Guilty Pleasures

Smoked fish is caviar for the everyman. Food of Peasants, Food of Kings

Robert Lillegard

When you’re sitting across a table from a woman who has prepared dinner for you, the last thing you want to do is insult her cooking. But the alternative—eating it—didn’t look much better. The red beets were there, cloying and noxious. Generic-brand margarine stood guard over stale bread. And under the yellow light, the hard-boiled eggs glistened¬—round and white in a faded silver tray.

Her teenage children were scooping it up, but she stared only at me. Nervously, I surveyed the table. I slid the eggs over. And then I saw the smoked fish. I loaded a few big chunks out on my plate, scooped one into my mouth, and smiled.

“This is really good, isn’t it?” her son asked me. He had no idea. But beyond the fact that this fish had helped me escape an awkward situation, it was good in its own right. It was flaky, delicate whitefish, with mellow, smoky flavor and a smooth texture. It was so good, I took a second helping.

But that’s smoked fish. These greasy, salty morsels are like high-class junk food. They’re cheap to make, yet prized the world over. Smoked fish is caviar for the everyman. It is an ancient technique and a modern fad; a cheap snack and a gourmet indulgence.

When alive, a salmon can jump up waterfalls—when smoked, it can jump into palaces. Imelda Marcos once said, “When they see me holding fish, they can see that I am comfortable with kings as well as with paupers.” In its greasy, hearty fullness, smoked fish cuts across all of society. In Greek and Roman times, it was served at banquets.

Businessmen, lawyers and high priests decided the fate of their empire over dishes of smoked fish. At the same time, Native Americans caught and smoked salmon in the rainy Puget Sound. Smoked fish was eaten in Africa, Asia, and medieval Europe.

By itself, the process is simple. Freshly caught fish is rubbed with salt or soaked in brine, then left to sit. The salt absorbs water from the fish, and in turn soaks into the fish’s body. Afterwards, a second solution is often used, with a secret blend of spices. After a fish has been cured, it is left to dry, then placed above a smoky fire where the magic occurs.

Washington and Oregon have been the centers of the U.S. smoked fish trade, but Duluth~Superior has plenty of fish of its own. High-quality artisan fish is available everywhere from the Northern Waters Smokehaus to Mount Royal Fine Foods. It’s even available in gas stations—one of the perks of living on an inland sea. Smoked whitefish is sweet and light, with gentle hints of smoke.

It’s a delicate wisp of a fish and should not be overpowered. While it’s good with cream cheese, it’s even better alone. Smoked trout is just the opposite. It shouts at the eater. With its brash, fishy taste, trout demands a sharp cracker. Perhaps the best of all is the salmon. Lox is wet and smooth, the Western answer to sashimi. With or without the crusty bagel, it’s a salty delight. The marinated salmon with peppercorns is even better. Its oily, melty texture belies a complex blend of earthy fish and sharp pepper. Notes of sea salt, tuna, and lime give way to the piquant aftertaste—a faint glow of capers. It’s fish like that that bring passion to life.

In the words of French intellectual Jean-Paul Aron, “Fish is meant to tempt as well as nourish, and everything that lives in water is seductive.” Summer, the season of passion, is the season of fish. June is a vibrant time in Duluth~Superior. It’s a time when mist comes from the grass, days stretch on forever, and the lake is bluer than the sky. So walk your dog on the beach. Sip coffee while the sun rises. Live life to the limit—and don’t forget the smoked fish.

This article appears in its entirety in the June 2008 issue of Duluth~Superior Magazine.
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