Eschewing the mounds of meat that typify most Argentine outdoor cookery,
Mr. Mallmann built a wood bonfire for a dinner of salt-baked salmon.
He
placed a large iron plancha about a foot from the coals. He packed a
layer
of salt on it to a depth of about an inch and then placed a fresh
30-pound
Chilean salmon atop the salt. He covered the salmon with more salt,
again
to a thickness of about an inch, and then, as if assembling a
do-it-yourself bookshelf, he put another plancha a foot above the
salmon.
On top of this he shoveled half the coals from the bonfire.
After an hour, four strong cooks removed the salt-mounded fish from
its
plancha. With a swordsman's flourish, Mr. Mallmann tapped the crust
with a
hammer. And as the hardened salt fell away, a puff of briny steam rose
and
dissipated, to reveal a moist, perfectly cooked salmon.
The same technique, edited for the home kitchen, is quite simple. A
14-pounder takes a lot of salt. (I bought a whole case of kosher salt
and
used 10 32-ounce boxes). But that's part of the show.
Along with the bass, Mr. Mallmann suggested roasting medium-size
potatoes,
carrots and sweet potatoes. His sauce � garlic, parsley, lemon zest,
olive
oil and a few seasonings � is actually a variation on the gremolata
that
is often served with osso buco. I call it Boca salsa, in honor of the
neighborhood in Buenos Aires where many believe the tango was born and
where Mr. Mallmann had both a restaurant and a home.
The scary thing about cooking in a salt crust is that you are
essentially
flying blind. You set the salt-covered fish and vegetables in the
oven,
wait the recommended time and hope everything isn't mush when you
crack
the crust. I placed a meat thermometer in the thickest part of the
bass
and removed the baking pan from the oven when the temperature read 150
degrees.
The salt roasting produced succulent flesh, juicy carrots and softly
creamy potatoes. Set on a white plate, it had a bold minimalist look.
I wanted something equally autumnlike, with a punch of strong flavor,
to
accompany the meal. Anna Klinger, the talented chef of Al Di L� in
Park
Slope had just the thing: chard stems, saut�ed, then grilled and
finally
bathed in an anchovy vinaigrette. At last, something to do with chard
stems other than toss them in the trash while you cook the more tender
leaves.
And then the ultimate test: Mom. With my family of four, a couple of
friends and my parents, we sat down to dinner. I put the striper on
the
table.
We dug in.
My mother, an accomplished cook, delivered the highest accolade that
any
seafood can aspire to.
"Nice piece of fish," she said.
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