Recipe below: Fennel and Orange Salad With Bottarga and Mint
I am more a voracious cook than a voracious eater. I do love to eat, and I will eat just about anything, but it’s the sweat, mental fatigue, and sensual overload of the kitchen than really turns me on. I dream about cooking, not about eating. I’m convinced that when I was a teenager I staved off a nervous breakdown by baking focaccia nonstop for a year. I think my physical need to cook comes from that.
Some cooks like to take a break after Thanksgiving. Not me. I’ve sharpened all my knives and feel a strong need to chop. And I’m eager to get the memory of all that mushy beige food behind me. My palate needs a refresher, and oranges are on my mind. Isn’t it amazing that Mother Earth gives us citrus just when we need it most?
I love peeling and slicing oranges. The pits pose an interesting challenge, and the aroma floods my workspace. And I’m crazy about the way Sicilians get oranges into savory dishes. I’ve had orange salads with salty bits of fish in various parts of Sicily. They’ll toss anchovies or sardines or herring or bottarga with orange. It sounds strange until you’ve tasted it. Then the seemingly disparate flavors merge, under a slick of the island’s almond-scented olive oil. I crave those combos, especially after a spell of heavy, relatively bland food. Thanksgiving, away!
I composed this orange and salty fish salad from elements of ones I’ve had in the past. Bottarga, not my usual anchovy, called out to me, a bit of a splurge but I hadn’t tasted it in a while. It’s not hard to find in Manhattan. What is? And in case you’re not sure what I’m talking about, bottarga is salted and cured fish roe. Sardinia’s bottarga di muggine is made with grey mullet. In Sicily, they use bluefin tuna (overfished, for sure). That version is definitely funkier, and to my palate it can taste bitter. I like them both, but when I have a choice I go for the Sardinian. Its flavor is essence of Oceana. Whole bottarga looks like a slick orange-colored tongue. And it’s usually covered with wax, which you’ll want to peel off, which is kind of fun. Then you just shave, slice, or grate what you need and pack the rest in the fridge. Please don’t be tempted by the powdered bottarga they sell in cellophane packs. It’s a little cheaper, but it’s a waste of money. It tastes like stinky fish.
I’ve tasted versions of this salad that also included capers (another salty Sicilian specialty), red onion, fennel (which I use here), celery, basil, fresh chilies, fresh mentuccia (a kind of wild mint), and olives.
If you can’t locate a piece of bottarga, just chop a few good-quality salt-packed anchovies (soaked first, of course), and scatter them over the top. It’s all delicious.
Fennel and Orange Salad with Bottarga and Mint
(Serves 4)
2 large fennel bulbs, cored and thinly sliced
5 oranges (blood varieties will look especially pretty), peeled and sliced into thin rounds
1 red scallion, thinly sliced, including the tender green part
A big pinch of fennel pollen
A small chunk of bottarga
1 tablespoon rice wine vinegar
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Salt
Black pepper
About a dozen mint leaves, cut into chiffonade
Choose a large serving platter that will hold everything without too much crowding. Lay out the fennel slices out on the platter, and arrange the orange slices on top, in a slightly overlapping circular pattern. Scatter on the scallions. Sprinkle with the fennel pollen
With a sharp vegetable peeler, scrape about 10 big shavings of bottarga over the top of the salad. Or you can slice the bottarga thinly with a knife, or just grate it with the large-hole part of a cheese grater. You don’t want to suffocate the thing with bottarga. A delicate touch is called for. Remember that the stuff is intense.
Whisk the rice wine vinegar with the olive oil, and season it with a little salt and more generously with black pepper. Drizzle it over the salad.
Garnish with the mint leaves. Serve right away.