a fish souchet. The fish should then be allowed to boil up as quickly as possible. Directly the water begins to boil, it will be found that a good deal of scum will rise to the surface. This scum should be taken off at once, as otherwise when the fish is removed from the kettle it will settle on the surface of the fish, rendering it unpleasant, not merely to the eye, but to the palate. At the bottom of the fish-kettle is generally placed a strainer, so that the fish can be gently lifted without breaking. It should be always borne in mind that fish is very tender and apt to break. Indeed, many a good cod-fish has been broken owing to the cook carelessly pouring cold water on to the fish from a little height.

It would be almost impossible to give any general directions as to the length of time fish takes to boil. The time is generally best calculated after the water has boiled. For instance, a good large turbot will be sufficiently cooked by allowing the water to boil for half an hour. Experience alone, however, will enable the cook to form a correct estimate. The fact of the flesh separating easily from the bone is quite enough to prove that the fish is amply done.

When a very large cod or salmon is boiled whole, recollect that it will not do to judge by the tail whether the whole fish is done or not, as of course the tail being thinner than the shoulder will cook through much quicker. Boiled fish should always be served up on a strainer covered with a nice clean napkin, and care should be taken to allow the water to run off the fish-kettle strainer before the fish is moved or rather slipped off on to the napkin. Boiled fish should be ornamented with slices of cut lemon and green parsley, and of course a garnish of prawns or very small crayfish forms a great improvement to its appearance. In the case of large flat fish, like a turbot or good-sized brill, a little lobster coral sprinkled sparingly over the surface of the fish is the best method of making it ornamental. When lobster sauce is served with the fish this can generally be done; when there is no lobster, and the fish is served simply plain with melted butter, a little parsley, not chopped up too finely, will, with the cut lemon, form an admirable garnish which will in appearance be little inferior to the lobster coral.

But we must again refer to a point previously mentioned, and that is the whiteness of the fish. A fat turbot looks infinitely more tempting when it is of a snowy whiteness than one that is sent to table presenting a dirty appearance. Now this white appearance is much increased by the simple means of rubbing the fish over with a little lemon-juice--the effect of acid lemon-juice is to slightly dissolve the outside impurities of the fish, which are then thrown up in boiling, and removed by skimming. In choosing a large turbot, avoid one with the backbone that looks red, as these fish rarely present that white appearance when boiled, like those whose backbones when raw are white and colourless.

We will now discuss or rather remind our readers of the general principles to be remembered in frying fish which we considered at some length in the early pages of this work. The principles are mainly these:--Let the fat be boiling. Let the fat cover the fish. In preparing fish for frying when eggs and bread-crumbs are used, take care first to dry the fish, secondly to flour it, then dip it in the well-beaten egg and sprinkle it with the dry bread-crumbs. The bread-crumbs are best made from bread that is not too fresh; new bread will not crumble easily. Cut the soft part of a loaf and rub it through a wire sieve. This is a much quicker and better method than to grate on a grater, as the crumbs will be of a small, uniform size. Have plenty of crumbs; it is impossible to prepare the fish well with a small quantity, and any left over may be sifted and used for other purposes. Beat one or two eggs lightly on a plate according to the quantity of fish; if they are beaten much they do not adhere so well. Place the bread-crumbs on a sheet of kitchen paper beside the plate on which the eggs have been beaten. Dip each portion of fish into the egg, brushing over both sides thoroughly with a small brush kept for the purpose. Lift on a knife and lay it on the bread-crumbs. Take the corners of the paper and shake the crumbs over and over, that they may touch every part of the fish, and then place it in the frying basket. It should come out of the fat crisp, and of a nice golden brown colour. Not more than three pieces of fish should be fried at a time unless the saucepan (or fish-kettle) is quite large, as the more fish is put in the cooler the fat becomes, and no amount of after-heat makes up for the fat being cool in the first instance when the fish is plunged in. The fish being done, have ready a baking sheet with two layers of kitchen paper, lift the fish from the fat with a slicer, let it drain a moment, and then leave it to dry on the paper. When sufficient has been cooked, serve it on a hot dish, covered with a fish paper and garnished with fried parsley.

We next come to grilled fish, and there can be no doubt that the grill somehow brings out a flavour that nothing else will. For instance, a fine fresh herring just out of the water, cooked on a gridiron, what can compare to it? Fish especially requires a clear fire. Take, for instance, filleted soles going to be done a la Maitre d'Hotel: unless the fire be quite clear, the fish will get smoky, perhaps--or look dirty. First, extra care must be taken to have the gridiron perfectly clean, as the white fish will show marks in a way that a chop or steak of course would not. As an extra precaution, therefore, I would recommend you to rub the gridiron with a piece of mutton fat, and warm it. Then wipe it with a cloth, and see if any black remains. After this, again rub it with the fat, as it helps to prevent the fish from sticking and consequently burning, which it is very apt to do. The filleted pieces of soles are first dipped in a little oil mixed with some chopped parsley and pepper and salt; the pieces are then placed across the gridiron, and if the fire be bright will look transparent, and directly this transparent appearance changes to an opaque one the fish is done. Underdone fish is extremely nasty, but, as we said, the universal fault is the other way--fish, as a rule, being as much overcooked as a boiled leg of mutton is generally undercooked. Another important point to be remembered in grilling fish is generally to keep in the flavour. For instance, a slice of grilled salmon tastes far nicer if the slice has been wrapped in oiled paper. Of course, cooking anything wrapped in oiled paper on a gridiron requires great care, as should there be the slightest flare the paper will catch fire. What is wanted is a fierce heat. When fish has been cooked in paper it should be sent to table just as it is, paper and all. The paper must be proper cooking paper, and not printed. So few fish are ever baked that general directions on the subject are scarcely necessary. There is one case, however, to which we will refer--viz. fish en papillote, or, in other words, fish baked in paper. Take, for instance, the case of rouget en papillote. The very best way of cooking red mullet is to wrap it up in oiled paper with plenty of butter and a little pepper and salt, the one thing to be borne in mind being that it is scarcely possible to have too much butter. If you place a red mullet--or, indeed, any fish--in paper with what is generally called a little dab of butter, you simply dry up and spoil the fish altogether.

There is one delicious little fish that deserves special notice, and that is whitebait. How very few cooks are there who can send this delicacy to table! Indeed, very often in country houses, when what are called grand dinners are given, a man is specially sent down from London to cook the whitebait. Of course, we presume the whitebait to be fresh. Now, what is the difficulty? I think the principal one is drying the whitebait. I will therefore describe exactly how whitebait is cooked at some of those charming little river-side hotels. The whitebait is first thrown on to flour on a cloth, not merely a floured cloth, but flour an inch deep. The whitebait, when thus dosed in flour, is put into a large sifter or very coarse, open cane sieve--something like that used for sifting oats--and shaken; all the loose flour is thus shaken off. The floured and sifted whitebait is then put in a wire basket, and plunged into boiling fat. Unless the fat be really boiling, and sufficiently deep to cover the fish, it is of no use. Half a minute or a little more is quite sufficient to cook the whitebait, which must be sent to table instantly. Recollect, however, the whitebait must be cooked directly it is floured. It is no use flouring the whitebait and putting it by; if you wait any time you will have it flabby and spoilt. The one point to be remembered is expedition. Take care also that the whitebait is not in a broken state. Plain whitebait is generally followed with a little devilled whitebait. There are two kinds, called black devil and red devil. The correct way to devil whitebait is to take out the whitebait basket in the middle of cooking and pepper the fish, using mixed black pepper and salt for a black-devil, and mixed cayenne pepper and slat for a red-devil. The basket should then be re-plunged into the boiling fat for a few seconds, and the whitebait sent to table.

In nearly all hotels--and really the plan seems quite unobjectionable--the devilled whitebait is made from the ordinary whitebait left and sent downstairs from the first course. This is peppered and replaced in the whitebait basket, which is then re-plunged into the boiling fat--a very few seconds, of course, being necessary to heat it.

An indispensable accompaniment to whitebait is thin brown bread and butter and cut lemon. Whitebait, however, is such an exceedingly delicate fish that it seems to possess an extraordinary property of bringing out the flavour of the butter. Consequently, unless the butter is of the very best description it will taste bad. Unfortunately, too, this bad flavour will be attributed to the fish rather than to the butter. Remember also in serving whitebait, as in serving a souffle, a very few minutes' delay means ruin. There is one compound so intimately connected with fish that we think some reference should be made to it while we are discussing the subject of the principles to be observed in cooking fish of all kinds. We refer to melted butter. There are, perhaps, few dishes more essentially English than that large tureen of so-called melted butter, but which is in reality milk, or perhaps water, thickened with butter and flour, in which the latter really predominates. There is, too, probably nothing sent to table so extravagant as ordinary melted butter, as, for some reasons unknown, the cook seems possessed with an idea that persons eat melted butter as they do soup. It will almost invariably be found that melted butter--say, for four persons--is sent up in sufficient quantity for twenty; and as there are few cooks who know, or care even if they do know, how to utilise the melted butter that is left, too often the greater part of this expensive and extravagant sauce is absolutely thrown away. I say expensive and extravagant advisedly, for properly made melted butter is very nearly literally what the name implies. As good melted butter--or, as it is sometimes called, butter-sauce--is an exceedingly nice and delicious accompaniment to most kinds of fish, and as in nine houses out of ten it is sent up in an uneatable form, I will, at the risk of being tedious, describe how to make it, and will at the same time remind cooks that melted butter is often looked upon as a crucial test of a good cook.

Good melted butter is a happy medium between that very small quantity of curdled oil sent up as an accompaniment to fish at second-rate French hotels or restaurants and that large tureen brimming full of thick milk generally served in private houses. Just as in life we ofttimes learn as much from our mistakes as we do from our successes, so it is often a good method of teaching to describe first "how not to do it." The usual but wrong method of making melted butter is as follows. The cook cuts off a lump of butter at random, and places it on a plate with about an equal quantity of flour, standing the plate in front of the fire to allow the butter to sufficiently dissolve to enable her to mix the flour and butter all together, which is generally done, too, with a steel knife. This kneaded butter and flour is then added to a pint or more of milk or water, or a mixture of the two, and the whole stirred together till thick, in a saucepan over the fire--the reason of the butter and flour being kneaded together first being that it is then much less liable to render the sauce lumpy and curdled. All this is generally done by guess-work, and too often, owing to the quantity of flour being miscalculated, the result resembles in consistency a pudding rather than a sauce. The great mistake in this method is the absurdly large quantity of milk or water and the equally absurdly small quantity of butter. The first idea the cook must clearly grasp is quantity. Butter, especially in the present day, is very expensive, and as butter-sauce consists mainly of butter, the cook must make sufficient, but not more than sufficient.

Suppose, therefore, there are eight persons going to sit down to dinner, it may be calculated that each person will take one ladleful of melted butter with their fish, and no more; for if it be properly made it will look sufficiently rich to deter anyone from what is vulgarly called "swimming" their plate with it. Let, therefore, the cook who feels willing to learn act as follows. Take a small basin, or the sauce-tureen, and pour into it with the sauce-ladle eight ladlefuls of water, and two over, or ten in all, and then look at the quantity, and bear in mind that that is the limit of the quantity she must make--viz. about half a pint.

I will now describe how to make a small quantity of melted butter, supposing only a quarter of a pound of butter used. First take the butter, and divide it into six equal portions, great accuracy not being essential. Take one of these sixth parts, and place it in a small enamelled stewpan to melt over the fire, and add to it not quite an equal quantity of flour, a small pinch of pepper, and a suspicion of nutmeg. When this little piece of butter is melted, and the flour, etc., well mixed with it, have ready half a tumbler of cold water, and pour the best part of it into the stewpan, and stir it up over the fire till the whole becomes about the same consistency as cream. When this is the case, gradually dissolve in it the remainder of the quarter of a pound of butter, taking care to stir it carefully, and not to apply too great a heat. It will sometimes be found that the melted butter thus made has a tendency to "curdle," as cooks say, or to run oily. The moment any symptoms of this appear, add a spoonful of cold water, slacken the heat, and stir quickly. When all the butter thus made is dissolved, the whole may be poured into and sent through a tamis, which causes it to present a much smoother appearance than it otherwise would.

Really good melted butter ought properly to be made from fresh butter; when, therefore, the circumstances of the house allow of fresh butter being used, a little salt must be added. However, very good melted butter can be made from salt or tub butter. There is much adulterated butter in the market, despite the vigilance of county councils and municipal authorities, and the only way in which to make sure of obtaining the genuine article is to deal with a tradesman of good standing and reputation, and to pay the full market price for it.