Comfort Food
A forgotten Maine seafood dish might just be primed for a comeback.
There was a time not so long ago when finnan haddie was standard fare on just about any self-respecting Maine restaurant menu. But over time this briny, creamy, smoky fish dish fell out of favor, and for a good reason, too. Very few cooks knew how to prepare it, and those who did were often unable to obtain quality smoked fish.
Chef Michael Gagné of the Robinhood Free Meetinghouse in Georgetown remembers his first encounter with finnan haddie, working as a teenaged cook in a now-defunct Biddeford diner during the 1960s."That stuff was terrible," he says with a grimace.
The problem was how the fish was smoked. Chemicals and dyes can duplicate the appearance of traditional smoked haddock, but recreating the flavor is another thing altogether. And so it's no wonder if your last encounter with finnan haddie left you with a vaguely creosotic taste in your mouth. But you might just want to take another bite because Maine's gourmet seafood industry is returning finnan haddie to its delicious beginnings. This forgotten Maine dish might be primed for a comeback.
"Except it's not really a Maine dish at all," says Richard Penfold, of Stonington Sea Products. "It's actually Scottish." And Penfold, a native of the Shetland Islands, should know. He has spent much of his adult life studying traditional fish processing and applying what he's learned to the Deer Isle company's line of wholesale and retail fish — including finnan haddie.
The term finnan haddie is believed to be a corruption of "Findhorn haddock," referring to the Bay of Findhorn in Scotland. There, just off the Moray Firth on the North Sea, fishermen became well-known for their smoked fish about a thousand years ago. Penfold says finnan haddie likely arrived in Maine with the first waves of Scotch immigrants in the late eighteenth century and early nineteenth century.
Over the years, fish retailers have sold smoked cod or pollack as finnan haddie. Since they're also part of the cod family of fishes, along with haddock, some might argue that the substitution is of little consequence. Not true, says Penfold. "Haddock is much sweeter and more moist" than its would-be rivals, making it better equipped to benefit from the smoking process.
Once brined in a saltwater solution, the meat is ready for cold-smoking. "I'm really just trying to impart a flavor," says Penfold of his own smoking process, which never exceeds eighty degrees. He prefers hickory or cherry wood because of their mildness. The smoking continues for about fifteen hours, slightly coloring the meat a pale yellowish tone. If done properly, the surface of the fish should have an almost glittering sheen to it. It should also feel plump and full.
"This is really good stuff," remarks chef Michael Gagné as he slices off a few wafer-thin pieces of Penfold's smoked haddock and eats them raw. Although a bit chewy, the raw product is indeed a subtle blend of faint whiffs of soothing wood smoke and ocean-sweet salinity. "I think we can really do something with this," says the chef, grabbing his apron.
Armed with recipes dating back to the 1896 edition of Fannie Farmer's Boston Cooking-School Cook Book, Gagné first attempts a simple recipe that any fisherman's wife might have prepared a century ago. Most traditional finnan haddie recipes called for first cooking the fish in milk or cream, and then baking it. Gagné opts for using reduced cream alone on the stovetop and soon produces a classic Maine finnan haddie [see recipe at right].
Of course, Gagné can't resist experimenting. Many finnan haddie recipes call for mixing potatoes into the white sauce. Based on this theme, Gagné creates a baked finnan haddie concoction that includes thin slices of celeriac, chopped onion, thin slices of potato, and haddock boiled in whole milk. Baked together, the ingredients create a dish hardy enough to stand you through a November gale.
Next, Gagné experiments with using finnan haddie in spring rolls, where its distinctive flavor contrasts with avocado, bean sprouts, and cabbage. "That one needs a little more work," Gagné says of his impromptu creation. "But it does show the fish holds up well in a mixture like that."
And so it goes, from baking to broiling to sautéing. At one point Gagné prepares a recipe called Arnold Bennett's omelet, which is a mouthwatering combination of eggs, cheese, flaked finnan haddie, and cream sauce. The result makes dying of clogged arteries seem like a noble cause.
Chef Michael Gagné of the Robinhood Free Meetinghouse in Georgetown remembers his first encounter with finnan haddie, working as a teenaged cook in a now-defunct Biddeford diner during the 1960s."That stuff was terrible," he says with a grimace.
The problem was how the fish was smoked. Chemicals and dyes can duplicate the appearance of traditional smoked haddock, but recreating the flavor is another thing altogether. And so it's no wonder if your last encounter with finnan haddie left you with a vaguely creosotic taste in your mouth. But you might just want to take another bite because Maine's gourmet seafood industry is returning finnan haddie to its delicious beginnings. This forgotten Maine dish might be primed for a comeback.
"Except it's not really a Maine dish at all," says Richard Penfold, of Stonington Sea Products. "It's actually Scottish." And Penfold, a native of the Shetland Islands, should know. He has spent much of his adult life studying traditional fish processing and applying what he's learned to the Deer Isle company's line of wholesale and retail fish — including finnan haddie.
The term finnan haddie is believed to be a corruption of "Findhorn haddock," referring to the Bay of Findhorn in Scotland. There, just off the Moray Firth on the North Sea, fishermen became well-known for their smoked fish about a thousand years ago. Penfold says finnan haddie likely arrived in Maine with the first waves of Scotch immigrants in the late eighteenth century and early nineteenth century.
Over the years, fish retailers have sold smoked cod or pollack as finnan haddie. Since they're also part of the cod family of fishes, along with haddock, some might argue that the substitution is of little consequence. Not true, says Penfold. "Haddock is much sweeter and more moist" than its would-be rivals, making it better equipped to benefit from the smoking process.
Once brined in a saltwater solution, the meat is ready for cold-smoking. "I'm really just trying to impart a flavor," says Penfold of his own smoking process, which never exceeds eighty degrees. He prefers hickory or cherry wood because of their mildness. The smoking continues for about fifteen hours, slightly coloring the meat a pale yellowish tone. If done properly, the surface of the fish should have an almost glittering sheen to it. It should also feel plump and full.
"This is really good stuff," remarks chef Michael Gagné as he slices off a few wafer-thin pieces of Penfold's smoked haddock and eats them raw. Although a bit chewy, the raw product is indeed a subtle blend of faint whiffs of soothing wood smoke and ocean-sweet salinity. "I think we can really do something with this," says the chef, grabbing his apron.
Armed with recipes dating back to the 1896 edition of Fannie Farmer's Boston Cooking-School Cook Book, Gagné first attempts a simple recipe that any fisherman's wife might have prepared a century ago. Most traditional finnan haddie recipes called for first cooking the fish in milk or cream, and then baking it. Gagné opts for using reduced cream alone on the stovetop and soon produces a classic Maine finnan haddie [see recipe at right].
Of course, Gagné can't resist experimenting. Many finnan haddie recipes call for mixing potatoes into the white sauce. Based on this theme, Gagné creates a baked finnan haddie concoction that includes thin slices of celeriac, chopped onion, thin slices of potato, and haddock boiled in whole milk. Baked together, the ingredients create a dish hardy enough to stand you through a November gale.
Next, Gagné experiments with using finnan haddie in spring rolls, where its distinctive flavor contrasts with avocado, bean sprouts, and cabbage. "That one needs a little more work," Gagné says of his impromptu creation. "But it does show the fish holds up well in a mixture like that."
And so it goes, from baking to broiling to sautéing. At one point Gagné prepares a recipe called Arnold Bennett's omelet, which is a mouthwatering combination of eggs, cheese, flaked finnan haddie, and cream sauce. The result makes dying of clogged arteries seem like a noble cause.
- By: Ken Textor
