As much as I’d like to say that “Sea and Smoke: Flavors from the Untamed Pacific Northwest,” the new cookbook on The Willows Inn and head chef Blaine Wetzel, gripped me from the start, I can’t, because it didn’t. The book sat on my shelf unopened for several weeks before I really took a look.
“All right. What do you have to offer?” I asked.
No answer.
I dreaded the possibility that not only would I not like the book, but that this dislike would take on a personal note. This is, after all, a book inspired by a love of the Northwest, more specifically an area less than 20 miles from my home.
Afraid of disappointment, pretension and unapproachability, I worried this was an aspirational cookbook reserved for those few fortunate enough to have eaten at The Willows Inn on Lummi Island. I was also biased by the ethereal quality of another cookbook I’d seen: “Noma: Time and Place in Nordic Cuisine.”
Wetzel came to Lummi from Noma, a Copenhagen restaurant that is considered one of the best in the world, and I associated what little I knew of Noma’s food style to that of Wetzel’s. This isn’t the first time I’ve come with assumptions to a cookbook or chef, but this is certainly the most wrong I’ve been.
“(Blaine) started as a fry cook in a steakhouse in a Wal-Mart parking lot,” said Joe Ray, co-author of “Sea and Smoke.” “He worked his way through every station. Then moved to a nicer restaurant and then a nicer one. And yes, he eventually moved to Noma, but he didn’t want to just re-create Noma. You want to have your own recipes, your own ways.”
I recently sat down with Ray to talk about his experience writing “Sea and Smoke.” More than anything I drew from what he said as we sat and shared lunch at Le Pichet in Seattle, was that the book is personal — to Ray, Wetzel, photographer Charity Burggraaf, The Willows Inn and nearly anyone this book touched during its creation.
A travel and food writer, Ray worked for years in Paris as the English-speaking Paris restaurant critic for the website of Francois Simone, the French critic who inspired the snarling food critic, Anton Ego, in Pixar’s “Ratatouille.” Ray said he was lucky to be one of the first journalists to visit The Willows and meet Wetzel.
“Very quickly you could see he was headed in a certain direction.” said Ray. “Eventually I started thinking of writing a book. I liked him and I like the food and it was something new for me out here. And he was game.”
Ray and his wife were married at The Willows in 2012. He asked Wetzel about the book a month later. By spring 2013, Ray and his new wife moved from Brooklyn, New York to tiny Lummi Island, where they rented a home and he started the process of writing.
Before reaching out to Ray, I set aside an evening, made tea and curled up to read the book. I say “book,” because “Sea and Smoke” is one of those that toes the line between coffee table book and cookbook. It leans toward the former, but don’t discount the recipes just yet. They are not without purpose.
I meant to read in sections, as I usually do with a cookbook that has a lot to say, but Ray’s voice drew me in, and by the chapter on reefnetting fisherman Ian Kirouac and his team, I found myself falling in with the emotion and urgency of a day’s catch.
I’ve never dined at The Willows, nor met Wetzel, but it’s clear that “Sea and Smoke” has a story for me, one that’s as familiar as my own backyard.
I discussed the recipes with Ray, specifically his days spent in the kitchen learning each dish.
“I wanted the challenge of writing the recipes,” said Ray, “These are to the letter how they do it in the kitchen.”
For a year, Ray spent Fridays in the kitchen, working all day with one person on one recipe — they even carved out a special place for him to stand so he wouldn’t be in the way. Afterward, he’d review and describe the technique. There is little written down at The Willows and Ray is one of the only sources of written documentation of a dish’s process.
“(The Willows’) most famous dish is the salmon and it’s right there,” Ray said, pointing at the cookbook. “You want to make that, you can. It’s hard work, but this is the effort it takes to make the best restaurant food in the world.”
I’m not near the caliber of chef that Wetzel is, hardly anyone is, so what on earth could I do with a recipe from him? These creations take hours of work, sourcing, diligence, trial and repetition.
When I was in art school as a painting major I was required to copy the masters — anyone from Leonardo to Matisse.
“Be careful who you choose to copy,” my mentor said, “some can’t lead you anywhere new. They’ve done all that’s to be done, they’ve exhausted the vocabulary. Best to go back to the master who inspired their work.”
Cooking from Wetzel is like imitating a master. I don’t have his ability or creativity, and Wetzel’s work isn’t a starting point, it’s a pinnacle. I can still learn from him, but I’m not going to get as much from trying to exact his efforts as I would from looking at his process, and this is what “Sea and Smoke” provides.
“This book is an attempt to show you my process and how this rich island changed my perspective.” writes Wetzel, “The basis for most of these recipes is incredible ingredients that speak to you.”
As I write this I’m trying to stop eating what is actually a failed attempt at Wetzel’s milk jam. I cooked too high a heat, cut the recipe and didn’t factor the changes correctly. I’m used to a bit of wiggle room, but there’s none to be had here. As Ray put it: “There’s nothing said about scaling back the recipes. What’s the point.”
This is an opportunity to watch Wetzel work from the same ingredient palate available to me. To see him push hyper-local ingredients to their greatest realization. What Weztel is doing at The Willows is not only art, but something so unique that chefs around the world are clamoring to replicate.
“The setup he has any chef would kill for,” Ray said. “He’s got a farm right down the road that grows vegetables for him. He’s got reefnetters a mile down the road. There are literally times he has to wait for rigor mortis to pass through a fish before he can start using it.”
That’s just it. Only we in the Pacific Northwest have these specific items. It’s not that other locations in the world don’t have mussels or salmon or woodruff, but Wetzel’s food isn’t about just any ingredient, but rather those available to him in a specific season, week, day. Although I can’t translate what I see around me just as he has, this is a spirit I can emulate.
So I did. Or at least I tried.
Several recipes call for fresh milk — it’s safe to assume all recipe items are intended to be fresh, as in picked at their peak and used not more than a day later, so I asked my friend if I could milk her goat. Instead, she brought me a quart of sweet raw goat milk fresh from that morning. I raided friends yards for plants still flourishing in November’s cold. I foraged for madrona bark along Chuckanut Drive, and asked Taylor Shellfish Farms for live Fanny Bay scallops.
Here, I encountered my first tangible understanding of the transitory quality of the recipes in “Sea and Smoke.” Taylor Shellfish can no longer get live scallops, not only that, but Wetzel was one of the only ones to receive the Fanny Bay scallops when they could be harvested.
I mentioned the book and was asked, “Is there a picture of a live razor clams in there? We gave Blaine the only ones we had.”
Yes, there is a picture of fresh razor clams in the book. And again, I’m brought to the connection each person has in this process going on at The Willows restaurant.
Fresh milk is now simmering for a second time on the stove, since that first batch of milk jam became more milk candy. Surprisingly, the slightly burnt caramelized curds are delicious and I’ve learned something new that fresh milk and heat can create together. It’s nowhere near what Wetzel’s recipe intended, though, so back to the stove more fresh milk goes.
If you’re going to cook from “Sea and Smoke” — and here I must tell you of the shocked responses I get when I say I am actually cooking these recipes — Burggraaf’s photographs are an essential tool. In my opinion, Burggraaf is the uncredited third author of “Sea and Smoke.” Her photo documentation of not only the year in which Ray writes, transports you to Wetzel’s inspiration.
Sent on a photo assignment to The Willows, Burggraaf met Wetzel in fall of 2011. She was wowed by what she saw and the staff’s enthusiasm and chemistry.
“We had a great day shooting,” she says, “and afterward they invited us to join them for a beach bonfire and oyster roast … Never, had I ever experienced anything like it. A bonfire right on the beach, under a clear star-filled sky, eating some of the best oysters that I’ve ever tasted — they had this tequila sauce, it was fantastic. I felt so connected to this group of guys that I had only just met that day.”
“Sea and Smoke” tells a unique story, and its recipes show the careful process of Wetzel’s artistry. Burggraaf’s photography lends that “coffee table” appeal and Ray’s writing illuminates what makes The Willows and Wetzel such rarities in the culinary world. But it’s the spirit of Wetzel’s endeavor that carries the book.
“It’s a love song to the Pacific Northwest.” Ray said.
And this is a tune I can understand.
Who should buy this: Those with a love of Lummi Island and surrounding area. Anyone who has dined or plans to dine at The Willows Inn. Brave home cooks who love a hefty challenge. Chefs who want to learn from a master.
Publisher: Running Press
Price: 40.00
Note: Due to the sort of cooking this book requires, I think it’s best to note that several recipes contain incorrect reference pages for accompanying recipes. The publisher is aware of these errors and plans to make corrections at reprint.
Smoked sockeye salmon
For the salt brine
1 cup kosher salt
For the glaze
1/2 cup high-quality unsalted butter
1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon packed brown sugar
1/4 cup verjus
Salt
For the salmon
2 Lummi Island wild sockeye salmon fillets, pin bones removed
In a large resealable container, whisk the salt into 1 quart of hot water until it’s completely dissolved, then store the brine in the refrigerator until cold.
For the glaze, melt the butter in a medium saucepan over low heat. Once the butter begins to foam, whisk the brown sugar in slowly. Let it heat for 5 minutes to ensure all of the sugar has melted. Whisk in the verjus and add salt to taste, then cover the pan and reserve in the refrigerator.
For the salmon, trim the collar, belly, and tail end to create a form that’s rectangular seen from above and a uniform, flattened “D” shape from the side. About a third of the fillet will be trimmed away as scrap.
Cut individual portions that are about 3/4 inch wide and place them in the container with the salt brine. Cut a sheet of parchment paper to fit the inside of the container, then lay it on top of the water to keep the salmon out of contact with the air. Brine for 37 minutes, then drain and quickly rinse with fresh water.
Line a half-sheet pan with a double layer of kraft paper. The fish will smoke right on the paper, so make sure that the paper is cut small enough to fit inside the smoker. Set the fish on the pan, skin-side down, making sure each piece is positioned squarely upright and allowing plenty of space for air to circulate between each portion. Place the fish, uncovered, in the refrigerator to dry overnight, as close to the fan as possible.
The following day, start the smoker and set the salmon, still on the kraft paper but without the tray, into the smoker and away from the heat. As it smokes, make sure the fish is not sweating too much or drying out. (If it is, remove the salmon from the smoker until the smoker is cooler.) It should become slightly taut on the exterior, and the color will intensify while the cut edges become slightly white and translucent.
After about 21/2 hours, warm the glaze over low heat until it reaches 150 degrees — a temperature that’s just warm enough to spread thickly, but not so warm that it cooks the fish. Remove the salmon from the smoker and allow it to cool to room temperature, then apply a thick layer of glaze with a basting brush.
Smoke the fish for another hour, then remove the salmon from the kraft paper using a small offset spatula, sliding the spatula blade between the flesh and the skin, leaving the skin on the kraft paper.
Brush the top of each portion with a second coat of glaze.
To serve, plate and serve immediately. If not serving the fish straight from the smoker, preheat the oven to 200 degrees and warm the salmon in the oven for 4 minutes before serving.
The process for our smoked cod (and the other fish we smoke) is very similar. We use a 11/4-pound black cod fillet, slicing the portions on the bias. The brining time should be shorter — about 6 minutes — and the fish should only smoke for about 3 hours on individual 6-by-6-inch sheets of kraft paper. The pin bones are more easily removed after smoking, and there’s no glazing.
Makes two whole fillets.
Scallops from Fanny Bay
4 live Fanny Bay scallops (about 1 pound 3 ounces/1 kg)
1/4 cup very fresh whole milk
Dill oil (recipe at bottom)
1-inch piece fresh horseradish root (about 35 g)
Flake salt
4 teaspoons/5 g finely chopped dill stems
1 cup grapeseed oil
1 pound plus 5 ounces herb leaves
At the height of winter, the live scallops that we buy arrive at the restaurant literally clapping their shells. We keep them alive until the moment before they are served, when we gently remove the top shell, clean away the skirts and any organs, and scrape out portions from the still-quivering adductor muscle using the top shell.
Just-harvested raw scallops have a very clean flavor, and we use very fresh milk to accentuate their creamy sweetness.
Gently take off the top shell of the scallops using a palette knife. Remove the skirts, roe, and any viscera.
Use the top shell to scrape the adductor muscle into small pieces (like a tartare), adding the milk as you go. (This dish is served in the lower half of the shell.) Drizzle a few drops of dill oil over the scallop, followed by a grating of horseradish, a sprinkle of salt, and a teaspoon of dill stems.
Now to make the flavorful herb oils: These herb oils, the recipe makes 1 quart, have the flavor of a fistful of just-picked leaves in every drop. We use them in some recipes instead of other fats or fresh leaves, keeping the menu light but full of flavor. It is key to blend the herbs with the oil until steam bellows out of the top of the blender and the emulsion is visibly separated.
These super-potent herb oils hold the bright flavor of fresh herbs throughout the year, essentially extending their season by months. This recipe is a real blender breaker, but it is well worth the occasional burnout and the unbelievable racket of hours of continuous high-speed blending.
Heat the oil to 140 degrees. Put the hot oil in a heavyduty blender, add the herbs, and blend on high for 15 minutes, which will both cook the herbs and evaporate the water they contain. Crack open the blender lid slightly to let steam escape. Pour the liquid into a saucepan over ice to stop the cooking, then strain the liquid through cheesecloth (don’t squeeze or the solids will be pushed out), tying the ends together and suspending the cloth over a bowl in the fridge overnight to extract as much oil as possible.
Makes 4 servings
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