Elle Driver: “Know what I did? I killed that miserable old fool.” [flashback
with Elle hovering menacingly over the stricken Pai Mei] “How do you like
the fish head, you miserable old fool?”
Quentin
Tarantino was right on a lot of cultural points in Kill Bill, but as a
Chinese food writer, the one I enjoyed the most was that part
about fish heads... they would have been the perfect vehicle for
assassination, because what ancient and irascible kung fu master could have
resisted?
In
the West, though, fish heads seem predestined for the cat or the
garbage can. Few of us get the appeal of something staring back from a bubbling
sandpot.
But
think of it: if you braise the body of a fish, every bite pretty much has
a uniform texture, with each mouthful tasting the same as the next
one. Even the sauce hovers on the surface, rarely penetrating the skin and
meat, while aromatics like bits of chopped ginger, fermented black beans, and
fresh chili shreds settle to the bottom of the dish, invariably knocked off of
their precarious perches on the slick skin, only to be noticed with regret once
the last of the fish has been finished.
With
a big fish head, though – and I’m talking about something that is at
least a pound in size – there’s lots of acreage to deal with. It will consist
of a whole maze of nooks and crannies where those seasonings can hide, places
where they can burrow in the bones and skins and fins, flavoring every last
morsel; plus, that is where you’ll also find the most interesting musculature
on a fish.
Face
it: the body of your average fish is pretty boring. Simple backbones and
ribcages provide framework for little more than long strands of muscles
stretching from the collar down to the tail. You don’t get “cuts” on a fish
like you do with a pork butt or shank, the only obvious exceptions being the
way in which a sashimi chef divvies up the body of an ICBM-sized tuna into tiny
slices of red meat akami, semi-fatty chu-toro, buttery toro belly,
and the half fat o-toro.
So,
if you want to discover different layers of texture and flavor in a fish, the
place to look is the head.
How
complex is that part of the animal? Very: there may be
up to 100 English words that describe the various parts of
a fish head, as the complex array of bones and muscles make up the most
intricate part of this animal.
But
what does that have to do with eating? The answer lies in the way these pieces
are put together.
Each
one of these little muscles has a different texture and thickness and structure
from the next, often with tiny globules of fat crammed into corners, so you not
only have an array of flavors exploding on your tongue, but your mouth gets
visited by things like plate-like sheets of bone wrapped with thin skin on one
side, perhaps a fan-shaped muscle on the other, a tiny tidbit of gelatinous
tissue hovering on a corner, and a fluctuating bouquet of aromatics.
That
means that every bite is a different experience: sticky, meaty, chewy, pillowy,
gooey, rough, smooth, and all the textures in-between are present. There’s a
tongue in there, a pair of eyeballs, a soft brain, and tiny rows of teeth. To
those with a sense of adventure combined with a curious palate, these add up to
a sensuous experience, but one that requires rolled-up sleeves and lots of
napkins, rather than candlelight and flowers.
One
word of advice when you dive into your first fish head: aim for the area right
beneath the eyes. This muscle is called “walnut meat” (hetao rou) in Chinese,
and it is generally covered by a thin plate of bone. Composed of busy muscles
that work the jaws, these two lumps are the prizes awarded to favored guests
and pampered children as the best part of the fish.
However,
if the idea of fish heads still squicks you out, I recommend that you take your
first baby steps toward true Chinese foodie status by diving into the following
recipe for fish collar, which is the area between the head itself and the body.
This is called the chin (xiaba) in Chinese and is often inexplicably wasted by
people should know better, since it contains particularly tasty morsels of meat
wrapped up in largish bones.
So,
instead of lopping it off next time and serving it to Fluffy, claim the collar
for yourself, especially when you have a big fish like wild-caught amberjack
(which is sometimes labeled as yellowtail and
called hamachi in sushi bars). You then can turn it into a dish that
is nothing short of insanely delicious, as in the recipe here where the skin
caramelizes and becomes what can only be described as fish-scented candy. This
is Shanghainese magic, a mélange of sliced fresh ginger and green onions
sparking the sticky dark sauce that begs to be licked off of every last bit of
bone and fin.
Enjoy
this with a glass of warm rice wine, a bowl of hot steamed rice, and perhaps
some greens or a simple Chinese pickle. You’ll quickly understand what all the
fuss is about.
Shanghainese soy braised
amberjack collar
Hùshì gānshāo húbóyú xiàbā 滬式乾燒琥珀魚下巴
Shanghai
Serves
4 generously as an appetizer or as part of a multicourse meal
4
halves (about 2 pounds) very fresh collar from a wild-caught amberjack
(aka hamachi) or other firm-fleshed yet mild large sea fish
6
tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil
5
tablespoons thinly sliced fresh ginger
2
cups green onions that have been trimmed and cut into 1-inch lengths
½
cup Shaoxing rice wine, divided
6
tablespoons good regular soy sauce
4
tablespoons (or so) crushed rock, brown slab, or piloncillo sugar
1.
Rinse the collars carefully under cool running water, making sure than all
viscera and gills have been removed. Thoroughly scrape off all scales under
running water; carefully go over the skin a couple of times with a paring knife
to ensure that the skin is scale free, since the skin is delicious and those
tiny scales would ruin everything. Pat the collars very dry with a paper towel
so that they fry in the oil rather than steam.
2. Heat the oil in a large, flat-bottomed skillet over medium-high until a
small piece of ginger immediately sizzles when added. Place the ginger and the
collars (skin-side down) in the hot oil. Sear the collars on one side without
moving them so that a light crust is formed. Shake the pan and flip the collars
over; add the green onions and shake the pan so that they shimmy down under the
fish. When the second side of the fish is golden too, add the soy sauce, sugar,
and half of the rice wine. Reduce the heat to low, cover the pan, and let the
fish slowly cook for about 10 minutes. Raise the heat to medium-high, and when
the sauce has been reduced to a heavy syrup, gently turn the fish over and add
the other half of the rice wine. Cook the sauce uncovered until it has
once again has been reduced to the consistency of honey; you will be able to
smell caramel as the sauce reaches its perfect state of gooiness. (The fish may
be prepared ahead of time up to this point and gently reheated under the broiler
in the final step.)
3.
Remove from the heat and place the fish skin-side up on a lightly oiled broiler
pan; scrape all of the sauce and ginger and onions onto the fish, as well.
Broil the fish a few inches from the coils until the edges of the fish have
caramelized and the sauce is very sticky.
Tips
Asian
markets – and in particular the Korean grocery stores here in California –
often have a wonderful array of fish, including varieties and cuts that Western
markets often don’t offer.
If
you decide to plunge in and prepare a fish head, just substitute one whole fish
head for the four collar halves. Split (or have your fishmonger split) the head
down the middle and remove the gills. Rinse the head, scale the skin carefully,
pat it dry, and proceed as with the collar.
Check
with your fishmonger to see if yellowtail heads or collars can be special
ordered.
Rock
sugar (as well as other solid sugars like Chinese brown slab and piloncillo) is
a secret to the luxurious mouthfeel of many Chinese sauces because it melts
into a silky layer that does not leave a sour aftertaste.
This
dish will be recognized by Chinese cognoscenti as being from Shanghai due to
the copious amounts of green onions, as well as because of the sophisticated
sweet-salty sauce. Both the green onions and the ginger are every bit as
delicious as the fish here, so be sure to enjoy them between bites of the fish.
Illustration copyright (c) Carolyn Phillips, 2012
This magazine also
recently published my guide to Chinese cooking equipment. Coming up on the
same site will be my guide to essential Chinese ingredients. Stay
tuned... 
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