Swordfish

Daughter-of-the-wind is her name in Arabic—Bent el-Rhia—the gorgeous island of Pantelleria sits seventy kilometers from Tunisia in the Egadian Archipelago. She is full of sea caves and strange, vaporous grottoes. She wears Neolithic ruins among her palms and oleander. And in the contrada, neighborhood, called Favarotta, we ate swordfish—thin steaks of it cut from the center of the just-caught fish, first rubbed with olive oil and then quickly roasted over a red-sparking grapevine fire. The fisherman/cook laid them over a cool tomato jam and we feasted. Too, we ate yellow-crumbed semolina bread roasted over the then quieter fire, and when its heat was nearly spent, we skewered figs—green ones and the first of the summer—onto grapevine twigs and held them near the fire until their juices were warmed and we ate them with the last sips of Pantelleria’s luscious moscato.

Whaling and swordfishing have been the tempestuous business of Bagnara for three thousand years. Wedged as the port is twixt great rocks and the Mar Tirreno at the savage hem of the Aspromonte, it forms a fittingly folkloric tableau for the lumbering black ships trudging out for the hunt. A tower, higher than the masts, is the tight, trembly perch from which one man sights the fish. As did the Greeks from whom they are descended, the harpooners tramp out onto walkways hinged a hundred feet out from the ship over the sea, spears at the ready, to wait for the fish. Once the ships are sighted from the lighthouse, the fishermen’s wives gather on the beach with carts and wagons, transport to take the fish to market. Sometimes, fires are laid right there by the water, one fish whacked into trenchers and roasted, a barrel of wine propped against the rocks, the unfolding of an old ceremony. One fishes, one builds a fire, one eats his supper.

In the autumn, as schools of swordfish swam south into the Bay of Policastro, the fishermen of the Cilento were often their conquerors, luring the great fish with oil-soaked bread and hauling them up from the sea—porting them like vanquished kings, high atop their heads up the steep paths from the water—to their camps to roast them or smoke them over smoldering fires of pine and olive and citrus woods. Sometimes, the Cilentini cured the fish under salt and foraged grasses and spiceberries, dousing the flesh with their own rough-made spirits. Served a dish such as this, one could think it the offering of some cultivated chef, yet, then and there, it was nothing more than the improvised handiwork of hungry men.

I never liked swordfish much til I had it sliced thin and flash-grilled. This keeps the flesh moist and succulent. You’ll need to ask your fish seller for a piece of the swordfish loin so you can slice it yourself or have him do it for you. The difference in eating pleasure is worth the effort.

Two types of fish—flaky salmon and meaty swordfish—produce doubly delicious grilled kebabs. Thread the fish with the grain perpendicular to the skewers. If using wooden skewers, soak them in water at least fifteen minutes to prevent them from scorching.

WITH A MEATY TEXTURE AND MILD FLAVOR, swordfish pairs flawlessly with bold ingredients. The caper-onion sauce, with bracing white wine and lemon, brings big flavor to the fish. If you can’t find swordfish, substitute another meaty fish, such as mahi-mahi.

Because the sauce is so moist, swordfish treated in this way will take a little longer to grill than usual; the interior, after all, has what amounts to a thick liquid cooling it off. So instead of cooking a one-and-a-half-inch-thick steak—about the right size for this procedure—for eight to ten minutes, I’d estimate twelve to fourteen. The actual time will vary depending on the heat of your grill or broiler, but you can assume a little bit longer than what you’re used to. Check by cutting into the fish when you think it’s done; the interior can be pearly but should not look raw.

Slow cooked onions are good enough by themselves, but when you combine them with the liquid exuded by olives and tomatoes you have a gloriously juicy bed on which to serve any fish fillet or steak. This combination, I think, is best with grilled tuna or swordfish—their meatiness gives them the presence to stand up to the richly flavored mass of onions, creating an easy dish that is strikingly Provençal and perfect for summer.

Like Japan, Korea makes good use of fermented beans, in the form of soy sauce and the terrific chilibean paste known as go chu jang (page 591). If you cannot find that, use the Sesame-Chile Paste on page 591 or hoisin, spiked with a couple of pinches of cayenne or dried red chile flakes, but don’t make the dish too hot—it should be predominantly sweet, sticky, and spicy. Serve with white rice, preferably short grain (page 507), and a salad or vegetable.

Simple skewers brushed, after grilling, with an easy, traditional Sicilian sauce. Grill some vegetables at the same time if you like. For an indoor version, see the variation.

Call this fish with puttanesca sauce—strong flavored, and swordfish can really take it. Serve with plenty of crusty bread or scoop out the fish after it cooks, put the sauce over pasta, and serve the fish on the side.

Rémoulade is an all-purpose fish sauce, a super spicy, chunky variation on mayonnaise and perhaps the Platonic ideal of tartar sauce. You can use it with poached, baked, fried, even leftover fish, but I think it’s best with grilled fish. Swordfish is the most obvious candidate, but you can grill steaks of cod, mahimahi, mako, salmon, or tuna and serve them with rémoulade; monkfish is also good. This combination is pretty rich; I’d be satisfied with a decent bread and a salad or steamed vegetable dressed with no more than lemon juice.

A wonderful technique and combination of flavors that works so well with swordfish that I would be reluctant to substitute (Spanish mackerel, usually quite difficult to find, would be a good alternative). If you’re unfamiliar with lemongrass, trim its ends, then slit and peel its tough outer layer to expose the tender core; you usually get about 1 tablespoon from each stalk. See page 500 for information on Thai fish sauce (nam pla). Sticky Rice (page 508) is the thing here, along with a lightly dressed salad or very simple vegetable dish.

A quick and simple dish, one that produces a beautiful sauce to use on white rice. Halibut is ideal here, but swordfish steaks are great too, and you can even make this preparation with thick white fillets of grouper, red snapper, or sea bass. Use dashi (which can be prepared in just a few minutes) if at all possible, chicken stock if not.

A fine recipe for fish steaks, from halibut to Spanish mackerel, even swordfish (it’s also good with shrimp or scallops). The lemongrass is essential if you want authentic flavor, though the dish will be good without it, because the real keys are the quickly made caramel and an abundance of black pepper, which is used more in Vietnam than any place I’ve ever been. See page 500 for information on Thai fish sauce (nam pla). Serve with plain white rice.

Like the preceding dish, this one is wickedly strong tasting, not fiery-hot but potent with garlic, onions (which are salted to “kill” their harshness), and lime. Not for the faint of heart, but many people (including me) love it. You can use any firm-fleshed white fish: halibut, swordfish, striped bass, red snapper, and so on. Ideally, you’d serve this with Mexican Radish Salad (page 172), along with some beautiful tomatoes. Rice and beans would also be good.

This is traditionally made with swordfish, but you can substitute tuna, bass, or other firm-fleshed fish in the recipe. You don’t need to buy expensive swordfish or tuna steaks—end pieces or chunks sold for skewered grilling are perfect for the sauce. Bavette is a long, flat dry pasta, like a narrow fettuccine. If you can’t find it, use good-quality dry fettuccine.

This was on Bar Americain’s lunch menu on opening day, and in the years since then it’s become a staple for the lunch crowd. I first started serving a swordfish club at Mesa Grill years ago, and its popularity prompted me to redesign the sandwich with a more distinctly American feel. Creamy avocado slices add a nice touch of richness to the lean, meaty swordfish. Juicy tomato, peppery watercress, and a fresh lemony mayonnaise complete this vibrant sandwich. Serve with Barbecued Potato Chips (page 163) and pickled carrots and okra if desired.

Every summer my family vacations in Harvey Cedars on Long Beach Island, New Jersey. Say what you want about New Jersey but let me tell you, when it comes to produce and seafood, it’s hard to beat. Most people you talk to know all about the tomatoes and corn, but there is so much more. How about the clams? My family gets ours from a local clammer. The scallop boats come in daily. The swordfish is exceptional and the crabs are as good as they are anywhere. I’m inspired by all of these things, and I’ve included most of them in this one dish. It may seem like a lot of ingredients, and it is. If you want to leave something out go ahead, or add something to it by all means. All the action happens in one pot, making this a great beach house dish.