That's Undercooked

Raw fish will kill you. You will, within seconds of consuming even a slightly undercooked aquatic morsel, find yourself in gastro hell, the terrifying fish-pathogens attacking your nervous system until you are a twitchy, sweaty mess, lying, back arched in mock rigour mortis, on the heartless bathroom floor, all the while praying that when your insides are finally completely liquefied the end will be swift indeed.

This, at least, is what I grew up believing. Actually, I was told the first bit and sort of fleshed out the details myself. Anyway, the result was that I was terrified of undercooked fish, and for good reason. The high deserts of western Wyoming are a long way from the ocean, so over-cooking any seafood which has traveled such a distance (and for such a time) does make some sense. However, there isn’t a pond or stream that, given a rod, won’t surrender tiny brook, brown, and rainbow trout. Sadly, in that vast culinary wasteland there is no medium-rare for fish, even those just-caught.

I, happily unaware of alternatives, munched away for years at dry halibut, charcoaled salmon, oblivious that it’s possible to eat seafood that doesn’t conjure primary-school-lunch fish sticks. Then I moved to L.A.

I had, of course, heard about sushi. As youths we talked of it with shudders and headshakes, awed by the gastronomic fortitude of the Japanese. It was, however, a far-off curiosity, in the same category as eating live cobra hearts or deep-fried tarantulas. The consumption of raw fish was some unthinkable, funny, scary custom that only “they” did.

“They” evidently included Frank, a fourth generation Angelino of Hispanic background, and a good friend of my then fiancé Kell. “Frank wants to take us to his favorite sushi restaurant.” Right. Ok. Shit. Ok, I don’t want to embarrass myself here, but I can’t eat raw fish, it will kill me. And the rest of you as well, I imagine. Unable to come up with an excuse better than “I’m scared,” I, in panic, agreed.

Exercising my usual amount of foresight, I drank what might be called more than my fair share of wine the night before we were to have an early (and probably my final) lunch in Burbank. I woke that Saturday morning with a hangover the size of a small pig. In hindsight, this may have been a blessing, for the gentle rocking and intermittent tree-branch-sunlight-flashes of the drive over left me, my sour grape headache, and hair-trigger stomach sobbing for mercy and, as a result, when we sat down to lunch, I was ready for the sweet, claming balm of death. I ate with suicidal glee.

And it was good. Not my impending death, the meal. The meal was fantastic. Not just survivable, or edible, it was all amazingly clean, sharp flavors, subtly varying textures, wasabi lightning, mirin tickles, soy spikes. The chef presented such a range of cooked and raw foods, sashimi and sushi and rolls and delicious bits long since forgotten. Perhaps it was the healthy meal, or the adrenaline rush of my willingness to embrace death, or possibly it was the countless cups of green tea and one small sake, but I walked out hangover-free. Moreover, my soothed stomach indicating, I was down right hopeful I would survive my raw fish ordeal.

Now, when ever I’m “feeling a bit under the weather,” I crave the healing properties of rice and miso and tea and some glowing, glossy, raw fish.

I don’t want you to take this post as an admission that I’m hungover. What happens on tour stays on tour.

This is one of my favorite ways to eat raw fish. It is an adaptation of the classic French Steak Tartare, complete with raw egg yolk, which serves as a sauce and adds a rich element to the rest of the lean flavors. It is also a great way to use up those pesky sashimi-grade tuna leftovers we all have.



Tuna Tartare

200 g sashimi-grade tuna
1 small red chili, seeds removed, fine dice
1 small bunch chives, fine chop
1 shallot, fine dice
1 tbsp small capers, fine dice
½ tbsp chopped parsley
1 lemon
extra virgin olive oil
1 cucumber, fine dice
1 tbsp white wine vinegar
½ tsp sugar
¼ tsp salt
1 star anise
1 clove garlic
2 egg yolks, unbroken

Start by pickling the diced cucumber. Mix the vinegar with one tbsp water and add the sugar, salt, star anise and cracked clove of garlic. Warm over medium heat until the sugar and salt are dissolved. Remove from heat, cool, take out the anise and garlic, and then add dice cucumber. Set aside.

In the meantime, using a sashimi knife (or a thin-bladed fish knife) cut the fish into the smallest cubes possible ( about ½ cm squares, smaller than this and the fish becomes mush). In a medium bowl, mix tuna with a pinch each of the chili, chives, shallots, capers, and parsley. Add a squeeze of lemon juice, and about a tablespoon of olive oil. Season and taste; adding more of the components as you like. You probably won’t use all of any one of them.

Now assemble. Drain the liquid from the cucumbers and place into rings on two plates (don’t have rings? pastry cutters? bits of PVC pipe? It’s not necessary, but it makes the dish look nice). Divide the tuna mix between the two rings and pack gently. Delicately remove the rings. Top with an egg yolk and dress with more olive oil. Serve with toasted sourdough.