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| The dish that prompted this blog post—and the brandade is hidden! |
I saw the post we put up last night on our Facebook page about the brandade filled calamari dish we have on the menu right now at the cafe, and was inspired to talk a bit more about this funny food called brandade.
Brandade, in the simplest of terms, is salt cod and olive oil, whipped with potatoes. And if you haven't noticed, the chefs here in Chicago love to cook the stuff. Koren Grieveson is known for her brandade at avec and I hear Steph Izard has a pumpkin brandade with one of her dishes right now—and that's just not surprising. This is some damn tasty stuff with roots all over western Europe. It's old school cooking. But it still I think leaves one stone unturned that people might overlook: what the heck is salt cod?
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| Grand Banks cod salted and drying circa 1890 via I Am Provincetown. |
Well, that's where this gets fun. You can find a Mark Bittman piece he wrote for the New York Times a few years ago that points out how some people might easily assume salt cod would just be a salted piece of codfish—because yeah, a chef would naturally salt his fish before cooking it. But, as Bittman says, "There is a big difference between salt cod and salted fresh cod." Like, thick as a tree trunk kind of a difference. Salt cod can't be eaten without lengthy preparation, unlike a fresh piece of cod, salt or no salt. See, salt cod is hard as wood. I mean seriously hard. You could hurt somebody by whacking them across the head with a large piece of the stuff it's so stiff. Which means it's obviously nowhere near edible off the market shelf. But before thinking about how to cook something like this, I think it's worth looking at why anybody would ever even think to make it happen in the first place.
The answer is actually pretty simple: refrigeration. Before refrigerators, if a fisherman didn't pack his cod in salt and dry it on the ship-deck, his catch would rot and he'd make no money. So salt cod was born out of necessity.
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| Salt cod at La Boqueria in Barcelona via ggmackem's photostream. |
There's a great book called Cod by Mark Kurlansky, and he goes up and down the whole history of the fish dating back to hundreds of years ago. He points to some of the first people to salt cod as the fisherman in the Basque region of Spain, who salted whale meat before transferring the practice to cod. He says, "When the Basque whalers applied to cod the salting techniques they were using on whale, they discovered a particularly good marriage because the cod is virtually without fat, and so if salted and dried well, would rarely spoil." And we're talking about a way of preserving food that dates back to over one thousand years ago.
Pick up a regional cookbook for any European country with access to the Atlantic, and you'll find recipes for salt cod. In Italy it's baccalà and in Portugal bacalhau. In France, it's bacalao. For those countries, this food was for years and years a crucial source of nutrition and health—Kurlansky even argues that that United States would never have declared its independence if it weren't for the cod trade with European nations. This taken-for-granted fish plays quite the role in history.
And despite all this complex and in depth backstory, the food itself is pretty easy to prepare. Whether making brandade or something else using salt cod, the stuff has to soak for hours in order to extract some of the salt and add moisture back to the fish. In our case, we poach the fish in milk with garlic and thyme to enhance the flavor while it softens—and for the brandade, we take the fish and whip it together with potatoes and extra virgin olive oil. I'm telling you, other than the amount of time it takes to soften the fish, this is easy stuff.
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| Brandade and toast via tiny banquet committee's photostream. |
And that's it, really. It's been mentioned that the cooks love this dish over at the cafe, and that's 100% true. This is one of those rustic dishes that take big flavors and slow cooking and create the result of a warm, comfort laden plate of food.
As a chef, I'm driven by the little things. With this dish for example, the brandade is just one element of a whole plate full of components. And yet, I can write a blog about it—and someone else can write a book on it. That's the power of food, and I think we often take it for granted. Just a little something to think about next time you're out to dinner and stumble across a food you may not know, or a dish inspired by a rustic classic.
But in the meantime, come try ours. And in true BIN style, have it with a glass of wine—I hear the Pacific Rim, Gewurtztraminer is a perfect match.
Thanks for reading.
(Phil Rubino is Chef de Cuisine at bin wine cafe and is taking Wicker Park to a whole new level!)




























