“What,” asked the cook, “is the point in using wine when plain old water will do?”
Very good question. I was reading Ruth Reichl’s Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise
Not Manang, though. She found this silly. “Well, what’s wrong with water?” she demanded to know. “I’ve never heard a peep out of you when I cook tahong with water!”
True — and for good reason: I detest mussel soup. I never touch the stuff. (Manang lost a point for not noticing that one.) But still. Yours truly is nothing if not obsessive-compulsive, so ’twas off to the store for wine.¹
As for mussels: there were none at the market that day.² However, there were some locally sourced clams and that was so much better because I love clam soup. In any case, I was obsessed with the wine, not the bivalves.
But let’s stay with those bivalves for a bit, shall we? I have some tips for you. First is that you should clean them thoroughly. I know that’s obvious, but it bears reminding; nobody likes grit in his soup. Put your clams or mussels in a net bag and vigorously rub the bag against the shells under running water (or in a basinful of it) to remove sand and assorted dirt. We don’t have a net bag so we use a toothbrush. Feel free to improvise; just remember your objective: get rid of the sand and dirt.³ If you can’t be bothered to do this, remind me not to eat at your house.
Once cleaned, drain the bivalves well in a colander. This leads us to tip number two: Don’t immerse them in tap water any longer than it takes to clean them. They will die, my friend. Really. It may seem logical to keep an aquatic creature in water to keep it alive, but this time the joke’s on you. Seawater is okay — if you can get it. Otherwise don’t worry about leaving them dry; they will be fine for the next few hours. Refrigerate if you must.
So — back to our regular programming: I’d be lying if I told you that I improvised by halving the amount of wine suggested by the recipe, when the truth was that I freaked out when I realized that it called for subbing wine for water altogether. In what could euphemistically be called a “Solomonic decision”, I ended up using half a cup each of wine and water, to which were added diced red onion and sliced spring onion and allowed to boil (pot uncovered) for five minutes to allow the alcohol to fully evaporate. In went the clams, the lid was replaced, and I waited 'til those beauties opened up to reveal their pale flesh, giving the pot an occasional stir. Some shells remained closed — more dead than drunk, I quipped (Manang was unmoved by this attempt at levity) — and in case you’re wondering, no, you are not supposed to eat those.
By the time I took out the unsalted butter, Manang was way past being amused. She stoically measured out three tablespoons of the butter, chopped some parsley, and added them to the broth. After throwing in salt and pepper I pronounced the dish ready. “Um,” she said to no one in particular, “I thought we were adding mustard too.”⁴
“No,” I said, “no mustard. You know what? I think you should taste it.” That last part was a declarative delivered as an imperative: I bid thee to STFU and taste the object of your scorn.⁵
She did; said it tasted like… clam soup. Of course. Wait, what’s that hint of sweetness? Must have been the sugar in the wine. A bit more bitter than the usual, too. What was up with that? I’ve always found the slight bitterness of clam soup quite appealing, but this one was definitely more pronounced, although not to the point of being off-putting. Was that the wine, too?
Whatever. Bottom line: This version was nothing special. I ladled the soup and shells onto a heaping mound of rice and had a wonderful meal, but truth be told I would have enjoyed it just as much if I had used water. Wine seemed like so much snot in this recipe.
But something was nagging at me. A voice in my head kept telling me that I had wimped out. Chicken, it went. You’re one to complain — Mr. Not-Following-Instructions. Snotty snub-nosed know-it-all. It sounded a lot like Manang — or was it my mother?
A week later I invited a cousin and his girlfriend to dinner. Well? the voice hissed. Two lab rats and an unfinished bottle of wine in the fridge — and yes, I think those were clams the cook brought from the market… So how about it, sissy.⁶ That was it. I finally dispensed with the water, went all-out on the wine, and hoped for the best.
My cousin didn’t like it. He didn’t say anything, but I could tell: his bowl remained untouched. Mine was, too. Oh, I could live with the bitterness, which was even more pronounced, but the vindication it brought gave me no satisfaction. The girlfriend was more diplomatic; she broke into a sweet smile and told me she liked the soup. Did you really, Juls? Please leave a comment; I can take it. I’ve heard worse.
Oh yes. My father took one sip of that soup and promptly pushed his bowl away. “This soup is bitter,” he declared. Translation: You have been given due notice that this soup is not to my liking; do it this way again and there will be hell to pay. That pretty much nailed the coffin for Ms. Reichl’s recipe. What else was there to say?
Psst! Psst!
I was in no mood. “Go away,” I told the voice. “I’m not listening to your crap anymore.”
Psst! Hoy!
But it was not the voice. It was Manang. She was trying to stifle a laugh, and I had half a mind to make her choke on a clam shell. But then every cook knows (or ought to, anyway) that not each culinary adventure ends on a high note — and that to take such moments too personally is the surest way to take the joy out of cooking. It was not a mocking laugh, after all — more like a wink from one cook to another, and I imagined it said, That was one spectacular fuck-up, wasn’t it? What will we think of next?
¹ As a complete ignoramus on the subject of wines, I had no idea what “dry” white wine was and simply grabbed the first bottle that said “white wine” on the label. Question to oenophiles: Have I committed sacrilege? «
² Local vendors get their mussels from Maqueda Bay in the neighboring island of Samar, dubbed the country’s tahong capital. «
³ With mussels, you also have to scrub them free of barnacles and remove their beards. Yes, I said “beards” — deal with it. You may also need more than a net bag or toothbrush; scissors and a knife may come in handy. «
⁴ Oh, little did we know. That night I googled “mussel soup” and the top result was a recipe that not only called for wine and butter — but mustard and saffron, too! Manang would have had a conniption fit. «
⁵ It pays to be boss. I find it tedious checking if a dish has been properly seasoned, so Manang gets to taste-test everything. Beef is especially hell on her because she doesn’t like beef — but who’s the boss again? «
This post has no comments.
Post a Comment